Back to Square One

Shawn has recently decided to move Noah back to public school in January.  He has begun the process of withdrawing Noah from LUOA and reenrolling him into the public school we are zoned for.  Yes, the one I have fought so hard to keep him out of.  While Shawn is the one taking charge in this situation, we did make the decision together, as a couple.  I can't say I'm thrilled about the move, but I know that things cannot continue the way they have.  This is not a decision we have made lightly or quickly.  It's been a topic of conversation (and contention) in our home for several weeks.  Shawn is the one who has finally said enough is enough.

Our house--I hesitate to call it a home anymore--has become the center of turmoil, constant arguing and tension.  It has turned into a battle zone.  We all feel as though we are walking on tight-ropes thousands of feet above burning coals.  I hesitate to call those of us who live in this house a family anymore.  We are struggling, overwhelmed and exhausted.  Our relationships with each other are strained, to say the least.  Our family is falling apart and my marriage is a wreck.  I am frustrated beyond the point of frustration, and I am out of control.

I took Avery for his well check last week and while we were there, our pediatrician asked how Noah is doing.  I burst into tears and unloaded on the poor woman.  In her usual no-nonsense but compassionate manner, she told me that as parents--as moms--we can't concentrate all of our efforts, our resources and time on one child.  That is what I've been doing, to the point in which all of us suffer.  It's not healthy for any of us.

I have made efforts to keep Noah out of this public school since his kindergarten year.  I have tried to protect him at every turn, trying to foresee things before they happen.  I can't do it anymore.  We are back at square one: returning him to this school because I have only succeeded in making things worse, not better, and exhausting myself.  There is nothing left of me. Even though I know this is the best scenario in what feels like an impossible situation, I feel as though we are feeding him to the wolves.  We are tossing him into the middle of the school year without benefit of preparing the teacher, without an IEP or anything else to help him, support him or protect him.

I feel tremendous guilt over our decision.  Instead of telling myself that I've done the best I can, I see this as a major maternal failure--yet another one in the long list of them.  I am unable to look at this as a learning experience.  I have not only failed at homeschooling, I have failed my son.  I couldn't do what I felt is best for him.  I know I took on too much, especially this year.  I know I needed more of a break and more support.  I know I did it all wrong.  In the beginning, I was proud of my efforts.  I felt I was doing the right thing for Noah. Now I don't think I did the right thing for any of us. I feel selfish for wanting to be able to do things without Noah, instead of continuing to concentrate all my efforts on teaching him, both academically and socially.  Motherhood is about sacrifice, right?

Shawn and I can only help Noah so much.  He has to be ready--and willing--to meet us in the lessons we are trying to teach him.  We are desperate for that lightbulb moment when Noah says, "Oohhh.  Now I get it."  Instead, Noah has manipulated us and taken advantage of the homeschooling situation.  His behavior has regressed and he has stopped taking his schoolwork seriously.  Noah doesn't take me seriously as his mom or as his teacher.  Having him home all the time is suffocating me.

I know that returning Noah to public school will not solve our problems.  I know that, most likely, it will only create new, different problems.  I rationalize his return by saying I will get a break from him during the day and therefore be better able to deal with him in the afternoon and evening.  We all need time to regroup, decompress and heal.  There are things Shawn and I need to deal with, things we have avoided and need to grieve.  We need to repair our marriage and our family.  We all need to take a deep breath and learn to relax.

My friends tell me I'm doing the right thing.  They have watched me fall apart over the past several months.  They have watched our family begin to fall apart.  They have done everything they can to support us and help us limp along.  They agree with Shawn:  Enough is enough.  They tell me I've done the best I can.

If I'm doing the right thing and I've done the best I can, why does it feel as though I'm giving up on my son?