I'm a house guest this week.
Correction: I'm invading a teenager's space this week.
I'm not sure he really wanted me here, and I know I have a *ahem* bit of an overwhelming personality. It's a lot for him to handle.
Being a teenager is hard. Being a teenager with an alphabet soup associated with you is harder. Being a teenager going through everything he's dealing with? HardEST.
The thing is, I remember being in his situation as a child. And now I know what was going on in my own brain (helllllooooo... Autism, OCD, anxiety, etc...), it sort of helps me understand him better.
I was always happy to see our visitors (or be one), but I liked my stuff the way I liked my stuff. I became upset (sometimes ragingly so) when things were disorderly, loud, overwhelming, when my things were touched, when guests left their things out (right down to just leaving their shampoo and soap in my shower). I was usually displaced from my bed and/or my room--my safe place. I couldn't even seek comfort in my own bed because they'd been in it, or hide in my own room in case they needed to get to their things or they needed privacy. It was disturbing for me, to say the least, and I would be completely out of sorts for days.
My mother told me to deal with it. I was selfish. I was rude. I needed to learn to share. I was being difficult. Why couldn't I just get along? I was teased for my rigidity and inability to cope. Later in life I was 'sick' and a spoiled brat. It was downright awful for me, no matter how happy I was to see our guests (or be one). I felt completely alone and awkward and angry and misunderstood. I remember being so jealous of how well everyone else got along, and wondering what was wrong with me.
From one of the things I've learned about my children: they aren't being difficult, they are having a difficult time, I have learned that in particular about my past. I wasn't doing any of those things on purpose. I was having a genuinely hard time, and did not have the proper coping skills.
My friend's son is having a genuinely hard time. There is nothing difficult about him.
I am trying my best to take up as little space as possible. If I could be as small as an ant in order to respect this young man's needs, I would. I'm trying to remember to put my things away after I use them, and immediately clean up after myself. I'm trying to remember to respect privacy, quiet, boundaries and unspoken rules (as well as the spoken ones!). I'm trying to remember his ways of doing things may not the same of mine, and I need to do them his way. This is his home.
I know how distressing it can be to have someone invade your safe place. And I'm not here for a fun, quick visit. I'm here during one of the worst times in his life, temporarily taking over in his mom's place for a bit. I have settled in for the long haul.
Precious mamas, I'm begging you: Whether you and your family are the guests, or you have guests, if you think your child is being difficult, please take a step back. Clear your mind. Take a deep breath. Stop worrying about what your hosts or guests might think about your child, or your (lack of) parenting skills. It's time for Mama Bear Mode. You are your child's safety net. This is YOUR child (perhaps not the child you wanted, but the child you have). This is the child you have sworn to love and protect--so please, do just that. Could it be your child is having a difficult time, instead? Could it be your child is genuinely upset? Talk with your child, not at your child. Listen to your child. Find out what is going on inside his mind. Then help him work through it. Advocate for your child's needs with your hosts or guests. If you are the host or guest, and a child is having a difficult time, please have compassion, and find out how you can help. Your child is looking to you to protect him, and needs you on his side. Love your child through this, love him where he is. Please.
Tuesday, September 25, 2018
Tuesday, September 11, 2018
9/11 and Being a Fire Mom
Seventeen years ago, our country was dealt a deathly, unfathomable blow.
Many of us are still dealing with it: Those of us who witnessed it on tv, the survivors who were there that day, the surviving first responders and volunteers, the families of the many victims. There is so much trauma from what we all saw, and what some of us had to do that horrible day, and the days and weeks, and even months, that followed. That was the stuff of our most unimaginable nightmares.
It has left some of us crippled by physical, emotional, psychological and spiritual pain, while it has also left many of us grateful for what we have, in every single day that has followed.
The anniversary always hits me with a pain I can't seem to bear. I know I'm not alone.
This year it seems to be a bit more difficult, having Noah in the fire department, knowing this is the career he has settled on. I know God has great plans for him. We've raised Noah to care for others, and I know he will be the comfort people need in their worst hours. However, this is the second most difficult thing I have had to do as his mom. I don't know that I'm prepared to wear the title of 'firefighter mom," even as it leaves me beaming with pride, even as I don the hat. Each time he leaves for a shift, I tell him, "Come back to me safely. I love you," and I pray. I pray hard. I hit my knees on his behalf on a regular basis. When he comes home, I hug him. I hug him hard, I think him for coming back to me, and I send up the biggest prayers of gratitude. As if he's come home from a war, not a 12 hour shift. I have to trust him, his chief, and the other men and women in his department. And of course, I need to trust God.
I've been emotional this past week, and just knowing what my son is getting himself into is enough to make me burst into tears. I try to not think too much about what he is, and will be, up against. This is the stuff of my worst nightmare. When I look at him, I still my little boy. I still see him playing dress-up and playing with his toy fire trucks. I can't keep him safely wrapped up in my maternal bubble wrap forever. I have cried in anguish for the mothers who lost their little boys, the ones they sent off to work that day, never to return. I have screamed at the unfairness of their losses.
My son is brave. I admire him so much, and I'm incredibly proud of him.
I pray a lot so God will make me brave for Noah, and my two littles. Goodness knows they won't have desk jobs, either. Oh, the painful irony in that sentence.
Bravery isn't always bold and daring. Sometimes bravery is timid and hesitant, doing what needs to be done even when you're scared out of your ever-loving mind.
Sunday morning, my pastor's wife prayed over me. She prayed that I will learn to remove the unnecessary things from my overloaded, heavy plate, in order to make room for the important work, the important things, the important people.
Things I need to turn over to God.
WORRY.
ANXIETY.
FEAR.
INDEPENDENCE and DISTRUST.
DEPRESSION.
ANGER and FRUSTRATION.
Worry, you are a time suck. Anxiety, you are a crippling robber. Fear, you are a liar. Independence and Distrust, you are a thief of my dependence upon Abba. Depression, you are a deep, dark pit. Anger and Frustration, you are thieves of enjoyment. They rob me of sleep, steal my enjoyment of my life, they run away with my relationship with my precious children and husband and Abba. They fill my plate to tipping, making less room for the important work He gives me.
I will put my trust concerning Noah's future in my Abba. My Abba is my refuge, my hiding place, my safe place. He is where I put my boys--His boys--where I will continue to work on emptying my plate so I can concentrate on just loving them best. In times such as these, I'm so grateful to have a loving, grace-filled, merciful Father to turn to.
Many of us are still dealing with it: Those of us who witnessed it on tv, the survivors who were there that day, the surviving first responders and volunteers, the families of the many victims. There is so much trauma from what we all saw, and what some of us had to do that horrible day, and the days and weeks, and even months, that followed. That was the stuff of our most unimaginable nightmares.
It has left some of us crippled by physical, emotional, psychological and spiritual pain, while it has also left many of us grateful for what we have, in every single day that has followed.
The anniversary always hits me with a pain I can't seem to bear. I know I'm not alone.
This year it seems to be a bit more difficult, having Noah in the fire department, knowing this is the career he has settled on. I know God has great plans for him. We've raised Noah to care for others, and I know he will be the comfort people need in their worst hours. However, this is the second most difficult thing I have had to do as his mom. I don't know that I'm prepared to wear the title of 'firefighter mom," even as it leaves me beaming with pride, even as I don the hat. Each time he leaves for a shift, I tell him, "Come back to me safely. I love you," and I pray. I pray hard. I hit my knees on his behalf on a regular basis. When he comes home, I hug him. I hug him hard, I think him for coming back to me, and I send up the biggest prayers of gratitude. As if he's come home from a war, not a 12 hour shift. I have to trust him, his chief, and the other men and women in his department. And of course, I need to trust God.
I've been emotional this past week, and just knowing what my son is getting himself into is enough to make me burst into tears. I try to not think too much about what he is, and will be, up against. This is the stuff of my worst nightmare. When I look at him, I still my little boy. I still see him playing dress-up and playing with his toy fire trucks. I can't keep him safely wrapped up in my maternal bubble wrap forever. I have cried in anguish for the mothers who lost their little boys, the ones they sent off to work that day, never to return. I have screamed at the unfairness of their losses.
My son is brave. I admire him so much, and I'm incredibly proud of him.
I pray a lot so God will make me brave for Noah, and my two littles. Goodness knows they won't have desk jobs, either. Oh, the painful irony in that sentence.
Bravery isn't always bold and daring. Sometimes bravery is timid and hesitant, doing what needs to be done even when you're scared out of your ever-loving mind.
Sunday morning, my pastor's wife prayed over me. She prayed that I will learn to remove the unnecessary things from my overloaded, heavy plate, in order to make room for the important work, the important things, the important people.
Things I need to turn over to God.
WORRY.
ANXIETY.
FEAR.
INDEPENDENCE and DISTRUST.
DEPRESSION.
ANGER and FRUSTRATION.
Worry, you are a time suck. Anxiety, you are a crippling robber. Fear, you are a liar. Independence and Distrust, you are a thief of my dependence upon Abba. Depression, you are a deep, dark pit. Anger and Frustration, you are thieves of enjoyment. They rob me of sleep, steal my enjoyment of my life, they run away with my relationship with my precious children and husband and Abba. They fill my plate to tipping, making less room for the important work He gives me.
I will put my trust concerning Noah's future in my Abba. My Abba is my refuge, my hiding place, my safe place. He is where I put my boys--His boys--where I will continue to work on emptying my plate so I can concentrate on just loving them best. In times such as these, I'm so grateful to have a loving, grace-filled, merciful Father to turn to.
"You are my refuge and my shield; I have put my hope in Your word."
Psalm 18:32
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