The trick is just to start writing, or so I am told. The challenge is where to begin. How far back do I have to go to explain why my child at 6 would pack 3 bags and tell me she’s leaving. SHE IS LEAVING.
I’ll start with my personality. I am an anxious, nervous, and petrified of failure type of mom. However, I have always been this way. Prior to being a mom I was an anxious, nervous, and petrified of failure employee. And before that – a student, and before that - a daughter , and quite possibly, in fact I am almost sure - I was an anxious, nervous, and petrified of failure fetal being.
As I grew up I learned to navigate and control my emotions to a Spock-like degree. I was known for my level of calm during arguments, for my stoic responses to family fallings-aparts, and for my comedic responses to bullies and teachers. But, there was always a price to pay – teenage angst and depression, college panic attacks, working-age debilitating stomach-aches, middle-age teeth grinding, and then finally I just plain lost my mind.
Full-tilt. Last summer I hit the bottom of the barrel and truly thought I was crazy or dying or both. I was ready to go to Mayo in need of a Dr. House intervention. My doctor sent me home with an anti-anxiety med and a anti-depression med and told me NOT to go to Mayo unless I was still dying in three days. Well, wouldn't you know it - I took the meds and slept thru the night for the first time in months.
I called my doctor with the news and both he and I knew what came next - finding a psychiatrist to fix the drugs to fit me, as well as someone to talk me thru the crazies. Forty-three years of trying to be perfect and suffering the associated panic and anxiety attacks, and then 1 absolute awful year of emotional isolation with walled-up anxieties - burnt every nerve in my head. It was like PTSD-lite, no real guns, but imaginary ones, shooting threats about work/life/mom failure.
These nerves that were being burnt away had been sending moderately healthy signals between my senses and brain and then causing certain responses for 45 years now. Some of these nerve responses I was born with, others have been developed by experiences over the years. So, the trick now is to medicate the nerves so they don’t overreact, notice the anxiety triggers that will set my senses off - and then either avoid them - or retrain my mind to think of the trigger as non-exciting or at least less-exciting. It is strange when even good stuff brings out-of-bounds feeling from my body. I can speak Italian with friends and feel a runner's high.
And that’s where I am today. The brain takes a long time to heal – I just can’t splint it, immobilize it and rest the wound till it heals. I need my brain and my kid needs me. So, I press on healing in the margins of the day that are all mine. The rest of the day I work, and I mom, and I pretend I am healthy and sometimes I forget that my brain is still healing.
This weekend I forgot.
Anna and I had just returned from a wonderful 2 week spring break. I had rested, my muscles had calmed down, and I actually felt a few clear days of realizing my brain was healing. I felt strong in my head and that I could half my dose. I did. I was wrong. The sleep never came. The muscles tensed up and the joints went arthritic. I recognized the signs and knew it was either stress or withdrawal or stress from withdrawal, but dammit it was still just half a dose. So, I pressed on. Until my body said stop. I took the other half dose at 6am and crashed to sleep. Anna came to wake me up at 8am. I was in a wash of pain and exhaustion and asked my kid to do what she has done before – watch some Bugs Bunny and get some cereal. And please wake me up when the show was over.
I really believed I could manage this day. I had the extra 3 hours of real sleep. And I went on. Got myself going and made some command decisions regarding what the day would hold. Laundry, lawn, general chores and house stuff. As I am in a house of two people of extreme hard-headedness command decisions are never taken well. That - and I honestly don’t communicate well when my brain wound is open. I went about my business and Anna went about hers, until the inevitable occurred – the business plans, as they were, did not match.
Anna had been playing and coloring and eating and watching TV. I had been reading and washing clothes. It was time to get moving outside with the day. So, after having surveyed her expanding circles of what I would call “mess” I asked my dear child in the kindest, sweetest mom tone I could muster, “Anna will you please pick up your dishes, put up your crayons, and get dressed so we can go out and get some errands done?”
And the response came, “aaahhhhhhllllllll by myself? You sit there reading and doing nothing and I have to do this all alone?”
My heart started to race and my nerves to twitch as I knew our calm Saturday morning was coming to a brutal end. I gave my standard, “Anna, what you take out – you put up. If you would like to you can pay me to pick up your things. Or not – I will just pick up what is left out and it will go in the garage. “
“Nooooooooo! I will not pay you. You will not take my things. And I’m not going out with you. I am staying home.”
There comes a point in every argument with a child, and possibly between adults, when you know you have crossed a line and you realize you can’t get out, you are cornered between their demands and your own believed needs for control and respect. I was stuck. I walked into her bedroom and took her favorite blue bracelet. I put it in my pocket and said, “Stay home. And when you have all your stuff picked up you can have your bracelet back.” I knew as soon as I had pocketed the jewels that this “meant war.”
I had changed tacks in mid-stream without warning. And Anna flew into a RAGE. She came at me screaming and punching, yelling that I had stolen her bracelet. I picked her up, as I still can, and carried her to her room. Changing tacks again and betraying a promise that we would never hit each other I spanked her. She was livid with emotional pain and I saw her face fall and then fill again with red anger. I held my breath and walked out of her room. As I walked away I heard her, “You stole, you lied, you’re mean and terrible.” Door SLAM. “I’M LEAVING.”
She was right. But good mothering is always perfect in hindsight. I stood in my room – my chest tight, my eyes tearing, racing thru my head to put together a new plan that could fix all this. I went to all the corners of my mind to grab scraps of fix-it as I thanked my lucky stars she was only 6 and not 16. I took my cleansing breathes, approached her door and knocked.
“May I come in?”
“I’m packing, go away”
“But, I would like to give you your bracelet back and say I am sorry.”
“Okay, but I am still leaving.”
She cracks the door open and I can see three small travel bags half full. Her closet half empty and her dresser drawers open for further gathering and sorting.
“Sweety, I am truly sorry. I promised never to spank. And I goofed. I will do my best never to do it again.” I had to choose these words carefully - terribly, awfully - I could not promise never, and I had wanted to scream, “but you hit me first.” But I am the mom, so I continued to breathe and she continued to pack.
“Okay”
“And I want to give you your bracelet back. That was unfair. We are a family and I love you. We live in this house together and it needs us both to help pick up what we take out. And that’s what families do – they take care of each other and they take care of their home. And I will completely understand if you want to leave. It is not easy living with someone. It takes a lot of patience, and a lot of love. So, if you still want to leave, I will miss you, but I do understand.”
“Mom, can you please pull some things down for me from up on that shelf”
“Sure kiddo. Is there anything else you need before you go?”
“I’ll let you know”
I shut her bedroom door to let her process her anger, my apologies and her running away plans. I went away then to process how to keep my meds in line even when feeling great and how to keep my arguments fair and linear in respect to my kid.
An hour or so later I knocked again.
“How goes the packing?”
“I’m almost done. I have one bag for clothes, one for shoes and one for cuddlies. I’m also taking money – American and Italian – because I’m going to travel a lot.”
“Do you have enough money?”
“I have ten dollars. Is that enough?”
“Well I would plan to take more. You will need food, water, a place to sleep and a way to travel – taxi, bus, airplane, boat?”
“No mom, I am walking. And I will sleep outside like camping near a stream or the ocean so there is plenty of water and I can fish for my food.”
“Oh. Well, then I would at least have enough for an emergency.”
“Mom, do you have any chores I can do today, before I leave so I can make some money?”
“Absolutely. So are you still leaving today?”
“No, not until tonight. I’ll sneak out in the middle of the night.”
“Will you leave me note?”
“No.”
“I would appreciate a note, just so I know where I might find you.”
“But, I don’t know where I am going.”
“Do you know where you might stay tonight? You may want to call someone so you have somewhere for tonight.”
“I think I’ll go to Melissa’s (my sister) house.”
“Well that’s sounds like a good idea. But, I should tell you. She is family too. So she may have some of the same expectations about love and family and home. I don’t know. You should probably call and make sure before you go.”
“Mmmmmmm, maybe I won’t go to Melissa’s. I just know I am going on a long travel adventure.”
“A travel adventure? But I thought you were running away?”
“I am, but a good running away. I am going to walk around the world. I went to learn different things, meet different people and talk different languages.”
“What about school?”
“An adventure is like school – you learn just as much.”
“You’re right. Do you think you will ever come home?”
“Yes, when I am 19.”
“19? Most kids leave when they are 18 to go to college.”
“Okay, I’ll come back when I am 17 to get ready for college.”
“Good plan. Do you have a list of things to pack? A map with your places that you want to see circled? Maybe you don’t want to go alone?”
Her face curls up again, and I see I have pushed too far. She retreats back to her packing as I go to get ready for my evening out.
“Mom, I’ve changed my mind. Since I am having a sleep-over tonight I’m not leaving tonight. I’ll leave tomorrow instead.”
“Okay sweetie. Thanks for letting me know.”
The next morning Anna is tormented and sad, her sleep-over buddy having left in the middle of the night. She’s sitting in bed, head hung down, with a slight pout yearning for someone to ask what’s wrong.
“You okay kiddo?”
“Abigail couldn’t sleep here last night ‘cause she missed her dad too much.”
And then there was a huge heave of air and she deflated into my arms and went on….
“And I don’t know how to count money, and I don’t know how to fish, and I don’t know how to camp, but I really want to have an adventure. I want learn and travel, not just to eat things, but to talk to people and to learn. And friends won’t go with me because they want to stay with their parents or go to school. And maaaahhhhhhm. I just want an adventure.”
“Okay, okay, maybe I can come with you. Or at least teach you some things before you go?”
“Noooooo, I want to go now. I don’t want to wait. And I don’t want you to come with me.”
My child who feels desperately young cries in heaves as she realizes her cache of skills and knowledge won’t sustain her on an adventure she emotionally needs to take. Anna eventually settles and asks for some help – to make a list of things to pack and to get a map and list of places to go. She is hard fast that I am not going on this adventure – which it is hers and maybe a friend’s – to explore and to learn.
Abigail came back that afternoon for some more play time. They planned their adventure and decided over hours on the playground and bowls of ice cream to alter the plan a bit.
“Mom how many days are in three years?”
“3 times 365….. a lot of days.”
“Mom, how about two years?”
“2 times 365 – 730 days.”
“Okay two years then. Abigail and I will be back when we are 8, almost 9. And we need flashlights.”
“Okay, we will need to go to the hardware store and buy some – you all have money?”
“Nevermind.”
That night at dinner I’m curious if anything else may have changed. So I ask.
“Hey kiddo how are the adventure plans coming? You leaving tonight?”
“No, mom. Gonna leave Monday night. This way I can ask a couple of friends to come with me – Eva and Riley. Eva reads really well and Riley is definitely very adventurous. This way I can also say good-bye to everyone before I leave.”
“Good thinking kiddo. Sounds like you are really making headway on your plan. You know I will miss you. And I do hope you are safe in your travels. In fact I’m glad to hear you are asking more friends. Traveling in a group is wise.”
“Oh mom, that reminds me I need to take the boat medicine so I won’t get sick. We’re gonna take a lot of boats. And I need a knife – in case I need to kill someone.”
“A knife, huh? Absolutely necessary – not for killing so much as peeling potatoes, apples, cutting your fish, and yes if you need to - protecting yourself. Maybe a camping knife like I have?”
“Yeah mom, like that.”
I put my adventurous daughter to bed that night thinking that once again I had skirted the big one. That I had used logic and wisdom and love to bring her back home. But my kid is focused and now well equipped with questions, if not all the information, so every day brings new exchanges.
“Mom, I asked Eva and Riley. They said they want to come, but need to ask their parents.”
“Mom, I’m leaving on Saturday. I have homework to do and I’m not quite ready to go yet. But, I’m not unpacking. I’ll just put my bags in the closet, so they’ll be ready.”
“Mom, I may have to leave some things at home – this is a lot to carry. And maybe I’ll practice here in the yard first before I go.”
Like a Bugs Bunny and Yosemite Sam cartoon where the bullet hangs in the air, I’m not sure where this is going. However, once again I am proud of myself and my kid. These adventures have only just begun.
