Month: November 2021

But Only for the Grace of God

Posted on by willingtolove

“I got recognised at work last night.”

I knew by the way she said it this was not a welcome guest. It was not a happy reunion with a gabby catch-up.

This was an encounter with the darkest and most cunning of all stalkers.

The Past.

She didn’t recognise him, but he knew her by name. And could tell her where he last saw her, about a year ago.

It wasn’t in a coffee shop. Or a library.

You get the picture.

It rattled her, to say the least. Moreso because he waited for her boss to be around for the big reveal.

Her boss was mad and annoyed. At him.

She had come clean to her boss when she started, after being asked a number of times why a young girl in Alberta doesn’t drink. He was understanding and supportive of her.

This pissed him off.

I often get curious about the timing of things. This happened a mere 10 days after, well, how should I describe it….

A blip.

What started as a sleepover at a friends ended in an early morning distress call to mom.

And I’m in the car following a pinned location.

And I don’t hang up.

Sometimes I try and visualise what it would be like to step outside of myself during these times. To study my face; track my movements; make a note of the intonation in my voice or the words that I choose – or sometimes watch my numb silence, like frozen consciousness.

I wonder what I would see. Would I see someone looking calm and collected – perhaps supportive and compassionate? Or would I see how it feels like to me – robotic and task centred, going through the motions and the necessary steps to get back to the surface, because, guess what?

I can’t breathe. And I can’t see. And I can’t think or problem solve. I’m on auto-pilot.

She crawls into my bed sobbing. Hot tears of self-loathing and disappointment sear her face. She tells me her story.

I don’t think I want to hear it. I focus on how much I ache at seeing her in such an altered state. It creates enough static that I don’t take in much.

“I can’t believe how easy it was to slip back into it.”

Her lament breaks my heart for her. I say nothing. I can’t. I won’t. Nothing will help right now. The words will either hurt or fall on the floor. I put on some music. Our music. Jesus music. She finally comes down and finds sleep.

Over the next few days she grapples with her reality. A nice evening out for dinner with friends cannot include a few drinks. Not for her. Not now. Not ever. It leads to destruction and danger.

I grapple with what comes next. Trying to decide if I am on the verge of living in a state of constant fear – waiting for the other shoe to drop. Reminding myself of all of my epiphanies over the last year or so…everything I’ve learned. The promises over her – the promises God has made to me. I remind Him too because I’m cheeky and He knows that and He gets me and He’s okay with it.

And just when I’m on the verge of sliding down an emotional black hole, He moves.

Through work I come across a woman who lost her 24 year old son to an opioid overdose. We talk for almost two hours. She shares her story and how she has come to understand things. She talks about how she is only one mother of many that are experiencing her very pain. She is absolute that her son didn’t want to be an addict (a theory I believe and support wholeheartedly), and talks about her boy separate from the drugs. The athlete who had lots of friends and was clever in school. She has stopped trying to pinpoint where it all went wrong.

And then she holds back tears as she offers that the last time she saw him they had argued. She told him she was disappointed. It was the last resort of a desperate mother trying to get her son back. She is inconsolable at the thought of how much more that would have burdened him, knowing how disappointed he already was with himself.

She cries. I hold her hand and give myself a kick in the ass.

But for His grace go I. My daughter is here. She’s here and she’s fighting for it and she’s not giving up. She’s taking them on – all of them – every bloody demon either cloaked in some rando that walks into her place of work to remind her of where she’s been, or dressed in the lure of an ‘innocent’ night out with new friends that somehow leads down the dark path of searching out old ones. She’s here. She’s been spared and she’s gonna make it count.

And while I’m still standing she’s not going to do it alone. I’m off my pity pot and I’ve got your back, kiddo.

Thank God His sword is bigger and better than mine and hers put together and that He’s got both our backs. He’s the only one I want on my side in a fight.

Curried Success

Posted on by willingtolove

Robyn smells like curry.

I nuzzle my nose into her hair and sniff. She giggles, bats me away, and calls me a psycho.

I don’t care.

It’s the smell of achievement. One victory. Success.

About a month ago we took a trip to The Fairytale Store. We hadn’t been there for quite a while. Maybe we were due a trip. There was a time when we went so often we should have been eligible for a loyalty card. For many years we were certainly regular customers.

I hate The Fairytale Store.

For years I used to cause a great deal of damage at that store. Once I knew where we were, I would stomp and storm through it, crashing and thrashing and bashing anything and everything in sight. Tear down the lies; destroy the deceit. Carnage be damned.

Yeah……. that didn’t work.

I spent 1/4 of my life taking the BOGOF sales at The Fairytale Store personally. How could she go so often? How could she browse around so confidently and make the sale so readily – looking me right in the eyes. This was not flesh of my flesh. No. Way.

It wasn’t.

Give anyone global developmental delay coupled with undiagnosed ADHD, a huge portion of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and a side order of Borderline Personality Disorder – and the street to The Fairytale Store is paved with gold.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it is a ‘Get out of Jail Free’ card, but I have come to learn that people suffering with certain mental disorders experience a distorted reality to the rest of us. That makes it really hard for some people to relate to the world around them.

‘It’s a war zone in my head,” a woman once told me. She was describing what it was like living with Borderline Personality Disorder. She had lost her children and her family had disowned her. It wasn’t until a Court ordered assessment on her gave her a diagnosis and she started medication. It gave her a new lease on life but the personal cost was catastrophic.

I sometimes think about how far Robyn had to go to finally get help. How deep her darkness; how low she was. Some of it was her getting to the point where she wanted help, but there was a period of time when help was just not available to her. She wasn’t bad enough.

That’s another post.

Anyways, this trip to The Fairytale Store related to her previous job. She decided she hated it. She secretly put Impulsivity in her purse and walked out the door.

There’s no need to get into detail, but it took a bit of sleuthing for me to figure out what was going on. And as always, I faced it head on. i walked right in.

I made a choice. I didn’t smash things up this time. I walked into the store and stood there until she was ready to come home with me.

It looked like this:

A single text…… I’m not mad. I’m just worried about the decisions you’re making. Come home when you’re ready and we can talk.

About an hour later I heard the door. I was expecting a scene about how she was leaving and I’m too overbearing.

It didn’t come.

We talked. It was calm. She said my text made all the difference. It’s what allowed her to come home. She didn’t feel rejected. She felt understood.

We shut down The Fairytale Store that day. I pray to my beloved Jesus it is bankrupt.

Three days later she got another job at an Indian restaurant. The owner loves her. It’s high end and she’s making great tips. And they work around her school schedule.

Robyn smells like curry.

We closed down The Fairytale Store. I didn’t trash it.

One more victory.

Time to Re-invent

Posted on by willingtolove

“Welcome students to your first introduction class…..” The instructor’s voice floats through the house. She’s dusted off the outdated home computer and somehow managed to get it operational enough to download Zoom to start her course. She listens and engages for about an hour, then she starts to lose interest.

“….. so if you look on this part of the screen….” She shoots me a sideways glance.

‘I think I’m going to need to double up on my ADHD meds.’ Yes, my darling. Yes indeed.

‘Well, you’re seeing Dr. B soon. Maybe ask her.’

I answer her while tying my shoes, amazed at how calm my response comes out. Inside, I’m anything but calm. My mind, as always, is churning and whirring. As she re-invents herself, it means I have to adjust as well. As the instructor keeps talking, I keep thinking.

….tests of 100 multiple choice questions. She’s going to need support with that. Studying is NOT her strong point.

….practical weeks. Perfect. She’s all about the hands-on.

…microbiology. Oh sweet Jesus.

What I hear through the computer is progress. Progress. Recovery. Planning. Future.

Re-invention.

This past week saw her say goodbye to the last associate of her past life. It was hard; painful. Cleansing.

‘Why don’t I feel sad? I should feel sad, but I feel…. relieved.’

I just look at her and smile. ‘It was hard but you are going to be glad you did it. You’re at peace. It’s called Jesus.’

She turns her attention to looking ahead. Commenting on how busy she is going to be anyways. School, work. Then she gets worried that she won’t be able to manage it all. ‘My mental health….’ comes out often.

If you would have told me in March that we would be here in less than a year, I don’t think I would have been able to hear that. I was so consumed with adjusting myself to meet her where she was at. It was sometimes an hourly tweak. Many times I didn’t get it right. The times I did were powerful and profound and it is those times that have carried us through the rough spots.

Often, readjustment comes totally out of the blue. One minute she is in the kitchen talking and laughing; 5 minutes later she comes out of her bedroom in tears. It’s constant thinking on our feet and I never know how long it is going to take. Sometimes an hour, other times longer.

Like pushing Play-Doh into a mold, I find myself readjusting my approach and responses to meet her where she is at; to get the best possible outcome; to give her the opportunity to get the best out of herself.

I don’t feel I am at the mercy of my daughter; quite the opposite. Over the years, all of the ‘tough love’ and the ‘boundaries’ ended in chaos, reckless decision-making, and impulsivity. That is because people with certain mental disorders see the world differently. What many see as boundaries, our daughter views as rejection. There are many different ways to have boundaries and I have had to learn how to let go without turning away. Some days it’s pretty darn hard. Some days walking out the door looks pretty attractive.

I’m working with a young person who has been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. She hasn’t had a great childhood (hence my involvement) and has no supportive or healthy family. Her social worker talks about how frustrating the young person is; how she makes bad choices and is self-destructive. I listen on the phone, mostly annoyed and irritated at this social worker’s rude demeanor and approach to this girl. I find myself thinking that one of the main differences between this girl and my own daughter is a supportive family, knowing about a God who loves her, and a mother who absolutely refuses to back down from this fight.

I don’t judge people who have felt they need to estrange themselves from their loved one(s) because of addictions or mental health issues that create havoc and pain. I used to. Now I know that is neither helpful nor constructive. Now I stand with them and weep with them and concentrate on how much love they have for that person to the point where their heart hurts. And I talk to them about reinventing themselves and readjusting. Some people feel they can and others feel they can’t. We are where we are.