So you know those times, those perfect storms? The ones where everything comes together to make life miserable? Yeah… That was my week last week.
Looking back on it now I should have known. Hindsight is always 20/20 right? In the moment I was lost and hurt. I couldn’t see the light of day.
I’m happy to say the sun is starting to shine again.
For anyone not paying attention to the calendar, it is now the middle of May. Less than a month until the end of the school year. Less than a month until the unknown rises again. Eli is distraught, once again, at the unknown of the upcoming school year.
I started this blog when he was in preschool and documented the difficulty he had when he was transitioning from preschool to kindergarten. A year later I shared the turmoil that was going on in our home related to the transition from kindergarten to first grade. And here we are again. You would think I’d have learned by now.
This year his anxiety was aimed directly at me. Many mothers with an adopted child or a step child may feel my pain. I got a lot of grief because I wasn’t his “real” mom. He yelled at me because he had to make extra projects for Mother’s Day at school because of me. He refused to listen to me. He refused to sit near me. If he had a problem or a need he refused to turn to me.
Sadly, I reacted poorly. I was hurt by his words. I was beating myself up that he had to grow up in a community where having 2 moms is different. And my dear monthly friend had decided to pay me a visit and make me more emotional than ever. I shut down around him as well. We spent several days yelling at each other to the point that we both walked away in tears.
My honey was wonderful. She tried to make it better, she really did. It was something only he and I could fix.
Just in time, we had a visit to the worry doctor. Not really the way I wanted to spend my birthday, but it was the thing that needed to happen. He talked with her a lot about his behavior toward me and some about the end of the school year. It seemed to make a bit of a difference.
Then came our one on one talk. He was able to say what he wanted and needed to say. I was able to do the same. There was no yelling. There was most certainly some crying. In the end there was hugging and a promise on both parts to try to make it all better.
And it is. There are still the everyday crazies that have been in existence for ages. They are not directed at me. They are the issues that come with anxiety and PDD-NOS and being 7.
Now there are more thank yous and I love yous and hugs and kisses and laughter. There is promise of camp outs and s’mores and backyard soccer games.
So thank you again for all of your hugs. They held me up when I was free-falling toward rock bottom. It was amazing to have all of the support from near and far. I love you all for that.