The Deepest, Darkest

It started about a week ago, this sense of doom. The kids were getting ready to go back to school, and instead of tasting my impending freedom, I only had fear on my tongue. I did my best to keep it to myself and whisper only hope into their ears.

The end of last year concluded with us pulling Wolfe, our emotionally impaired and nonbinary kid (neither a boy or girl, goes by 'they/them') from school altogether after numberous interventions, suspensions, and a school change. For years, they were rejected and othered, by kids and adults, for their differences and challenging behavior and they responded with rage. Last year that rage turned to tears and self-loathing and it felt impossible and unfair to keep them somewhere that was making them miserable daily. Their medical team determined they were best at home with me for a while.

Their school district file must be 6" tall by now and it likely tells a different story. Certainly if we were to believe the administrators, our kid is a problem that we've failed to fix. Most everyone in the academic sphere seems to focus exclusively on the behavior and never on the pain behind it.

The summer was blissful. We've never had a deeper connection, more peace, more growth. Lots of therapy and rest and celebration of who they are. It was amazing. We did our best to stay social, getting together with the few remaining friends we have, but mostly just holing up and healing.

As school got closer, I could feel both of our anxiety increasing. They were to start a new school- the third in less than a year- and although we have reason to believe this school is more socio-emotionally tuned and the community seems eager to embrace queer and otherwise unique or challenged kids, we're wary because we've been burned. A lot. By people we thought cared for us, people we could trust. By experts and friends alike.

As much as I'd feared that being in school would trigger all the old badness, I had been clinging to the thought that this summer of rest and healing may have reset something. Day one, I got an email home from the principal listing all the ways my kid hadn't met expectations. Day 2, more of the same, plus a call home from the child themself, begging to be picked up. Fuuuucccckkkkk.

I had just started drafting a Facebook post featuring a pic of Robb and me eating self-congratulatory donuts after dropping them off to school when the first call from the school came in. All of my fears came crashing down on me. I've gotten that call TOO MANY TIMES BEFORE. I don't want to be frenemies with the secretaries of yet another school. What if the only time my kid has a sense of self-worth it's when they're on an island with me in our house? Will it always be like this? How will they live? How will I? They need to be able to human with other humans, but that's where the triggers live. Are we asking too much? Are we coddling? What makes it worse? Do we just push them out of the nest and make them fend for themself, knowing the world is just going to be harsh but they need to build resilence beause them's the breaks? The new parent friends I've made at this school are telling me not to give up. I fear that they'll change their tune in time. People always eventually decide we're too much to handle.

It's really hard not to take it all personally as a parent. I ache for my kid. I want people to value them for their big, quirky personality. I want them to have safe places to land, for their soul, and so they don't just burn it all down in protest. I also ache for myself and am tired of cleaning up ashes. Loss after loss. I feel responsible for not only my kid, but all the other students and faculty they encounter and feel like I'm letting everyone down. When all the adults seem to be saying that if our child could just fix themself or cry for help in a different, more palatable way it provokes all of my insecurities. Maybe if I were more organized? Swore less? Were more patient? Maybe it's my own trauma and mental illness rubbing off on them? In the DNA or in the raising?

I slid down into a pretty deep depression after those first tough days. Trouble getting out of bed, everything achy, heavy, hard. My antidepressant's trying its little pink and white best, but

To augment my meds and get me out of bed, Wolfe and I we went to the beach Sunday afternoon before they had to go back to try again in week two. It was a gorgeous day and we had so much silly fun, belting Olivia Rodrigo songs at the top of our lungs into the sky from our little convertible as we zipped down the mountain, discovering anenomes in tide pools, and riding hundred year old rickety roller coasters. It's a joy to know them and this was I tell them constantly- other people will see that in time. I BEG THE UNIVERSE FOR THIS. They can't stop being themself and doing the work to stay centered no matter what storms pass through. I will support them as they do the hard work of finding others who see and appreciate them for who they are.

It's so fucking lonely and scary, but we can do hard things. I won't give up on this kid, or me and my ability to parent them through this hardness. I'll keep doing the challenging work, too, of staying centered despite the storms, of looking for the sunshine in the darkness.