None of us can ever really know what goes on behind closed doors. We have preconceptions of people and believe the grass is greener in lives that appear to be sunnier than our own. Appearances are just that, the facade that we put up for our own well being and privacy. Never assume that you understand someone unless you live their life. Things that look black and white to you may not seem so obvious to the person living in a situation. Without all of the details, things may not be as black and white as you think. When I write about my family I don't use their names. I know that is weird because many of you know who they are. These are private thoughts and emotions to them. For me, I share everything. I don't really have secrets. I am an open book. My family is more private. They probably don't appreciate being written about. I try to respect that, but sometimes I need to write about them. I also feel that in talking about things you take away that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach that you get when you give something power over you. My family believes that some things in our house are terrible and they are. But they are not shocking, they are struggles that many people have. If more people talked about it, maybe they would help one another through the hard times. As with many--my family fears judgement. No one wants to be judged.
This blog is a lot of things to me. A way to be creative, a way to be funny on most occasions, a place to vent and sometimes a place just to get something out of my head. Writing is therapy. A little therapy never hurt anyone. There is a stigma attached to therapists by some people. Therapy is seen as something needed by the weak, the mentally ill and people who have been through trauma. Everyone could use therapy now and then whether it is retail therapy, chocolate therapy, meditation or whatever form or therapy you feel the situation calls for. Therapy is healthy--keeping things inside is not. I did decide this past month that I could use a bit of old fashioned therapy with an actual therapist to get me through a rough spot. The problem is that there are too many confused people and not enough therapists. I can't get an appointment until July. So guess what, I need to decompress on my blog. Today, this is my therapy.
Being a mother is one of the most important choices that I ever made in life. As with all mothers I wanted to be the best mother possible and give my kids a solid foundation to live happy and fulfilling lives. I have tried to do that. The problem is that I have issues with depression, anxiety and self confidence. These are things I have been working on throughout my life. Depression is a chemical imbalance that can be passed along to our children. It is not something that I would have wished on them. My daughter who I think is beautiful, bright and funny believes she has no self worth. We have tried as parents to help her through some very difficult times but there is only so much that we can do for our children. She believes that her depression makes her a freak, that she should be stronger than she is and that she is not worth having as a friend because no one understands what she feels inside. This battle has been going on inside of her for five years now. It has been an emotional roller coaster. I have tried to always be available to listen, to love and to encourage her. Unfortunately I am human and despite good intentions I get frustrated sometimes. It is hard for me to sit back and watch her sleep for days and to not have any motivation. I know that there are reasons for it and that it is not just laziness or a lack of something in her character. I have snapped before, I have cried, I have yelled and I am not at all proud of those moments. They have not been helpful and have only added to the pain that we both feel. The doctors are trying. We have been to her doctor numerous times, there have been tests, therapy appointments and medications. Something may work for a short time, then all of the sudden things spiral down again. I do not talk about this often. It is something that she is embarrassed about though she shouldn't be. A girl that she really looked up to in high school told her that teens who say they are depressed are just trying to get attention. These types of remarks are not at all helpful are made by people who obviously are not in a position to know how hurtful and ignorant their words can be. Depression is very real, it is not a crutch, it is debilitating. No one wants to be depressed. No mother wishes that upon her child.
It has been very hard for me to focus and to keep a steady job as I never know when I am going to get a call. The calls have made some of my friends and family shake their heads. They most likely feel that I am indulgent and that I am an enabler. I have questioned the whole enabling thing. I have talked to doctors and therapists. Though there are times that I should let her work things out on her own, I do need to be there for her. She has done what many depressed people do and has isolated herself from friends; she feels very alone. Her boyfriend is wonderful. He has suffered from depression himself and is in a good place right now. He has a patience that you don't usually see in a nineteen year old. He and I are her support system. My husband tries. He has a hard time with depression and doesn't completely understand it even though he has lived with me for almost twenty-three years. He loves her but gets frustrated way more often than I do. My daughter and I can both feel this frustration. It is like a living, breathing thing that sucks the air out of a room. We do appreciate his attempts though and know that he just wants to "fix it". I wish it was that easy. The question I have always hated is "what do you have to be depressed about?" People don't understand that it isn't a choice.
I feel responsible. I feel like I have transferred these thoughts and feelings to her somehow. We are both far more empathetic than anyone should be. We are affected by the strong emotions of others. We know when we are not liked or getting on someones nerves. We are very aware of negative energy and know when there is stress present. Our house can be stressful. We have battled financial issues for years and that underlying worry is always there. Living paycheck to paycheck affects our family. Our kids know that there are weeks we can do things and weeks we can't. They know the stress I feel when I'm worried the whole house of cards is going to blow over at any minute. We are aware of positive emotions as well. I try to surround myself with positive people. I need that energy. I am trying to teach my daughter to be positive. There is power in thought and in attitude. Learning to change your thoughts and attitudes is something that comes with time. She is young, but she doesn't know it. As with most nineteen year olds she feels she knows more than she really does and doesn't always appreciate advice from others. Her stubborn nature comes from both her father and me so she has a double dose. She needs to get past being stubborn and open herself up to different forms of therapy. She needs to force herself out of bed and out of the house. She needs to expand her way of thinking. I asked her if she read my blog from last week about there being no such thing as normal. She informed me that she didn't plan on ever reading my blogs. Good to know.
A few years ago my daughter had the opportunity to go to Brazil for the summer. I thought this would be perfect for her. If she could get away from me and my stresses maybe she would have some peace and find a path that would motivate her. I was wrong. She couldn't handle being that far away from me. She became so homesick and depressed that she had to come home early. She was in good hands. I wouldn't have sent her if I didn't trust those she was staying with completely. She stayed with two different families. One family is very aware of depression and knows all about my daughter's struggles. The other family also knows and the wife is a medical professional. These strong women are role models that I wanted my daughter to live with and learn from. She was brave and stayed longer than she wanted. She regrets leaving early now and may have the chance to go back to Brazil with me next summer. She is confident when I am there. She wants so much to be independent and I want that for her.
Friends and family try to be supportive. They give advice and offer suggestions. I appreciate that and am always looking outside of the box to get us through this. It isn't black and white though. She is set off by different things and sometimes her anxiety attacks are more serious than others. I need to listen and be there in case things go from bad to worse really fast. She isn't suicidal, she isn't homicidal, she is a young woman who has aspirations of being the person she wants to be but doesn't believe it is possible. She decided that she didn't want to be dependent on antidepressants. I go on and off of them as needed. Sometimes I get what I need from fresh air, sunshine and exercise. She wanted to be able to do this as well. Being off of medication was not a good idea in this first year of college when there are new experiences and things to stress over. The past few months have been especially hard. Waiting for medical appointments is hard as well. We were able to get in yesterday and get her a new prescription. Drugs take time to take affect and may or may not be right for the person taking them. Finding the right chemical to make a difference is a process. I hope they got it right. She has agreed to therapy which she said she never wanted to go to again. She has yet to find a therapist that she actually likes and feels she can talk to. Of course that appointment is still two weeks away. For now I will hope for the best. I am going out of town this weekend. It is hard to leave her when she is so low. Her brother and his girlfriend are coming to stay. Hopefully they will get along and have some sibling bonding moments. My anxiety is high but I really need to be with my husband and youngest son this weekend. They need me too. Everyone needs me. Sometimes it is overwhelming. I started back on meds last week so that I can stay calm and in control. The despair coming from my daughter's room was suffocating me and making me question why I bother to try. I bother to try because life is good. The world is full of amazing adventures just waiting for my daughter to find the courage to try. She can be whatever she chooses, she has a life ahead of her that she has the ability to map out. I need to be strong, believe in myself and succeed so that she has a good role model under the same roof.
I am off to start my day. It was a rough night last night and I have been asked to stay close by today in case she needs me. She is failing a college class that she needed in order to stay in good graces with her financial aid. I am not going with her--she has been dealing with all of her college stuff without me. She is a big girl and will go to class, talk to the professor and see if it can be salvaged. If not I told her we would deal with it. She is going to try to stay strong if the professor tells her things she doesn't want to hear. Failing a class isn't pleasant, but it isn't the end of the world. There will be options and stressing over those options won't make things better. I will be in the wings in case I am needed. I might be. I know that things will get better. We will find something that works. My oldest son has fought depression as well and it has gotten better with age. We do have a happy home and a wonderful family. We do love one another but as with every family we have struggles. Motherhood is a beautiful thing. It also comes with its share of heartbreak. I'm still banking on happily ever after for all of my children. Happily Ever After is not a myth--it is possible--you just have to make a concentrated effort to get through the rough spots and concentrate on the good.......
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Flattery Doesn't Go Very Far............
Back in the day I had cute little curves that turned a few heads here and there. Going to the bar with friends was always a bit of an adventure because there were sure to be at least a couple interested men on the prowl who would offer a drink, a few compliments and a suggestion or two. I would thank them, make my excuses and leave feeling a little boost of confidence. There is a certain power that you feel when you are young and desirable. You don't fully understand or appreciate it at the time of course, at least I didn't. I was just a hopeless romantic who wanted to find the love of my life and life happily ever after. I have always been a sap for fairy tales. One thing that I have always had though is empathy. I can feel strong emotion and it affects me. It is intuition that I am sure everyone has if they are aware enough to listen for it. Sometimes I would walk into a room and know exactly who was interested in me because I could feel it.
Needless to say it has been several years since I have turned heads for my curves. I may have turned heads because I laughed too loud, tripped over my own two feet or have been in the presence of attractive friends, but that is the extent of it. I am happy with that. I had my days in the sun and now am enjoying my life as a wife and mother. My husband loves me so I don't need validation from other men. It does crack me up when my husband gets a bit jealous of the time that I spend with my gay friends. He finds them a little threatening and worries that just maybe they aren't gay and are really attracted to me. Funny, but true. I have always laughed at that and told him not to be ridiculous.
Last month I found myself in a gay bar with friends enjoying a drink before we went to dinner. I am very comfortable in gay bars which is why I was a bit shocked when I felt something that I hadn't felt in over twenty years--the eyes of someone attracted to me. I wondered if it was the alcohol going to my head. I had a drink before we left the house and now was nursing a hard cider. I was on vacation in California and maybe the excitement of the adventure was getting to me. Soon I found myself in a conversation with an over attentive Hispanic man with sparkling eyes and a bright smile. He only had eyes for me and that was a bit disconcerting. He talked to me about his girlfriend who he stayed with only because he was attached to her son who he felt she didn't pay enough attention to. He talked about music, Mexico and his two jobs in California. I had a hard time following him because his English was broken, the music was loud, I was a little drunk and he was sending loud signals. My friends were amused. I was amused, but a bit stunned. It was surreal and went from awkward to just plain weird when we were joined by another man. A very nice gay gentleman who explained that his friend was very attracted to large butts. He assured me that he was not trying to offend me at all. He wanted me to understand that not all men in the world wanted skinny girls who looked plastic. Some men wanted real women and it was pretty obvious that I was a real woman. He found me quite attractive, they both did. The gay man had once been married to a woman and knew what women liked. He was sure that he could make me very happy. If I wanted I could even include our Hispanic friend or my friend Linette who is gorgeous and has always turned heads. I decided that these two men were very nice, a little lonely and completely harmless. I accepted their compliments, told them about my husband and children at home and respectfully declined their invitation. They were gracious and let me know that the invitation was open if I should change my mind. I left feeling a little flattered and a bit more confident. Maybe it was the alcohol.
When I returned home from my vacation I told my husband all about my adventures in California. It had been a wonderful trip full of all kinds of fun memories. His jaw tightened a bit when I explained to him that I was still a desirable woman. I told him about my new admirers and how lucky he was that I was able to walk away from temptation. He asked if I was really tempted. I know he was picturing the beautiful men that are often seen in gay bars--men who only have eyes for each other. No, honey, I wasn't tempted my 31 year old Hispanic friend was probably 5'1" on a tall day and weighed about 100 pounds. His friend was quite fit for a 74 year old man. Of course my husband now says that I am ridiculous for telling him that I am not attractive to gay men. There is no arguing with him. I definitely don't have the right equipment to attract my gay friends and I don't want to. They are just like my female friends--good friends who I adore but don't want to sleep with. If I ever see my new friends again I would sit down and have a drink with them, enjoy their company and talk about life--I would not go home with them though. With me, flattery doesn't go very far but it is nice to hear that according to some people I still have it--big butt and all.
Needless to say it has been several years since I have turned heads for my curves. I may have turned heads because I laughed too loud, tripped over my own two feet or have been in the presence of attractive friends, but that is the extent of it. I am happy with that. I had my days in the sun and now am enjoying my life as a wife and mother. My husband loves me so I don't need validation from other men. It does crack me up when my husband gets a bit jealous of the time that I spend with my gay friends. He finds them a little threatening and worries that just maybe they aren't gay and are really attracted to me. Funny, but true. I have always laughed at that and told him not to be ridiculous.
Last month I found myself in a gay bar with friends enjoying a drink before we went to dinner. I am very comfortable in gay bars which is why I was a bit shocked when I felt something that I hadn't felt in over twenty years--the eyes of someone attracted to me. I wondered if it was the alcohol going to my head. I had a drink before we left the house and now was nursing a hard cider. I was on vacation in California and maybe the excitement of the adventure was getting to me. Soon I found myself in a conversation with an over attentive Hispanic man with sparkling eyes and a bright smile. He only had eyes for me and that was a bit disconcerting. He talked to me about his girlfriend who he stayed with only because he was attached to her son who he felt she didn't pay enough attention to. He talked about music, Mexico and his two jobs in California. I had a hard time following him because his English was broken, the music was loud, I was a little drunk and he was sending loud signals. My friends were amused. I was amused, but a bit stunned. It was surreal and went from awkward to just plain weird when we were joined by another man. A very nice gay gentleman who explained that his friend was very attracted to large butts. He assured me that he was not trying to offend me at all. He wanted me to understand that not all men in the world wanted skinny girls who looked plastic. Some men wanted real women and it was pretty obvious that I was a real woman. He found me quite attractive, they both did. The gay man had once been married to a woman and knew what women liked. He was sure that he could make me very happy. If I wanted I could even include our Hispanic friend or my friend Linette who is gorgeous and has always turned heads. I decided that these two men were very nice, a little lonely and completely harmless. I accepted their compliments, told them about my husband and children at home and respectfully declined their invitation. They were gracious and let me know that the invitation was open if I should change my mind. I left feeling a little flattered and a bit more confident. Maybe it was the alcohol.
When I returned home from my vacation I told my husband all about my adventures in California. It had been a wonderful trip full of all kinds of fun memories. His jaw tightened a bit when I explained to him that I was still a desirable woman. I told him about my new admirers and how lucky he was that I was able to walk away from temptation. He asked if I was really tempted. I know he was picturing the beautiful men that are often seen in gay bars--men who only have eyes for each other. No, honey, I wasn't tempted my 31 year old Hispanic friend was probably 5'1" on a tall day and weighed about 100 pounds. His friend was quite fit for a 74 year old man. Of course my husband now says that I am ridiculous for telling him that I am not attractive to gay men. There is no arguing with him. I definitely don't have the right equipment to attract my gay friends and I don't want to. They are just like my female friends--good friends who I adore but don't want to sleep with. If I ever see my new friends again I would sit down and have a drink with them, enjoy their company and talk about life--I would not go home with them though. With me, flattery doesn't go very far but it is nice to hear that according to some people I still have it--big butt and all.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
The size of the heart is what matters.........
Almost seventeen years ago we were approached at church and asked to host an exchange student from Japan. Seriously? Us host? When I was growing up the exchanges students were always hosted by the rich people with big houses. We were under thirty, living in a small ranch style house and pregnant with our third child. I declined as the student would be there during the final month of my pregnancy and there was no way I could think of entertaining a stranger in the August heat with two toddlers and a giant belly that was about to burst. When they asked if they could call me the next year I said sure. I was sure I would be able to think of an excuse to turn them down again.
In June of 1997 they called again. They had a Japanese boy that needed a host family for three weeks in August. They were having trouble placing boys and would really appreciate it if we could help them out. My husband wasn't really thrilled with the idea but the young woman who was looking for families was our babysitter and she was in a bind. We decided that we would give it a try. As fate would have it Seiji Morimoto was dropped off on our doorstep. At well over six feet tall he was not your typical Japanese boy. He came with empty suitcases. His family owned fruit orchards in Japan, he was forever trying to find good work boots and comfortable shoes that could fit his large feet. It was hard to get footwear in Japan for a reasonable price. Seiji had a list of the brands and colors he wanted. It was a well thought out list that was a little trickier to find in 1997 than it would be today with our instant Internet searches. We bonded over shoe shopping. Antone enjoyed the boy and had the time of his life showing him around the area and taking him camping with our family. The wonderful experience opened our hearts and our minds.
In the spring of 1998 I was asked if I would consider coordinating a Japanese group. They told me that with my personality and organizational skills I would be a natural. I was nervous and still juggling toddlers, but agreed to give it a try. That was the first of fifteen years of working with exchange students and families. It hasn't been easy. There are glitches, a few disciplinary problems and finding host families is definitely a problem for me. I am not a sales person, I do not like to hound people and begging is embarrassing. I have heard every excuse imaginable. The most common excuse has got to be that there isn't enough room in their house. I have been told this by people who have one child in a 3,000sf home as well as the people whose homes are truly bursting at the seams. Not having room is not a valid excuse. I have had wonderful families with several children who have opened their small homes and made room for a student. It isn't about house size, it is about heart size. In my heart there is always room for one more.
I am a mom. It was what I was born to be. I was given an extra dose of nurturing skills that has made me try to mother everyone from my own mother to my friends, co-workers and just about anyone who comes to me with a broken heart or the need of someone to listen. I love people and am intrigued by our differences. I am naturally curious and want to know what makes people tick. I hate it when I find myself judging. I hate judging and have no right to judge anyone. I just wish people would really think about hosting without just shutting the idea out because it is beyond their comfort zone. Once they have thought about it for at least three minutes, then tell me the truth. I am not comfortable with having people in my home; I don't really have time--whatever the truth might be. It may be that teenagers of whatever nationality give you hives and you can't imagine having one more underfoot. It really is fine--we're all wired differently.
I just know that hosting has been a good thing in our house. It has brought us friendship, new experiences and has taught us how alike we all are under the surface. It doesn't matter what race, class, religion, sex or age we are--we all share similarities. So many students have passed through our doors that I can't remember them all. As a coordinator I have had the privilege of touching many lives. I hope that I have left some good impressions and planted a few seeds. Some of the students I have worked with are doctors, lawyers, husbands, wives and parents now. I am so happy that Facebook keeps me informed of their lives and accomplishments. I am proud of them. It takes a lot of courage to get on a plane, come to a foreign country and live among strangers. It also takes a lot of courage to open your home to someone you have never met. I can tell you that it is always an adventure. Sometimes we have run into some not so fun adventures, but that is what coordinators are for. I have had to move kids, reprimand kids and in a few cases put them back on a plane before they were scheduled to depart. These cases have been rare. Teenagers are teenagers and if you keep your expectations realistic, you just might be pleasantly surprised.
As a mom I want to find the best possible families for each of these students. I think about my own children and have never put a student in a home that I wouldn't put my kids in. It wouldn't be fair. I can't have double standards no matter how many families I need and how desperate I feel. I do have people who ask why I try to place them in the spring when they don't come until summer. I try to place students as soon as possible so that their parents know where their kids are going. They can even start writing to the family and ask questions and get to know one another before the group comes. I can't imagine putting a child on the plane with no clue where they would be going once they landed in a foreign land. The one time that I have sent my child away I was lucky enough to know exactly who she was spending time with. She was with our wonderful extended Brazilian family that we have in our lives because of hosting. People that I truly love and enjoy spending time with.
Fifteen years have gone by. My toddlers are grown and my husband is ready for some summer adventures of our own. I have promised that this year I will coordinate my last group. I won't lie--I have made this promise before. I have to try to stick to it this time around. At least for a year or two. I will miss drafting a calendar and the excitement of the arrival. I will miss the people that I meet and the fun little things that happen with each group. I won't miss frantically trying to wrack my brain for just one more host family. I was very lucky this last summer. My families came pretty easily and they were awesome. I have also said that I was done hosting school year students. That was short lived though because I was handed the right student at the right moment in time so our family is preparing the house for a new family member. His arrival is greatly anticipated and we are eager to share the little we have with him for the next ten months of our lives. There are other students out there who need homes as well. It is late August, they have prepared to spend this school year in the US. Many are still waiting for a family to accept them. I have had coordinator friends messaging me to ask if I know of anyone who would be willing to open their hearts to a student this fall. I can completely appreciate the last minute scrambling that these people do to try to help the students; I've been there before. It's a tough spot to be in and I don't envy them their job. Somehow the right families are always found. There are a lot of people out there with big hearts and a sense of adventure--the trick is always finding them.......
In June of 1997 they called again. They had a Japanese boy that needed a host family for three weeks in August. They were having trouble placing boys and would really appreciate it if we could help them out. My husband wasn't really thrilled with the idea but the young woman who was looking for families was our babysitter and she was in a bind. We decided that we would give it a try. As fate would have it Seiji Morimoto was dropped off on our doorstep. At well over six feet tall he was not your typical Japanese boy. He came with empty suitcases. His family owned fruit orchards in Japan, he was forever trying to find good work boots and comfortable shoes that could fit his large feet. It was hard to get footwear in Japan for a reasonable price. Seiji had a list of the brands and colors he wanted. It was a well thought out list that was a little trickier to find in 1997 than it would be today with our instant Internet searches. We bonded over shoe shopping. Antone enjoyed the boy and had the time of his life showing him around the area and taking him camping with our family. The wonderful experience opened our hearts and our minds.
In the spring of 1998 I was asked if I would consider coordinating a Japanese group. They told me that with my personality and organizational skills I would be a natural. I was nervous and still juggling toddlers, but agreed to give it a try. That was the first of fifteen years of working with exchange students and families. It hasn't been easy. There are glitches, a few disciplinary problems and finding host families is definitely a problem for me. I am not a sales person, I do not like to hound people and begging is embarrassing. I have heard every excuse imaginable. The most common excuse has got to be that there isn't enough room in their house. I have been told this by people who have one child in a 3,000sf home as well as the people whose homes are truly bursting at the seams. Not having room is not a valid excuse. I have had wonderful families with several children who have opened their small homes and made room for a student. It isn't about house size, it is about heart size. In my heart there is always room for one more.
I am a mom. It was what I was born to be. I was given an extra dose of nurturing skills that has made me try to mother everyone from my own mother to my friends, co-workers and just about anyone who comes to me with a broken heart or the need of someone to listen. I love people and am intrigued by our differences. I am naturally curious and want to know what makes people tick. I hate it when I find myself judging. I hate judging and have no right to judge anyone. I just wish people would really think about hosting without just shutting the idea out because it is beyond their comfort zone. Once they have thought about it for at least three minutes, then tell me the truth. I am not comfortable with having people in my home; I don't really have time--whatever the truth might be. It may be that teenagers of whatever nationality give you hives and you can't imagine having one more underfoot. It really is fine--we're all wired differently.
I just know that hosting has been a good thing in our house. It has brought us friendship, new experiences and has taught us how alike we all are under the surface. It doesn't matter what race, class, religion, sex or age we are--we all share similarities. So many students have passed through our doors that I can't remember them all. As a coordinator I have had the privilege of touching many lives. I hope that I have left some good impressions and planted a few seeds. Some of the students I have worked with are doctors, lawyers, husbands, wives and parents now. I am so happy that Facebook keeps me informed of their lives and accomplishments. I am proud of them. It takes a lot of courage to get on a plane, come to a foreign country and live among strangers. It also takes a lot of courage to open your home to someone you have never met. I can tell you that it is always an adventure. Sometimes we have run into some not so fun adventures, but that is what coordinators are for. I have had to move kids, reprimand kids and in a few cases put them back on a plane before they were scheduled to depart. These cases have been rare. Teenagers are teenagers and if you keep your expectations realistic, you just might be pleasantly surprised.
As a mom I want to find the best possible families for each of these students. I think about my own children and have never put a student in a home that I wouldn't put my kids in. It wouldn't be fair. I can't have double standards no matter how many families I need and how desperate I feel. I do have people who ask why I try to place them in the spring when they don't come until summer. I try to place students as soon as possible so that their parents know where their kids are going. They can even start writing to the family and ask questions and get to know one another before the group comes. I can't imagine putting a child on the plane with no clue where they would be going once they landed in a foreign land. The one time that I have sent my child away I was lucky enough to know exactly who she was spending time with. She was with our wonderful extended Brazilian family that we have in our lives because of hosting. People that I truly love and enjoy spending time with.
Fifteen years have gone by. My toddlers are grown and my husband is ready for some summer adventures of our own. I have promised that this year I will coordinate my last group. I won't lie--I have made this promise before. I have to try to stick to it this time around. At least for a year or two. I will miss drafting a calendar and the excitement of the arrival. I will miss the people that I meet and the fun little things that happen with each group. I won't miss frantically trying to wrack my brain for just one more host family. I was very lucky this last summer. My families came pretty easily and they were awesome. I have also said that I was done hosting school year students. That was short lived though because I was handed the right student at the right moment in time so our family is preparing the house for a new family member. His arrival is greatly anticipated and we are eager to share the little we have with him for the next ten months of our lives. There are other students out there who need homes as well. It is late August, they have prepared to spend this school year in the US. Many are still waiting for a family to accept them. I have had coordinator friends messaging me to ask if I know of anyone who would be willing to open their hearts to a student this fall. I can completely appreciate the last minute scrambling that these people do to try to help the students; I've been there before. It's a tough spot to be in and I don't envy them their job. Somehow the right families are always found. There are a lot of people out there with big hearts and a sense of adventure--the trick is always finding them.......
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
There Is No Such Thing As Normal...........
There are good days and bad days in our house. I try to make the good days outweigh the bad. I also try not to let the moods of others under my roof dictate how I am going to feel. It is hard. I love my family and when one of my children is struggling it breaks my heart. There have been some tough days lately as my daughter endeavors to find her way. I usually don't write about certain things because I respect that the majority of the population keeps things more private than I do. I find that sometimes sharing our battles helps others and in some cases brings more clarity to ourselves.
Just because we choose to put our positive faces forward doesn't mean that life is perfect behind closed doors. Everyone has a public persona--the person they are when others are watching. It would be pretty depressing if I posted all of the bad stuff that happens during my day/week/month/year. It would add up and seriously bum everyone out. I don't want to bum people out, I want to lift them up. We all need to focus on the positive and remember the bright spots. When I look back I want to remember the good times, not frustrating days where I had to fight hard through the whole day to keep from screaming. The ugly parts of my life are the depression I fight, the financial situation that never seems to improve and the depression of my children which breaks my heart and leaves me in this rut that I've been in for what seems like forever.
Dealing with depressed teens in the house when you are an overly empathetic person can be like slowly drowning. Every time I find a job I like or am away enjoying myself, I get called back to reality. Reality is that at least two of my children inherited my depression on a grander scale. Their personalities are different from mine so it is hard to give them advice on fighting it. They also live in a whole different world--one where everything is fast paced and online. They seem to have an idea in their head that they are not "normal" because things don't come super easy to them. The majority of us would agree that things don't come easy, you have to work for what you want.
When it comes to people there is no such thing as normal in the world. Normal is a myth perpetrated by those who don't want to be viewed as different. If we were all the same the world would be a boring place. We are all wired differently even though society would have us believe that by getting a cookie cutter education, being slim and wearing certain clothes we can all be happy and pass as normal. I am weird and proud of it! I hate politics, have a hard time managing a 9-5 schedule, am a complete cookie slut, would rather read than exercise and enjoy singing loudly in my car. I am chunkier than I want to be, not as educated as I would like and dream of finding a job where I fit in and am passionate about. My more "normal" friends have steady jobs, have money in their savings accounts and seem so more put together than me. I happen to know they have struggles though. They may not be the same as mine, but everyone has to decide what they want out of life and choose the best path to get there. I hope my children find a path of their own, not one that they choose because it seems normal.
My children do not want to take medication for depression. They feel that by taking medication or seeking counseling that will make them weird. Depression is a chemical imbalance in the brain. It is nothing to be ashamed of or to have to hide. Depression is actually kind of normal. Many people have it. It doesn't matter if you are old, young, short, tall, skinny, fat, smart, dumb or even what color your skin is. Depression happens and it doesn't have to be a crutch or a condition to hold you back. You have to learn what works for you in fighting it and work your way through it. Counseling can be a very helpful tool as can some medications. In our house the depression battle for my children has been going on for at least seven years. I have spent the past five years battling most mornings to get my daughter out of bed. We have been to doctors, specialists, counselors and I have endured the tough love lectures of well meaning friends and relatives. It has been a rocky road and sometimes I feel like I am too weak to see the journey through. I have to be strong though because she will find her way through this.
It seems everyone has an opinion or wants to offer advice. When I am dealing with my own depression or that of my children I often hear "what have you got to be depressed about?" It isn't a choice to be depressed. I have tried retail therapy, chocolate therapy and thinking happy thoughts. I don't have anything to be depressed about. I have a loving family, awesome friends, a roof over my head, food to eat and a world of possibilities in front of me. It is the heartache of my children who feel "lost" at times that overwhelms me. As a mother I want to fix it and make it all better; at times they want me to as well. I can't fix it, I can't choose their path. No one is solely capable of making another person happy. Happiness comes from within. Only you can decide what is right for you, what makes you happy and who you want to be. Only you can find yourself. It certainly helps to have a support network to cheer you on and pick you up. I have to remember each and every day that I am a role model to my children no matter what age they are. I need to choose my words wisely, live each minute to its fullest and show them that there is so much more to life than trying to appear normal.
Luckily I was born with a big heart, a lot of patience and the ability to think outside the box. I am stronger than I give myself credit for. I have bright children with a world of possibilities in front of them. As they grow older and wiser they will eventually find the path that they want to travel. Until then I will be here to guide them, love them and most importantly listen to them without judging. I just can't lose myself in the process.........
Just because we choose to put our positive faces forward doesn't mean that life is perfect behind closed doors. Everyone has a public persona--the person they are when others are watching. It would be pretty depressing if I posted all of the bad stuff that happens during my day/week/month/year. It would add up and seriously bum everyone out. I don't want to bum people out, I want to lift them up. We all need to focus on the positive and remember the bright spots. When I look back I want to remember the good times, not frustrating days where I had to fight hard through the whole day to keep from screaming. The ugly parts of my life are the depression I fight, the financial situation that never seems to improve and the depression of my children which breaks my heart and leaves me in this rut that I've been in for what seems like forever.
Dealing with depressed teens in the house when you are an overly empathetic person can be like slowly drowning. Every time I find a job I like or am away enjoying myself, I get called back to reality. Reality is that at least two of my children inherited my depression on a grander scale. Their personalities are different from mine so it is hard to give them advice on fighting it. They also live in a whole different world--one where everything is fast paced and online. They seem to have an idea in their head that they are not "normal" because things don't come super easy to them. The majority of us would agree that things don't come easy, you have to work for what you want.
When it comes to people there is no such thing as normal in the world. Normal is a myth perpetrated by those who don't want to be viewed as different. If we were all the same the world would be a boring place. We are all wired differently even though society would have us believe that by getting a cookie cutter education, being slim and wearing certain clothes we can all be happy and pass as normal. I am weird and proud of it! I hate politics, have a hard time managing a 9-5 schedule, am a complete cookie slut, would rather read than exercise and enjoy singing loudly in my car. I am chunkier than I want to be, not as educated as I would like and dream of finding a job where I fit in and am passionate about. My more "normal" friends have steady jobs, have money in their savings accounts and seem so more put together than me. I happen to know they have struggles though. They may not be the same as mine, but everyone has to decide what they want out of life and choose the best path to get there. I hope my children find a path of their own, not one that they choose because it seems normal.
My children do not want to take medication for depression. They feel that by taking medication or seeking counseling that will make them weird. Depression is a chemical imbalance in the brain. It is nothing to be ashamed of or to have to hide. Depression is actually kind of normal. Many people have it. It doesn't matter if you are old, young, short, tall, skinny, fat, smart, dumb or even what color your skin is. Depression happens and it doesn't have to be a crutch or a condition to hold you back. You have to learn what works for you in fighting it and work your way through it. Counseling can be a very helpful tool as can some medications. In our house the depression battle for my children has been going on for at least seven years. I have spent the past five years battling most mornings to get my daughter out of bed. We have been to doctors, specialists, counselors and I have endured the tough love lectures of well meaning friends and relatives. It has been a rocky road and sometimes I feel like I am too weak to see the journey through. I have to be strong though because she will find her way through this.
It seems everyone has an opinion or wants to offer advice. When I am dealing with my own depression or that of my children I often hear "what have you got to be depressed about?" It isn't a choice to be depressed. I have tried retail therapy, chocolate therapy and thinking happy thoughts. I don't have anything to be depressed about. I have a loving family, awesome friends, a roof over my head, food to eat and a world of possibilities in front of me. It is the heartache of my children who feel "lost" at times that overwhelms me. As a mother I want to fix it and make it all better; at times they want me to as well. I can't fix it, I can't choose their path. No one is solely capable of making another person happy. Happiness comes from within. Only you can decide what is right for you, what makes you happy and who you want to be. Only you can find yourself. It certainly helps to have a support network to cheer you on and pick you up. I have to remember each and every day that I am a role model to my children no matter what age they are. I need to choose my words wisely, live each minute to its fullest and show them that there is so much more to life than trying to appear normal.
Luckily I was born with a big heart, a lot of patience and the ability to think outside the box. I am stronger than I give myself credit for. I have bright children with a world of possibilities in front of them. As they grow older and wiser they will eventually find the path that they want to travel. Until then I will be here to guide them, love them and most importantly listen to them without judging. I just can't lose myself in the process.........
Monday, May 6, 2013
Desperately Seeking Susan..........
A film called "Desperately Seeking Susan" was produced in 1984 with Rosanna Arquette and Madonna. I don't remember ever seeing the movie but I do recall it was about mistaken identity. There have been times when I have felt like this should be the title of my own life. I seem to have trouble with my identity at times. There are moments when I want to completely reinvent it, but it is hard changing who you are, especially when you are always questioning yourself. In my life fate made me who I am, I could have just as easily been someone altogether different.
No matter what type of family a child is adopted into, they are always different because they are adopted. Being adopted is a wonderful thing, it is much better than being aborted or abandoned, but it still leaves many feeling like a changeling or an unfortunate mistake. I was the product of a sordid affair between an older television mechanic and a lonely young woman who had already given birth to four children out of wedlock. I am thankful that she didn't learn her lesson on contraceptives. One mistake happens, two is conceivable(pardon the pun), but five is pretty much unheard of. That is me though, mistake number five. I sometimes wonder if I was conceived in the backroom of a cluttered television repair shop in downtown Vancouver. It is likely, but I will never ask and maybe I don't really want to know.
Another thing I will never know is where I was and what choices were made regarding my future during the first twelve days of my life. I do know that I was called Susan. The Children's Home Society of Washington did not want the babies they were looking after to be just numbers on a spreadsheet. Someone had the fascinating job of giving each child a name. I wonder about this job. It sounds like one that I would have enjoyed. Did they use the same system that weathermen use to name hurricanes and tropical storms? Was it just a roll of the dice that I was a female born in the "S" position in 1965? Maybe they had a fishbowl of possible names that they drew out of. Was there a pink bowl and a blue bowl that held little slips of paper with names on them? I always enjoyed the baby name books. It was fun to open to a random page and plant your finger down. You had to hope that you landed on something decent and not Bertha, Henrietta or Edna. These may be perfectly good names, but not ones that I have ever hoped for. It was the 60's so I suppose I could have ended up with Peace, Hope or Charity. Susan was a popular and common name, did they have a Susan each year and I just happened to be the 1965 model as opposed to the 1961 Susan? However they chose it, Susan was my legal name until I was 11 months old.
I wonder about the people who brought me home from the hospital. The kind souls who fed me and changed my diapers while it was decided who would raise me. Were they tempted to keep me? Was I offered to others who chose not to take me because perhaps they wanted a boy, a blond or one with a better pedigree? Would I have been that much different if I had been raised in a different environment? How much is nature and how much is nurture? A lot of people don't give a whole lot of thought to that question, but for me it could have been life changing.
My personality has always been at war with itself. I don't know if this is because I feel not quite up to par since I was given away by the woman who birthed me or if it is just who I would have been regardless. I am easy going but worry too much; extroverted one day and introverted the next; adventurous but cautious; full of ideas but not motivated--the list goes on. I am capable of being so positive and optimistic one day and completely sure that all is hopeless the next. I am not bipolar. Maybe it is just a self-esteem issue and has nothing to do with being adopted. As a teen I always felt that I had two distinct personalities--I still wonder at times ( I think my husband does too!).
I believe that many adoptees let the fact that they were adopted shape them. Some in big ways and others in small. Like most adoptees I felt that if I could find my birth family it would answer so many questions and make me feel part of something that I had felt was missing my whole life. This was not the case. I did need to find out where I came from so that I wouldn't always wonder. The imagination is a powerful thing. I imagined a whole different scenario than what was real. I could never have envisioned being number 5; weren't most adopted babies the product of teenage love affairs? I pictured star crossed teens who couldn't keep me; or at the very least a teen mom who made a mistake and was sent to live with an aunt while she waited for me to come. Of course she would have secretly wanted to keep me though she knew she couldn't. My 24 year old mother didn't have to sneak anywhere to have me, she had already had four others. She delivered number three herself in a bathroom. No, I couldn't have come up with that no matter how big my imagination is. She is a sweet woman who did seem genuinely happy to meet me. I just couldn't find a whole lot of common ground. My biological father was a grandfather when I was born. He passed away in 1973 when I was not quite eight years old. I need to take time to find out more about them both. To get answers from my biological mother I just have to cross the bridge into Washington. She is less than thirty minutes away. I need to make an effort to see her soon since it has been over five years since our last visit. There are no good excuses; I just have never found a way to incorporate her into my life which makes me feel both guilty and broken. I have room in my life for so many others, why not her?
I think I expected too much. I expected a bright light to come on when I found where it was that I came from. I expected to feel some fulfillment of a journey or a connection. Instead I found more confusion. We see "Happily Ever After" stories on television all of the time about adoptees who have found their birth families. Maybe these stories should come with the little asterisk that says "results not typical". You know the ones you see in very small print under the miracle weight loss ads. Some people do get fairy tale endings. Some of us just learn that what we were desperately seeking was really inside of us the whole time. I probably would have liked Susan whoever she was. I'm sure she would have been a lot like me......I think I will rent that 1984 movie and see how it turns out.
No matter what type of family a child is adopted into, they are always different because they are adopted. Being adopted is a wonderful thing, it is much better than being aborted or abandoned, but it still leaves many feeling like a changeling or an unfortunate mistake. I was the product of a sordid affair between an older television mechanic and a lonely young woman who had already given birth to four children out of wedlock. I am thankful that she didn't learn her lesson on contraceptives. One mistake happens, two is conceivable(pardon the pun), but five is pretty much unheard of. That is me though, mistake number five. I sometimes wonder if I was conceived in the backroom of a cluttered television repair shop in downtown Vancouver. It is likely, but I will never ask and maybe I don't really want to know.
Another thing I will never know is where I was and what choices were made regarding my future during the first twelve days of my life. I do know that I was called Susan. The Children's Home Society of Washington did not want the babies they were looking after to be just numbers on a spreadsheet. Someone had the fascinating job of giving each child a name. I wonder about this job. It sounds like one that I would have enjoyed. Did they use the same system that weathermen use to name hurricanes and tropical storms? Was it just a roll of the dice that I was a female born in the "S" position in 1965? Maybe they had a fishbowl of possible names that they drew out of. Was there a pink bowl and a blue bowl that held little slips of paper with names on them? I always enjoyed the baby name books. It was fun to open to a random page and plant your finger down. You had to hope that you landed on something decent and not Bertha, Henrietta or Edna. These may be perfectly good names, but not ones that I have ever hoped for. It was the 60's so I suppose I could have ended up with Peace, Hope or Charity. Susan was a popular and common name, did they have a Susan each year and I just happened to be the 1965 model as opposed to the 1961 Susan? However they chose it, Susan was my legal name until I was 11 months old.
I wonder about the people who brought me home from the hospital. The kind souls who fed me and changed my diapers while it was decided who would raise me. Were they tempted to keep me? Was I offered to others who chose not to take me because perhaps they wanted a boy, a blond or one with a better pedigree? Would I have been that much different if I had been raised in a different environment? How much is nature and how much is nurture? A lot of people don't give a whole lot of thought to that question, but for me it could have been life changing.
My personality has always been at war with itself. I don't know if this is because I feel not quite up to par since I was given away by the woman who birthed me or if it is just who I would have been regardless. I am easy going but worry too much; extroverted one day and introverted the next; adventurous but cautious; full of ideas but not motivated--the list goes on. I am capable of being so positive and optimistic one day and completely sure that all is hopeless the next. I am not bipolar. Maybe it is just a self-esteem issue and has nothing to do with being adopted. As a teen I always felt that I had two distinct personalities--I still wonder at times ( I think my husband does too!).
I believe that many adoptees let the fact that they were adopted shape them. Some in big ways and others in small. Like most adoptees I felt that if I could find my birth family it would answer so many questions and make me feel part of something that I had felt was missing my whole life. This was not the case. I did need to find out where I came from so that I wouldn't always wonder. The imagination is a powerful thing. I imagined a whole different scenario than what was real. I could never have envisioned being number 5; weren't most adopted babies the product of teenage love affairs? I pictured star crossed teens who couldn't keep me; or at the very least a teen mom who made a mistake and was sent to live with an aunt while she waited for me to come. Of course she would have secretly wanted to keep me though she knew she couldn't. My 24 year old mother didn't have to sneak anywhere to have me, she had already had four others. She delivered number three herself in a bathroom. No, I couldn't have come up with that no matter how big my imagination is. She is a sweet woman who did seem genuinely happy to meet me. I just couldn't find a whole lot of common ground. My biological father was a grandfather when I was born. He passed away in 1973 when I was not quite eight years old. I need to take time to find out more about them both. To get answers from my biological mother I just have to cross the bridge into Washington. She is less than thirty minutes away. I need to make an effort to see her soon since it has been over five years since our last visit. There are no good excuses; I just have never found a way to incorporate her into my life which makes me feel both guilty and broken. I have room in my life for so many others, why not her?
I think I expected too much. I expected a bright light to come on when I found where it was that I came from. I expected to feel some fulfillment of a journey or a connection. Instead I found more confusion. We see "Happily Ever After" stories on television all of the time about adoptees who have found their birth families. Maybe these stories should come with the little asterisk that says "results not typical". You know the ones you see in very small print under the miracle weight loss ads. Some people do get fairy tale endings. Some of us just learn that what we were desperately seeking was really inside of us the whole time. I probably would have liked Susan whoever she was. I'm sure she would have been a lot like me......I think I will rent that 1984 movie and see how it turns out.
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