My heart is pounding and my head feels like it’s going to spontaneously combust.
Tomorrow marks the return to school for my three gingers…and the return of boy #1 back into the support of his family…he’s coming home.
It’s been a very difficult year, and I’m taking a moment to share it with you because I feel it to be very important to illustrate the difficulties and challenges being “chronically afflicted” and having to care for others adds to the already taxed system of everything that is…me.
My oldest son was asked to leave the home late last year. Substance abuse, defiant and angry behaviour threatened not only my in-home job, but the care and safety of the three younger siblings.
I swear it tore a hole into the very fibre of my essence.
Fast forward through a difficult almost-year to today.
A positive change of gargantuan proportions, I’m happy to report.
Concessions made…lessons learned…a new-found appreciation for “the little things.”
It will be, however, not without extensive assistance from my already over-processed abilities and attention.
I need to bring my son into the proper care resources provided either by the City and/or his highschool.
I need to bring my son out of the malnourished condition he let himself lapse into during his time of disassociation with everything “good” for him. He has some minor medical issues requiring medication that need ongoing attention to.
Not only will we be required to heal his wounded soul, but his faltering health as well.
I can do this.
Because I can.
We aren’t going into this alone…we’ve the support of an entire community of family and friends…but it will certainly be one of the biggest challenges we’ve faced together as a family.
One of the first steps has been the creation of a “behaviour contract.” This will be my assurance that I’m going to stick to my guns and the needs of our family for the rules that need to be met, and to hold myself accountable for the self-managed stresses and anxieties for which this entire situation will undoubtedly provide. It will provide him with a sense of achievement, of purpose and of quantitative success. It also spells out, quite simply, the consequences, both good and not-so-good, of adhering to the contract.
The second thing *I* will need to do is to make myself some mantras:
1. I am not alone.
2. I will ensure self-care, even if it means scheduling it in, 10 minutes at a time. (also gives me a reason to buy new blingy pens…)
3. Google is my BFF. I will not hesitate to search for simple ways to augment nutrition…
4. I will listen. To my soul, to his needs, to the strength that keeps propelling me forward through the chaos of my reality.
5. I will believe in myself…
I might even do some psychological things to make the event more meaningful…like taking a smudge stick and letting the gentle wisps of cedar-smoke clean away residual anger, frustration and resentment…
It also means that I must attune myself to the things that are truly important. To prioritize. To really focus on eliminating the extraneous details that serve only to make me want to run head first into a wall, or chug back a bottle of sangria. That would be a tragic misappropriation of all things sangria. That is just wrong.
I’m still slowly trying to build up the fundage to see myself into my herbalism program. Damn car up and went *snafu*, which will cost us a pretty penny to repay. Nonetheless, I seem to have this uncanny association with some kind of cosmic “understanding”…perhaps I’m just not meant to get there just yet, in order to provide the focus to where it really needs to be…my son.
In the meantime, coming into the school season and having the house and my thoughts to myself, you’ll find me doing what I do best:
Oh, and making shit. Crafty goodness, bento awesomeness or some kind of natural DIY cleaning product.
Stay tuned. It’s going to be FRABJOUS. 😉