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Posts Tagged ‘coping’

“There is no one way to raise our children, but a path that we must find.”  Barbara Coloroso

When we made the decision for my son Kinmond to leave formal schooling halfway through grade 11 and continue through home schooling, we both knew that it would be a tremendous challenge, but I don’t think anything could have prepared us for the discipline, work and dedication it would require.  Kinmond had a tremendous amount of work to catch up, and I continued to run my company. 

Despite the sacrifices, it was an amazing experience.  I got to spend a tremendous amount of time with my son and got to know him as the incredible young man he has become.

All the effort proved worth it when we learned yesterday that he had passed Matric.  He is now registered for a Certificate in Advanced Music Production and plans to follow this with Entertainment Management.

The lessons I have learned over the last year and a half are things that can never be taught.  I’ve come to truly believe that anything is achievable.

I’m looking forward to 2010 and all the new challenges and projects awaiting me, and to watching my son go from strength to strength on the journey he is about to embark upon.

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Darwin said that it isn’t the strongest or the most intelligent that survive, but the ones most responsive to change.

I’ve always been responsive to change, thrived on it in fact. There’s a nomad somewhere inside me who loves the idea of constant flux.

And yet….

This last year has not been an easy one. There have been many changes and many areas over which I have not had control. Growth comes with pain, and while, I know that and have learned that lesson and am able to sit with my own pain, it is the pain of my children that is so hard for me. Because I am unable to ease it, I am unable to take it from them and ‘make it all better’.

What I am feeling isn’t something that is easily passed from heart to page. It’s a sadness that is impossible to describe. Every road is winding, every window is cracked, and the distance between a mother and a child continues to grow ever wider. A distance not measured by centimetres, inches, feet or miles, it is the distance between a child’s pain and a mother’s inability to erase it, prevent it, circumvent it.

My heart and my head sit at opposite ends of the spectrum. I know that this will pass, and that there is no growth without pain, but how do I share my truth? How do I share my self in the truest, barest of hues.

My truth, or any truth for that matter, is not beautiful. It is broken, blistered, tainted, and yet it is the only thing I have to offer. It can be dangerous and yet, my darkest moments have shown me who I truly am. Have allowed me to look in the mirror and accept my darkest faces.

Witnessing my children’s journeys to self-discovery slices a dagger through my heart, bringing the trepidation and fear and growing sense of horror that engulfed me as I embarked on my journey of escalating memories and cerebral turmoil. Thoughts whipped through my head, clashing together in a mental cacophony of voices. At times they melded together to form concepts I still struggle to put into words. My thoughts were my avatars representing me more justly than I represented myself.

And yet, here I am, pretty much whole, content with the person I have become, yet feeling more insecure than ever in the role that has for the better part of 18 years defined me. As my children reach inevitably towards the adults that they are struggling to become, I cling desperately to the children that they were/are. Trying so hard to give them my truth, because in the face of the fact that I am unable to absorb their pain, my truth is all I have to offer. (the love goes without saying)

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I’ve just had breakfast with two, yes two, chocochino’s (that’s espresso and hot chocolate for those of you who haven’t discovered this decadent pleasure yet), so I could not possibly be hungry, and yet, here I am hour later, wanting to stuff my face with whatever’s available.  I’m starving… the huger feels physical, but the need is emotional.  I’ve settled for a glass of water, but it is definitely not very satisfying.

What is it about feeling out of control, sad, no, let’s face it, depressed, that sends us (and I know it happens to many of you too) straight to the refrigerator/grocery cupboard/sweet shop?  If you’re anything like me it may send you to the bottle store for a bottle of Johnny Walker Red.

I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that I’m not coping, well, haven’t been for the last few months.  There’ve been too many stresses from too many different directions and I’ve been having many mini meltdowns.  Part of making the journey back to equilibrium is admitting I need help, so I went and broke down in my doctor’s office on Tuesday.  I suspect he thought it was long overdue, and it probably was, but being the control freak that I am it’s taken a while for me to realise that the panic, the pain, the grief, the helplessness has spun out of control.

Depression is a slimy little sucker, it creeps up on you and before you know it you are completely overwhelmed.  I think I’ve caught it in time and look forward to sleeping through the night again soon and wanting to get up in the morning and smiling without crying inside… and giving up the chocochino’s …

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