My plan for this morning was to ask the kids to get up at 6:00 am, to sternly request that they pry themselves from the mattress at 6:10 am, and then start hollering at 6:15 if they were still large lumps under a pile of blankets. This is the routine, as unpleasant as it sounds, but that's what seems to work.
And it did, for Nora.
Emily had other plans.
She protested that she was tired, that she needed more sleep. I sent her off to bed at 8:30 last night, how could that possibly be? I asked her to explain.
"I stayed up," she said.
"Why would you do that?" I asked, now thoroughly annoyed, since my coffee was going cold downstairs.
"Because I knew I'd be miserable!" she yelled.
Oh crap. That's not good. But I told her to get up anyways, that she had to catch the bus. She grumbled and back-talked. I gave her a muffin to eat. She didn't get herself anything to drink. "Don't you want some water?" I asked. "Then you can take your pills."
"I don't deserve water. I'm just going to go thirsty."
This has been a common refrain this school year, but usually I can get her to eat or drink something if I offer it along with some commentary on how that isn't true. It was especially hard to hear it this morning though. Its the first time she's said she doesn't deserve food/water/clothing since we got back from Disney. My blood starting running as cold as the coffee, now forgotten in the mug.
But I thought we'd get through it. I thought we'd get her on the bus. It only got worse. When she started shrieking non-verbal banshee sounds, I just walked down to my room and sat on the bed. Ryan was there, looking at me with eyes like saucers.
"What are we going to do?" he asked.
I pulled out my phone. "Find a psychologist that can see her today. I'm not sending her to school."
And I didn't. She is working on a story in her room, planning the ending so it doesn't go "on and on forever." As soon as I said she could stay home, the screaming and the tears stopped.
Did I do the right thing? I don't know.
On the one hand, I just read an article in the Tech Times that said a lot of the kids today with anxiety suffer due to the way in which their parents handle the anxiety. Without meaning to, the act of comforting or accommodating reinforces the idea that the child is helpless, and that the only one that can make it right is the parent. Is that what I did this morning? Make her feel that she can't handle school on her own?
On the other hand, I know that her brain is different, that anxiety and depression run in the family, and that the side effect of the epilepsy medicine increases her anxiety and depression. I can't send her off on the bus, not today, when she said to me after she calmed down, " I don't have any friends at school, and today is a day I just need to know I have someone. A lot of the time I feel worthless, like you should just throw me out with the trash." And later, while I was eating breakfast, she gave me a hug and said, "I'm glad I'm here with someone who cares about me."
Sometimes Emily says things that don't seem like they came from the mouth of a child. I know a lot of adults that aren't that in touch with their mental state.
Ten more minutes until I can start calling around, seeing if I can find someone who can take a new patient and our insurance. (Don't get me started on that). Ten more minutes until the school calls, asking where she is. I'll tell them she's having a bad mental health day, and the secretary in the office won't know what to say. Ten more minutes for me to wonder if I should even send her back at all, or if I should just clean out her locker and declare the school year over. I know this post is rather bleak, but this is today, and its like this. I'm not here on social media to present a curated view of perfect, middle class Americana. Parenting is messy and complicated. Some days are wonderful, and you have the photos to prove it. The days that aren't picture perfect are just as important though, and I'll be the first to tell you our family has our share of both.
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