My Word

With the new year just around the corner, I began reflecting back over 2017. It was a long, trying year for my family and me.

2017…

For me, it was the year I advocated for my children. I feel like I fought an endless, painful uphill battle to figure out what kinds of services and doctors they both needed.

It’s the year that my oldest, Jacob, went through his own mental and emotional hardship.  During the spring, I knew he’d need an IEP to be successful in school, so I began the long process to gather the data and make the necessary appointments for him.

It all paid off tremendously. He triumphed, and now has the right combination of medicines, correct diagnoses, OT, and counseling. The elementary school he attends is the right fit for his personality and he has been provided an amazing support team of both Regular Ed and Special Ed educators that meet his social, behavioral, and sensory needs.

Jude continued to take speech therapy classes (over 120 hours worth outside of what he gets in his IEP at preschool!) and made little progress. So concerning Jude, it was the year that I didn’t find any of the answers I sought - Why isn’t he able to talk (real words)? Why did he have seizures in the first place? What do I do when his regular toddler tantrums turn into sensory meltdowns that last over an hour? Will I ever be able to take him out in public to functions again without having to leave abruptly due to his behavior?

Will Jude be nonverbal forever?

Completely defeated on the Jude front. Thrilled and thankful on the Jacob front.

2017. So emotional. And EXHAUSTING.

Now, with 2017 behind me, I think of the direction I want 2018 to head. I stopped making New Year’s Resolutions years ago because they became too stressful to maintain. Even though I tried to make practical ones, I felt like a loser or failure when I didn’t quite meet them with 100% accuracy.

I heard on the radio that several people choose a statement or one word as their focus for the year ahead. I’ve never done this before and thought I’d give it a try.

If I had to choose a word that I think summed up my 2017, it would be “Survive”.

That's all I did. I barely survived day-to-day, in a sea of unanswered questions and severe loneliness.

I don’t want to just “survive” in 2018. I want a word that is opposite - one that emcompasses who I am on the inside, and who I aspire to be on the outside. So, I did what any good over-achievable, deep-thinking analyzer would, and I started making my word list. I made notes, Googled searched, and browsed scriptures on my quest to find the perfect word.

My word is MINDFUL.

According to good ol’ Webster, to be mindful is to “be aware of something”.

I want to be mindful of what others are going through. My friends deserve for me to be the type of friend that empathizes with them, and makes time for them... one who reaches out in love to help them get through life’s unpredictable moments. Strangers deserve a patient me who offers a helping hand instead of a judging stare. After all, we never truly know someone’s struggle or cross they bear. I really think that if we were all more mindful of how we treat others, we’d see drastic improvements of love, and a sense of togetherness in our nation.

My students deserve a mindful teacher. When I’m trying to control a roomful of youngsters, all with different interests, personalities, and struggles, my first instinct is to be firm. But what I have discovered in my decade of teaching is that I can be firm and set proper ground rules, but be fair at the same time. The students need to feel loved, and by developing quality relationships with my students, I’ll be able to take their circumstances and their feelings into consideration when I teach them. Being mindful of my students can make or break their love for school and feeling of acceptance.
Outwardly, I want to be mindful of my health, and of what I put into my body. I’ve never been one for dieting, nor do I think I need to lose weight. But I have started making healthier choices overall - less caffeine (with the exception of morning coffee) more water, less carbs and more vegetables, etc.

You know, the boring stuff that makes you want to roll your eyes when you listen to perfectly-sized women talk about their food plans.

But in all seriousness, being mindful of my body also means taking care of myself when I feel ill, sleeping well, and allocating time to do things that help me recharge.
Speaking of time, I want to be mindful of what I spend my time on. Even though I maintain the attitude that life should be all about balance, I greatly struggle with this. I spend more time on work than I should and don’t make time for myself. All work and no play makes Angela a bad mama, stressed-out professional, and unhappy human being.

Photography calms me down. When I look
through a lens, I get to focus solely on beauty,
and not on the stresses of life.

So I will definitely be mindful of how I spend my time next year!

Finally, l want to be prudent what I spend my money on. I already have everything I need in life as far a “stuff” goes. So why then did I just donate five large bags of clothes and clutter and seven bags of toys to the local Goodwill store? In this consumer-driven society, if I’m mindful on where my money goes, I can make wise investments that benefit my children in the future, become debt-free, and give charitably like never before.
I've already stopped surviving, and started becoming conscious of all the people and goings-on around me by being mindful. Mindful. Yep, that’s the perfect word for 2018!

Happy 2018 from my family to yours! Cheers to a fuller life!

Saying Goodbye

Tonight, on the eve of my husband’s favorite holiday, I’m saddened by the fact that we’re in the process of saying goodbye to his dad, Ted.

At the young age of only 43, it seems unfair to me that Jason should have to face his dad’s death. Especially when we see people decades older than Jason who still have their parents around. Why do some people get to live longer than others? Life doesn’t make sense.

Jason’s loving mom passed away from Crohn’s Disease when he was just sixteen. How would you feel being a young high-schooler entering adulthood without your mother? 

Jason's family circa 1986 . Jason was only 12.

Only now, to realize that saying goodbye to your father is an even harder door to close because he’s had a chance to watch you grow up, become successful in life, and raise children of your own.

Jason as a toddler. Dad tickle tackles are the best. (Circa 1977).

His dad is battling stage 4 lung cancer that metastasized to his brain.  I think the hardest part to get over is how late it was caught.

Ted had been going to the local VA hospital religiously over the past few years, never missing an appointment or test. The VA told him that everything was fine and sent him home every time. Eventually, as he felt worse, and as more ailments about his body didn’t make sense, he was encouraged by another doctor to go through UK for tests.

Ted went into the emergency room at UK, barely able to move or even function, in a state of confusion as to what could possibly be going wrong. UK discovered the cancer. We found out that if the VA had done the appropriate tests and scans, then they should have caught it in earlier stages.

Wow.

Say what you want about how wonderful the VA is. But before you speak your mind, stop and think about how you would feel to go in through an ER, only to realize that the hospital that vowed to take care of you misdiagnosed you for Lord only knows how long. And then, we you do get results back, it’s stage 4 cancer spread to your brain. All while you’re in excruciating, indescribable pain.

The point is that this veteran who served our country during the Vietnam War is facing such an abrupt end to his life. Whether you agree with our military or not, with the VA or not, no one should have to endure this kind of pain that Ted is going through. He’s in a Compassionate Care Center that is ran by Hospice. They’re keeping him as comfortable as they can as he “goes through the process”. 

That’s code for “passes away” in case you didn’t realize…

I always prided myself as someone who handles death fairly well overall (with the exception of my daughter). After all, I grew up where attending visitations (wakes) and funerals are a way of life. When someone you remotely know passes, you pay your respects to the family. It’s one of those etiquette rules that are as black and white to me as sending out thank-you cards. So, I generally have handled situations concerning death decently well.  Until now.

When I walked into the room to visit Ted, I lost it. My glasses clogged with tears, and my heart leaped into my throat. He was lying in bed, with his head back, and doing his best to just breathe. The type of cancer he has first takes over control of his body, which it already had. So, he could not move. The nurse told Jason that the last thing to go would be his hearing which was not gone yet. So, if he was awake, he’d be able to hear us. Meanwhile, Hospice’s job is to make him as comfortable as they can as he goes through the final stages of life.

Ted at our wedding. He always joked that he
looked like Kenny Rogers in a cheap suit.

 (On a side note, can I just add that the people who volunteer and work for Hospice should be given sainthood. I have always had a great deal of respect for them and for funeral home directors. They have the kindest people skills and are able to be pillars of strength in the most desperate times of grief. True saints.)

Back at Ted’s bedside, I sat down in a chair and tried to control my sobs. I wanted to be brave, but I didn’t know what to say. When I’m uncomfortable and nervous about something, I tend to try to use either humor or sarcasm as a Segway.  I started with a joke.

“Hi Ted. It’s Angela, your favorite daughter-in-law. Some people will do anything for attention, won’t they?” I chuckled, imagining his wide smile and bantering nature.

(And for the record, he loves both daughter-in-laws. But that was one of our jokes. He would say it to both of us when he visited.)

I started rambling about my new school and my students. I talked about how much his own grand kids had grown, how Jacob plays the piano now, and how Jason and I have to tag team to deal with Jude’s craziness. I started recalling all the stories I remember about Jason when he was a little boy. I even told Ted that Jason liked to eat some of my chocolate that Ted had given me as gifts over the years. It felt good to tell on Jason, and I know that inside, Ted was smiling. 

Ted and his long time companion Margie at our wedding in 2004.

I talked, and talked, for probably half an hour nonstop.  As fast as I could, barely pausing, until I ran out of wind, and of topics. I realized that if I didn’t talk, I was going to lose it. Talking was my way of getting through it and saying my goodbyes. He always had taken an interest in my life, especially about how my teaching career was going. He asked Jason about it every time they talked. He was a good listener too.

 I was choking back more tears trying desperately not to lose it. I mean, what do you say to someone you love going through stage 4 cancer, and only has a matter of weeks, if not days?

Ted with Jacob (top) and Jude (bottom)

He’ll never get to go home again. To drive his Harley. To jam on the guitar with Jason and sing. To hear Jacob tell stories. To take us to a Mexican restaurant so he can deliberately pronounce his order incorrectly just for a good laugh. He’ll never hold Jude again or give us hugs letting us know he loves us.

But, I knew the conversation had to eventually cease.  And as my mind began slowly down, blank thoughts stirred a whirlwind in my head. I sighed, tucked him in a little more to make sure he was warm, and sat back down in the chair quietly for a few moments holding his arm. 

Regaining composure and wiping tears away, in that next moment of silence, my broken heart cracked even deeper as I uttered the words, “Goodbye Ted. I love you. Thank you for raising such a wonderful son. You and Faye did a great job with him. And thank you for welcoming me instantly into your family almost 14 years ago. You’ll always be my favorite father-in-law.”

Without Words

 The perfect Bible verse for those brokenhearted, speechless times.

I’ve never been the speechless type – one at a loss for words. 

Growing up, my mom told me that we only got so many words in life, and I would probably run out of them by the time I was a teenager because I talked so much. Of course, it took me years to realize she was joking, but she had a point – I was quite talkative.

But these days, I find myself without words.

My lovely roommate from my college days was just diagnosed with a serious case of cancer about a month ago. She’s my age – 36, and a wonderful mother of three young kids. 

When I received the news, I was devastated. I quickly thought of how vibrant, and full of life and love she is, always putting her family and friends first.

My heart broke, and I sat at my school desk, unable to think of how to respond in words. My salty sobs did the talking because there were simply no words to convey the heartbreak.

Fast forward to earlier this week when I got a call from one of my close friends about a medical problem she’s going through where there’s a malformation in the back of her brain. Neurologist and other specialists don’t quite know what this means, or what to make of the information yet. But they agree that it’s not typical.

This superwoman friend is a dedicated educator, mom of a brilliant youngster, and the sweetest friend anyone could ask for. As I read her text message, and then listened to the desperation in her voice when we talked, I found myself speechless once again. No words could I utter. My “I’m SO sorry” fell short, as I tried to choke back the tears that lumped in my throat.

Fast forward again to a few days ago around a school I happened to be visiting…

I heard some students’ comments about their home lives. 

One student doesn’t get hugged. Ever.

Another student wishes his/her parents would fill out the form for the Weekend Food Bag so that there’s dinner for the family to eat, but is discouraged that pride has gotten in the way.

Another student told me that he/she misses the family’s deceased loved one, and how lonely that feels.

Hearing all these comments, I found myself with no words. 

Once again, I sat, stunned at the news I was hearing, and knew that whatever I said would never be enough to make up for the pain that all these people around me are going through.

Searching for a word to describe how I feel about all this news has been difficult. It’s painful to watch those around you suffer physically and emotionally. I want to fix it all, and yet I’m helpless.

It makes me feel sad. 

Sad. Whenever my students use the word “sad” in their writing, I tell them that it’s not a “good adjective” and that they can think of a better one to enrich their writing. 

Yet, that is the perfect word to convey how I feel...
Unbelievably and overwhelmingly sad.

I’m sadden by the fact that cancer has no cure and takes lives of the young and old alike. 

I’m sadden that my beautiful roommate has to rearrange her life for chemo and worry about the outcome of her Littles as they watch their mamma suffer through the treatments.

I’m saddened by my educator friend whose brain is letting her down.
I’m saddened that she has to face the scary unknown at such a young age, and at a time where so many young kids, including her own child, depend on her.

I’m saddened that there are kids that I encounter almost daily who don't have their basic essentials met. They’re lonely, hungry, and starving for physical and emotional relief.

I’m part of such a broken world. And, when it hits close to home with the people I love and do life with, it gets difficult. I’m accepting that sometimes in life, there just aren’t words to express a broken heart.

But I think it’s ok to not always have the right words because there’s always prayer. Even in the most silent prayers, where my heart cannot express the emotion, I realize that God understands. He knows how speechless I am, and He still chooses to care.

Two Bible verses I cling to most in times where all I see is sadness and am not able to convey my feelings are:

Psalms 147:3 – “He heals the broken in heart, and binds up their wounds.”

2 Corinthians 12:9 – “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me."


Sometimes words don't come. But His promises will.

Lost Identity

My work does a Secret Pal program where you can draw a colleague’s name, and secretly leave them inspirational notes, candy, and gifts throughout the year. At the end of the school year, there’s a reveal party where you get to find out your pal’s identity.

When I sat down to complete the “All About Me” form for this program, I noticed the questions were quite thorough.

Coffee…yes / no
Candles…yes / no
Books…yes / no

I was whizzing through the answers, until I came to the section that asked, “What do you do in your free time?”

I’m pretty sure you could hear crickets chirp as I sat, stumped, staring at the question. Frustrated, my head swarmed with different thoughts.

“I love to travel!” I thought. “But I barely leave the house these days because of Jude’s meltdowns.”

“I like to hike!”
But, I haven’t been hiking in over a year because it’s impossible to watch Jude on the rocky trails.

I felt lost. “I have no idea what I do in my free time!” I sighed.

So, I wrote, “What free time?!”

That was the moment that I realized that my identity was somewhat lost. I knew what I liked to do in my previous, before-I-had-kids life, but as an exhausted mom, I had no clue!

This really bothered me. I don’t want to lose interest in my passions and hobbies that make me who I am. Yet, as I sit here typing this, that is exactly what has happened.

Realizing this, I started having raw conversations with other moms about what they do in their free time. They answered the same way, “What free time?”

One mom admitted that she had no energy to focus on herself by the end of the week, let along each day. Another mom said that she used to love to read, but now chooses sleep over reading. Every mom that I encounter in my circle of friends seem to have lost her identity at some point along the way in life.

While this is unfortunate, it was also soothing for me to hear. As moms, we go, go, go. We’re always thinking about others, especially our family, and rarely focus any time, energy, and talents on ourselves. Perhaps it’s the way we’re wired?

Whatever the reason is, I don’t like not being able to answer that question. I should be able to list at least one or two things I enjoy in my free time that helps make me unique. I don’t want my identity to be lost in a lifestyle that doesn’t reflect my passions and interests. So how do I fix this?

I guess I’m about to head down a road of self-discovery... and just when I thought I knew everything about myself. While I’m self-aware, I’m also lost.

Anyone identify?

Thoughts on how to build my “free time” into a “my passions” time? 

September Setback

I was going along well, adapting to my new job working with at-risk Special Needs students, when suddenly I was put into a position that caused me to take on a different role. The new role brought three times the amount of work and stress with it, even though it’s the best option for all parties involved. So I went from soaring through August, to barely bobbing with my head above water in the endless sea of exhaustion and time management during September. How suddenly the tide had changed!

“Great,” I thought, "Now I’m a working mom with absolutely nothing to give her kids at the end of the long, frustrating days."

September messed up my family’s schedule… all the make-ahead dinners didn’t get made. Take-out food was ordered in bulk at an all-time high. And while we did manage to make the boys eat with us around the dinner table, we were too mentally beaten to even have an intelligent conversation with them.

Because I was working three times as hard with this new position, I brought work home. This affected the fact that I couldn’t be the “glue” that held our nightly routine together. Sandy was no longer given walks, even though she was in the middle of being trained as a therapy dog. Jason usually did those, and Jason was busy trying to deal with the boys, dinner, and dishes because I was simply too weary to help. I came home, changed to pajamas, and instantly plopped down on the bed on countless occasions.

During September, this negative transition my family went through upset me greatly. I couldn’t keep up with my colleague who doesn't have young kids at home, and could spend hours nightly providing my principal and team with the best researched resources. 

I couldn’t make most of my boys’ schools events such as “Muffins with Mom” and the Scholastic Bookfair. Heck, I couldn’t even show up to help train Sandy so that she could get her therapy dog certification on the date she was projected.

I found myself being somersaulted around, like a young girl on the scary, rickety, country fair rides, between the Bitter-O-Whirl and the Hurling Rocket. I was bitter. I was sick. And my life was hurling out of sync before my very eyes.

Finally, I somehow survived and made it to Fall Break. 

Fall Break…a teacher’s right of passage to remind her that she needs to stop and take time to realize that she’s more than a lesson-making, paper-grading, at-times-glorified-babysitter-to-little-loves-whose-parents-think-they-can-do-no-wrong, data-analyzing, under-paid worker who doesn’t have her life in check. 

Now, I love teaching and children, otherwise, I wouldn’t be in my tenth year of education. But, I will take anyone on who thinks that teachers don’t need more breaks.

I spent night one of Fall Break at a pumpkin farm with my family, and day one on a 'real' farm, with some of my favorite friends. During these events, I found my heart-rate dropped (at least according to my Fitbit) and that I could breathe. I even had time to sit down with my husband over coffee and go over our bills. (This was devastating when we realized how much we had paid for food for eating out several times a week.) But, the fact was, we now are getting back on track because we took the time and had the energy to focus on a plan.

A break… It’s just what the hypothetical doctor had ordered!

And as I think back through the month of September and how difficult it was, I don’t want to return to it. In a week, I go back to the grind, to the same job that caused me to be drained in the first place. But, I plan to take back a different perspective – one where I refuse to take as much work home. One where I acknowledge and accept that I cannot keep up with that perfect teammate who has no young kids at home, and one where I tell myself that whatever I do is enough.

I remember my student teaching years, when a wise teacher across the hall once told me, “Angela, teaching is all about balance. You will never be able to get it all done, but if you don’t take care of yourself, then you’ll get even less done.”

So to all you working moms out there – those who work both outside and inside the house - I challenge you to start taking care of yourself. I have reassured myself that October will not be the same setback for my family that September was.  

Mom Guilt

To all you mom friends who are fortunate enough to stay home during the day with your children, I want to give you a SHOUT-OUT for all your hard work! But this specific post is for my Working-Outside-The-Home moms who are trying to balance a career and motherhood...

God knew what kind of mom you'd be, and still
chose to specifically place your children
in YOUR care. 

I recently had a conversation with one of my teacher friends about how her first year of teaching is going. Like most educators (or even working moms for that matter), she felt overwhelmed by everything her new career entails. That wasn’t what troubled her the most... She's struggling with Mom Guilt.

Mom Guilt – when you don’t get to spend as much QUANTITY time with your kid. And even when you try to make up for it, the time isn’t always as QUALITY as you had hoped.

If there’s one common thread that binds all us moms together, it’s MOM GUILT. 

We like to describe ourselves as nourishing, caring individuals who put our family’s needs above our own. And on most occasions, that description is quite accurate.

But then there are those times….

Those times when we have to stay a little later at work because something came up.

Those times we try to not to mentally and physically take work home so we can separate home and work life.

Those times we struggle to live in the moment because our mind races with a thousand things we need to get done.

Those times when we look at our overcrowded schedules, wondering how we’re going to fit in one more appointment, time for friends and family, and still have energy to be a rock star at work.

Those times we look into the bright eyes of the little humans we’re raising and think, “I need just 5 minutes of “me” time away from you.

Those times when we hide in the dark bedroom closet stuffing our face with potato chips in hopes that the kids will work their problems out on their own and fend for themselves for ten minutes. (Hypothetically speaking of course. 😏😉)

The point is that MOM GUILT is everywhere and affects every mother I know. 

Like my dear friend, I too struggle with it.

I’d love to be able to give my boys hours of undivided attention playing in the backyard, followed by a bath and bedtime story each evening when I get home from work. But in reality, between speech therapy and OT sessions, piano lessons, and church events, I know that won’t happen. 

Do I feel guilty about it? 

Of course I do. 

But over time, I’ve come to realize not to be so hard on myself with these things.

For all you moms out there who feel like you’re inadequately raising your child, I’m here to tell you that you’re not. 

You are ROCKING parenthood! 

Your kids are clothed, fed, and loved. Their physical and emotional needs ARE being met, even if it’s not in the way you always envision. They know that you have their backs and will be there for them always.  You’re showing them an example of a strong woman - one who supports her family and engages in selfless acts of kindness daily by spending what quality time with them you can even though you're exhausted.

This is enough.

YOU ARE ENOUGH…As a Child of God, spouse, friend, professional, citizen, and most importantly, as a mom.

YOU ARE A ROCK STAR MOM!🎸

I know that mom guilt won’t ever completely go away, but my prayer for you is that it’ll subside as you realize that your children are blessed to have you as a mom. After all, God specifically placed your children in your household, even though He knew the inner MOM GUILT struggles you’d have. 

Thus, YOU ARE ENOUGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Snapshots of Joy

Unless you’ve been living under a rock most of your life, you hear sayings like:

Show of hands – when you hear these “words of wisdom”, does a little man with an angry fist inside your head scream, “Shhh!"

If not, we cannot be friends. 

(kidding.)

Seriously though, we all have issues we deal with on the daily basis. I mean, after all, that’s life, right? And the older (and I dare add ‘more mature’) that we all get, the wiser we become. We realize that life isn’t fair and that both wonderful and crummy things happen to us.

Well, the past year of my family’s life has been quite crummy to say the least. We’ve had better seasons of life, and we’ve had more tragic seasons of life. But, this has by far been the crummiest, toughest season.

For my family, the crummy season started back at the end of August 2016, when three weeks into a new school year, Jude stated having seizures. And since that August, it never really let up for what my children have endured.

As I was going through the start of this crummy season, it was easy to get burdened and depressed about the events surrounding us. One morning, I was praying over the desks of where my students sat before the school day began when a thought occurred to me...

I should find one thing each day that brings me joy, 

a daily blessing of sort, 

and stop to take a 'mental Polaroid' of it in my mind.

It’s a simple revelation, I know. 

But, it’s one that became life altering for me! I began that day. 

It’s interesting how such a simple thing can really change perspective and help keep me in check.

I admit that it hasn’t always been easy. There’s been days where I think that life stinks, and I struggle to find the joys of life. 

Or days that I come back to the same 'joy Polaroid snapshot' again and again because I'm just trying to survive the day. (It’s usually a mental picture of my half-made comfy bed at the end of a long day at work.)

Over time though, what I have discovered is that more things bring me joy than I originally realized. I have never stopped to focus on the positives. It's way too easy to get absorbed in the negatives of life. I've had to train my mind to overcome these harmful, pessimistic thoughts.

It’s been close to a year since I started this mental exercise. Some of the things on my list include:

• Watching my students develop a love for literacy before my very eyes
• A word of encouragement (my love language) from an administrator
• Jude’s hugs
• Sunlight flickering through really cool trees (I have a thing for trees.)
• Jacob telling a story (He's quite animated!)
• Hitting a green light at the right time when driving
• Seeing the “full” light when I fill my car’s tank with gas

You get the picture.

As you can see, these things aren’t large by the world’s standards of “Grand Achievements” or “Lifetime Moments”, but they’re all important in their own way. They cause me to smile, breathe, and in that moment, think positively. They all have meanings behind them that I associate with the blessings I see in my everyday life.

My daily "joy Polaroid snapshots” are the sugar to life’s lemonade I’ve made with the lemons that have been thrown my way. Because as they say:

The Importance of Mental Health

I've come to realize that kids have the same feelings & struggles
adults do. Then why do we try to make them
behave as though they're perfect?

When I say the words “mental health”, what images conjure in your head?

Perhaps feelings of contentment sweep over you like a fresh breeze as you think of things that bring you peace - a yoga class, the beautiful beach on a warm day, or getting lost in a lovely melody of favorite music.

For some people, they may associate the term “mental health” with the thought of lying on an uncomfortable, ugly couch, pouring out repressed thoughts and feelings to an overpaid “shrink”.  

Me?

Well, that second response was actually mine.

Notice the word “WAS”. 

It’s not my response now though.

So what changed?

Well, my definition of "mental health" changed, all because of the journey a dear little boy had to take. A little boy whom I love dearly. My Jacob. 

Jacob’s infant and toddlerhood was ideal. Jason and I spent lots of time and money invested in him, as he was our ‘miracle child’ after our daughter’s death. (I shared a little of her story in the last entry, The Power of Friendship.)

Jason and I took Jacob to museums and zoos, exploring cities and caves, and even jetted him to Ireland on a once-in-a-lifetime family vacation when he was 3 ½. He quickly developed an extensive vocabulary, a love for music of all kinds, and an interest in books.

Everything seemed fine. 

He was happy. We were happy.

When Jacob was four years old, he started saying that he didn’t like himself, which concerned his dad and me. He seemed to have trouble with peers in preschool, and he was moodier than usual. Kindergarten seemed to get a little better for him at first, but then the same problems reoccurred.

As a parent, I was trying desperately to “fix” the problems at home. I tried more discipline by taking away screen time and loss of privileges. I tried sticker charts and reward systems. Nothing seemed to work, and by the time that first grade came around, Jacob seemed more out-of-control than he ever had.

He was having difficulty focusing in school and at home. He was argumentative, defiant, and didn’t have a good handle on his emotions. He was sad one moment, then fearful, and then joyful the next, all within a time frame of five minutes. What bothered me the most were the harsh, negative things he would say about himself.

During this time, I started thinking that I had completely failed as a mom. I even started blaming myself for how Jacob was behaving. I started the dangerous paths of “if maybes”.

“If maybe I would have been stricter, Jacob would have acted better.”

“If maybe Jacob had a better mom <<like so & so >>, then he would be a happier child.”

“Maybe I’m not meant to be a mom. What if my kid can’t ever get better?”

I finally recognized that I was at a crossroads in my parenting. So, I did the only thing I could think to do. I confronted the view I had of mental health, took a deep breath, called up a counselor, and made an appointment for Jacob.

When I met the counselor, she was definitely not the “overpaid shrink” I envisioned from my earlier description. She didn’t even own an ugly couch to lie on either. Her office was decorated with colorful rugs, inspirational quotes, and comfy chairs. She had a treasure box full of prizes, a bin with stuffed animals, and board games. And she greeted Jacob and me both with a large genuine smile.

To my surprise, talking with her didn’t cause my world to collapse. Actually, the contrary happened. Jacob started learning coping skills to deal with his anger. I started learning parenting strategies to implement. And, the counselor’s recommendations helped get the diagnosis process started for Jacob.

“DIAGNOSIS”.
That word was very tough for me to swallow at first.

No mom wants to hear that her child may have something “wrong” with him. Through the process of seeking answers, what I learned turned out to be invaluable to me, not only as a mom, but as a teacher.

I’ve always tried to show kindness and compassion to my students and their families, but found that this journey allowed me to add on a layer of empathy that wasn’t there before. It made all the difference too! I’m more confident as an educator, more understanding as a friend, stronger as a mom, and kinder as a human being in general.

I’m slowly learning not to blame myself for what Jacob went through, and continues to go through on the daily basis.

So, what about Jacob’s mental health now?

Well, after several appointments the past few months, we finally have the diagnoses and a plan in place. 

Jacob has DMDD (Disruptive Mood Dysregulation Disorder), ADHD (impulsive/hyperactive), and Sensory Modulation Disorder.

He takes medicine for the ADHD, continues to attend individual and family counseling with us to help with the DMDD, and has started Occupational Therapy to help with the Sensory Modulation Disorder. The OT is also working with him to strengthen his core, and reinforce the coping strategies he’s learning from his counselor.

Jacob’s journey has also helped me realize the importance of mental health, and even redefine it. So now what images conjure in my mind when I think of “mental health”?

I see…

*Some medicine, but not a lot.
*A smiling counselor’s face.
*An OT’s tailored intervention sessions.
*Prayer from friends and church Small Group.
*Encouragement and support from my pastors.
*A new respect for students in the classroom setting.
*And most importantly, a little brown-headed boy, whom I love dearly, knowing that he’s loved and that he has what it takes to be successful and happy in life.