Playing the Victim

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I was once set a meme on facebook that said

Some days it feels a little bit more like Hostage Negotiating with a band of drunken Bi-Polar Pirates than actual parenting

I laughed hard and agreed, liked the post that had been put on my wall and I walked away.

Later, that day I suddenly started to feel like a victim of parenting, yes, a victim …. Crazy, right?

It seems ridiculous typing this out.

Where was my normal parenting experience, why was I the one dealing with schools, doctors and other people’s judgement when it was clearly not my doing, I had in no shape or formed created this but here I was dealing with everything.

I wanted rainbows and sunny smiles but instead I got lies, stealing, punches, kicks, destruction and verbal abuse.

The crazy did not feel normal, and someone needed to take responsibility for the crazy in my life.

I would blame myself for their bad behavior, I would blame myself for their destruction of their own property and others property.

I would blame myself for their defiance of me and wonder why others couldn’t see it.

Then when they did behave badly at school or out in public I would also take on that responsibility.

I punished myself when I lost my temper, going nose to nose with a child screaming my lungs out, I told myself I was a bad mom that they would be better off without me. It scared me that I was capable of so much rage and anger.

I felt like I was the person who was putting everyone else’s mistakes right

I once verbally spoke out to a friend that I truly believed that in the small hours of the night they would get up and decide who was going to play bad child and who was going the play good child, that they purposely went out of their way to ruin a perfectly good day.

Sometimes you must break the cycle of self-criticism  , and it can take all sorts of situation to bring you to that point for me it was my oldest screaming at me that I was no better than her. It took me a few minutes to realize who her was but when the penny did drop I understood who he meant – Bio mom

That stopped me in my tracks, I didn’t know her really our only encounters where when I would either hand the kids of to her on a Friday or in some cases tell her the oldest didn’t want to go with her and I wouldn’t be making him, yes, I did that on many occasions, but that is a subject for another time.

So, who she was as a “mother” I had no idea, but what I did know was I didn’t want to be that person he saw her as.

My thinking had to change and it needed to change quick ……

I didn’t want to sit on the steps of the deck outside at night and cry

I wanted to stop hiding in the bathroom wishing the whole world would just be quiet

I defiantly wanted to stop moaning to my husband when he got home at night that HIS kids where monsters and he needed to deal with it.

And the shame needed to go away and the temper

Time to stop being the victim

I needed to look at them as children who were hurting, traumatized and feeling alone and I needed to see myself as the person who was going to love them through it all.

I couldn’t fix all their problems in a day but I could manage to make their day a little brighter just by realizing I wasn’t the victim here

I told myself repeatedly (until I believed it) this didn’t happen to me it happened to them, they were the ones hurting and I blaming myself, feeling sorry for myself and raging all over the place wasn’t helping … time to step up and be the adult.

Easier said than done, I know

The hardest bit is feeling like you are being the parent and she (bio mom) is getting to be the Disney mom.

Can you relate?

Maybe you can maybe just as a step mom with children who don’t display any problems. Maybe as a mom who is raising her birth children you can relate.

Or as a foster parent with a child with RAD or other attachment issues you can relate.

I think we all can relate … I’m not a special case, I’m just one case among many who has felt like a victim on this road of rising children in whatever shape of precious form they come in

We are not alone, there are others out there that feel like I do and how you do. It’s just not all of us say it, we don’t admit to it for the fear of being judged and shamed for not being the prefect parent.

And if you are by any chance the prefect parent could you please give the rest of us some advice on how you manage it all. I know I for one would love to hear from you.

So, to all the imperfect, amazingly flawed, beautifully inappropriate, angry stomping victims, who can confess to being out of control mother’s, I applauded you and salute you ….

You are my super hero’s

It’s not funny

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(Don’t Look Back)

The other day whilst driving in the car with my husband and two children it was suggested I could write a book based on our experiences as a blended family and the diagnoses of a reactive attachment disorder.

My first thoughts where “hell no” who wants to write that all down, but instead I replied “The only book I could write about either or both subjects no one would want to read because without humor it would be the most boring book in the world, and let’s face it no one finds RAD funny”

RAD isn’t funny, there is nothing humorous about it at all.

Let’s go back some six years to where it all started, well in fact it is ten years but the first two years where a whole different ball game and I will maybe touch on that later.

So, 2008 the school year is coming to an end, yes, I was relieved, the school year had been what I would refer to as a poop show, one problem after another. I had quit my job as a salon manager because that was better than being let go due to the fact I was always being called out of work to go deal with one problem or another at the school.

And even when I was there my mind would be on other things like, is the phone going to ring telling me that said child has done said thing and I need to come deal said problem, or my mind would be going ten to the dozen with what they could maybe be up to.

So, the last day of the school year came with open arms and a loving heart, the only problem was we couldn’t afford for me to be a SAHM but at the same time we couldn’t afford for me not to be, if that makes any sense at all.

That last day was what I would call life changing, most say life changing in a positive way, this was like “oh my life drop me of the face of the earth now will ya”

I had been called into the school in the morning to talk with, well her official title was “school guidance counselor”

I can think of a few other choice titles.

All I remember about this meeting was my daughter aged six in first grade was in trouble again, yes again it was a regular occurrence. Acutely it was a daily occurrence and if she went a day without getting into trouble you would wonder what was wrong with her.

The words I remember were “Your daughter is tapped in the head and I suggest you take her to see a neurologist as there is nothing else we can do to help her”

How professional was that?

At the time, and in my defense of not going off on her like a crazed mad woman, I was a new mom,

Quick brief history – Recently married, new country, new culture, new mom

I married a man who had two children from his previous marriage and they were living with him, we were also living with his mom, so life was pretty adventure for want of a better word.

I was desperate to fit in and be liked, I was the stranger in town and boy didn’t I know it, small town mentality was rife.

So, for me to explode on this so-called guidance counselor just didn’t feel right, well that’s a lie it did feel right but the desperate person who wanted to be liked just couldn’t do it and so I just nodded and left the room.

Gathered my child up and headed home in a daze.

The next couple of days where spend in front of a computer trying my best to find some sort of reasoning to their behavior.

Yes, that guidance counselor had hit a nerve was she wrong in what she said “NO”

Was she wrong in how she said it “YES”

Were there problems ….. YES, big ones

Was life about to change, No, but we were about to take a new road.