Emo – diversity

Yesterday, I went to visit my son at Stonewater, which is a residential treatment center. It’s not intuitive to hand over your child to someone else’s care when they are struggling, but that is what I did fourteen months ago.

Then I signed up for weekly Adult Children of Alcoholics meetings, and I joined a Monday night virtual parent call – a gathering of parents whose child is in treatment, had been in treatment, or had just left treatment. If you are a parent with a struggling teen and want to be understood, join one of these parent calls. The parents on these calls have experienced it all – from making difficult decisions to get their child help to learning how to support them while also learning to parent themselves.

After a delicious Thanksgiving meal outside, under a large white tent, on a colorful fall day, Tin and I went for our traditional walkabout. He told me what he is working on with his therapist, what he feels he wants to go deeper into, and why. We talked about how he felt about those things and why they were important enough for him to address now.

I walked and remained curious – stopping my overthinking before it began. My friend Susie has advised me to stay curious since Tin was young – just stay open, stay curious. That seems like an easy thing to do but when you are a parent, with your own fears and trauma, it is not easy in practice.

Before I saw Tin, the parents had done a workshop with one of my favorite therapists of all time – Jeff Noles – who is now the clinical director at Stonewater. I wish I could have a tape recording of something he said to me because it just reframed my entire thinking in five minutes. I was talking about Tin, in his early school years. A psychologist had visited his classroom and noted that all eyes were always on Tin. If Tin reacted, the class reacted, if Tin cut up, the students cut up and so on. She said Tin was the leader in the class and this is why when he disrupted class the teacher would single him out.

When Tin was in middle school I moved him to a school closer to us. I had been in court with Tatjana trying to get him into a smaller classroom setting for a very long time because he struggled academically and was starting to fall behind. The story I told in the parent meeting was that Tin had always been the leader, and when he could no longer academically keep up with his peers, he became the leader of the lost boys. He gravitated to students who struggled more than him.

I cannot recall Jeff’s exact words, but they were so beautiful. He said, I could see how that would be uncomfortable, to be around peers who were succeeding when he was not. I could see where Tin’s preference would be to hang around peers who were struggling. I might ask him how it felt. Was it better to choose not to be around those peers, and did it feel more comfortable around the ones who were facing more challenges. Was it easier for him? Did he gain from being in their company?

Jeff said, if you ever get the full story, the context of his story will make sense.

I come from Generation Jones, the generation that followed the Baby Boomers. My parents were from The Silent Generation whose parenting style still included physical punishment, and mantras such as children should be seen and not heard – parents who taught us to tamp down big emotions. My son is Generation Z, kids who are connected 24/7, yet so disconnected from true human relationships that they are anxious and sputter in face to face contact.

The boys I have met who have been in residence with Tin all have in common a rickety platform of self-worth – some were born with it, some acquired it, some were traumatized into it, yet all are learning an invaluable lesson in how to experience the expanse of their feelings. We all possess an emotional diversity of feelings – emo diversity is a thing I am learning about.

As we walked, Tin asked me about our dogs and I told him about each of their peculiarities, and Tin said it made him sad – sad that something might happen to our older dog and he might not see her before he comes home. I said I hear you are worried that Stella is getting older. It is sad to think of a time when Stella won’t be with us anymore. “She’s been with me almost my whole life,” Tin said. Sad is a feeling I thought. I told him how I know I’ll be sad on Thanksgiving day because I won’t be with him. Sad is a feeling I can handle I told myself.

Fourteen months seems a long time for your child to be away from home, but healing trauma, generational trauma, takes time and is a slow going process. The icing on this cake is I am healing alongside him. My son pulled me into his healing journey while all along I thought I was pulling him into mine. Walking around with Tin at Stonewater felt like I was witnessing the re-birth of a fully formed human being – one whose layers have started to peel away meticulously to reveal a divine light – I freely admit to always having seen it in him – yet I came away from the day so hopeful for him and his peers I was bursting with many emotions – joy, satisfaction, serenity, excitement, gladness, delight and a deep sense of well-being.

There were a few boys whose parents had not come for the visit. Some of the boys had not phased up for a visit and some parents had not come. There were five boys alone at a table when we wrapped up our day – Tin whispered, “Mom, could you go hug him, he is really missing his parents.” So I went over to the boys and said, “Y’all need to give me a hug,” and each of the five got up willingly and hugged me for as long as I’d hug them, and I could feel that despite their generation’s disability they each knew intrinsically what it feels like to connect with another person IRL. They gave me hope.

[Thank you for reading my writing; I love hearing from you
and would love to gather your responses here, instead of on social media.
Note: emojis show up as a ?? on my site.]