The boy

Today is just one of those days where you sit and reflect on purpose, direction, and a potential plan of action. Lately I’ve just been feeling as though I lack something in my life. I’m sitting here drinking a hot cup of coffee, wondering how many grams of sugar are in the creamer I just put in it…

“Maybe I should watch my sugar intake…?”

“No, that’s silly. You do you girl. Just make smarter food choices…” (mentally fist-bumps myself) 

“….but maybe, just maybe… my skin would clear up and the inflammation would subside…?”

This. I just cycle endlessly through seemingly pointless thoughts. Do I need to make changes? Am I over thinking this?

My husband thinks I overthink everything. He’s probably right…

I met with my son’s teacher on Thursday. He’s scoring on the low end of the scale when it comes to reading. His writing output is terrible. Socially, he struggles. And last year we had a time period when he was depressed and talked about suicide on the daily. There was one incident where he pulled a kitchen knife out of the drawer, held it to his throat, and screamed at us that he was going to kill himself. As a mother, it shook me to my core. What am I doing wrong? What could I be doing more of? I wanted to hug him and put his broken heart back together. I went to him, pulled him in tight, and he punched me repeatedly. He didn’t want to be held – he wanted space. He was so angry and sad. All I could do was cry with him.

We saught help from a paediatrician, who ran some tests and diagnosed him as ADHD-IA (inattention) and GAD, which Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Along with this, his bloodwork showed a severe Vitamin D deficiency – this can affect mood. Basically he lacks the attention, and focus, and he feels anxiety when the pressure to perform presents itself. Meaning his self esteem is shot, he fears failing – therefore won’t try. He can’t stand to lose, and he gets VERY overwhelmed when he doesn’t understand something or gets it wrong. The teacher noticed that he’s been “off” and his academics are suffering. We met with the Special Education teacher who has also been working with him for the last few years. We discussed things we needed to work on, and possible suggestions to help him work on organizational skills and writing.

The hardest thing to hear was how his social skills are lacking. As an 8 year old – your social life IS life. He gets picked last, the kids make fun of him, and he gets into fights with other kids. My heart. I know he’s awkward, and can be explosive. But he’s also just the sweetest boy.

He’s so sentimental and cuddly. He’s helpful and passionate. He loves to help his little sister, and he loves to just hang with mom. And he says just the sweetest things.

“Mom, I don’t need money to be rich. I’m already rich – rich with love and family…”

Ugh. My hearrrrrrrt.

I wish the world could see him through my eyes. But I know they can’t. And they won’t. That’s the reality of life. All I can do is teach him the basic fundamentals of life: how to do your laundry, pay bills, make a good meal, be respectful, and maybe how throw a right hook.

As I sit here sipping my now-cold coffee, I wonder: maybe there is more I could do, as a mother and wife and friend. Maybe I could do better by my son, and help him be more successful and happy. Am I doing all that I can? Should I be home with him more? Did my divorce mess him up that much? Does he need more counselling? Maybe a tutor?

Maybe, just maybe, he’s going to be fine. And being an 8 year old is hard, after all. But all we can do is love them, guide them, and be here when they need us.

And maybe, I am overthinking this.

(Don’t tell my husband that 😉)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s