I’ve been up half the night. Not because ADHD boy has been turning night into day again. No. Because two kind of weird things happened yesterday.
And they triggered discussions and memories and thoughts that I’m uncomfortable with.
We’re attending a class at the moment, to try to help us deal with Aden’s problems. A group of parents sit together and we listen to a trained advisor and each other.
Yesterday, the advisor (I can’t think of a better word to describe her, I just know she has training and experience and has got to know our kids) asked us about our own upbringing.
She asked if our parents were more authoritative or liberal or a mix.
The question took me aback. I hadn’t expected our own childhoods to be approached at all. And I flapped around thinking what I should say.
Luckily for me, one guy decided that was exactly the right moment to pour his heart out and being on a time schedule, the advisor reeled it in and I escaped the question.
On the one hand I wanted to give the guy a comforting hug but on the other I felt relief that I didn’t have to revisit my past.
Then, at home, the new Facebooker in the family (my second eldest is finally allowed an account) received an angry message from my brother.
I’m presuming that he must be pretty angry, why else would he include this sentence in his message to a 13yo (who had not contacted him at all):
“Unfortunately the bevaviour of your mother and the callousness with which she has treated your nana and grandad, your aunty L and myself means that this situation will never be resolved.”
The ‘situation’ being that we’ve all fallen out.
To be honest, I’m fed up of being depicted as the bad guy.
I am many things: untidy, forgetful, clumsy, sometimes selfish, and emotional. I panic on motorways (even when others are driving) and I think my laugh is too loud. I embarrass myself when I’m drunk. I get really stressed and think about things too much. I forget people’s names (even my own on occasions) and I have a tendency toward obsessive behaviour (though unfortunately not in the cleaning and tidying department). I can also get pretty damn cross.
I am battered. I am worn out. I’ve been abused.
I am the black sheep of the family. I am different. But I am not, I repeat, I am not, callous.
Last night I could not sleep because that’s unfair. To me and to my daughter.
It all has to STOP. Now.
Otherwise, I’ll also be broken.