Guilt Is A Four Letter Word

Ahh, guilt.  Along with regret, one of the most useless, futile and absurd of all human emotions.  And yet, almost all of us feel it at one time or another, to varying degrees.  Currently, I am experiencing guilt-overload, and it is crushing.

I've always been a guilty person. (No, not THAT kind of guilty!) I am a people-pleaser.  I want everyone around me to be happy, and to like me.  I feel so bad if anyone is put out, inconvenienced or upset. That has meant conflict avoidance (even when confrontation was really what was necessary) and some bottling up of emotion. Totally unhealthy.  But the guilt I've been experiencing lately is even worse -- Parent Guilt. The most intense of all the guilts, in my opinion.

Ever since my husband and I were told of my Little Guy's potential (probable) ADHD, our lives have really changed. I've, of course, being a mom, have scoured the Internet doing research. We've been a lot more patient with him, knowing a lot of his behaviors he just can't help.  But along with changes in our family life, there has also been guilt piling up on me.

I feel guilty...
about the expectations I had for my children.  My husband and I were always part of the sports-related crowd.  I was a cheerleader, he played lacrosse and soccer. We had friends growing up and were always part of a fun group of friends.  I always expected my children to be the same.  But, neither of them are athletes, and both are a little young for their age...especially my Little Guy.  His teacher has noticed he has some problems relating to the other kids, which is a hallmark of ADHD. I feel guilty sometimes that he struggles with friendship. I wish it were easier for him. I feel guilty that I sometimes wish they were what I'd imagined them to be.

I feel guilty...
about the kind of mother I am.  Is my Little Guy's ADHD caused by something I did? Did I let him watch to much television? Do I fail in making sure he has the best nutrition? Did I expose him to some toxin in his bottles, toys, anything? What did I do wrong??

I feel guilty...
about talking to people about ADHD. Sometimes, it feels like all my conversations, regardless of where they started, come back around to it.  I don't want to be someone that no one wants to talk to because THIS is all they talk about (hello? People pleaser!!).  So instead, I just find myself retreating into myself...and bottling emotions.

I feel guilty...
about being so worried.  I have friends with children who are struggling with issues that are way bigger than ADHD. There are lots of people who suffer from ADHD; where do I get off being so consumed?  There are so many people out there with far more consequential, even life-threatening, concerns for their kids.  This is nothing compared to what others have to endure.

I feel guilty...
about my Big Guy. Dealing with an ADHD child requires a ton of patience and temper-control (one of the first things I read about it was the importance of remaining positive).  What patience and responsiveness can I possibly have left over for my Big Guy? Is he left wondering why all of our attention is directed his brother's way? We've explained the situation to him and he understands what's going on, but he's only 9. He's just a kid, too and even though he understands, it has to be impossible for him not to feel a little neglected.

I feel guilty...
about what choices we are going to make.  There are so many routes to take as far as treatment. Therapies, medications, diets -- so much to decide.  What if I choose poorly? I run all the possibilities in my head constantly, and I know I'll second guess everything we do. I feel more and more like a child instead of a parent...aren't the grown-ups supposed to decide and tell us what to do? Oh, I AM the grown-up? Well, it sure as hell doesn't feel like it; I am too scared and uncertain.

So, there it is. Logically, I know feeling guilty about all of the above (and more) a.) doesn't change anything, b.) might be a little ridiculous, and c.) doesn't do anyone any good.  But I still do. Writing all this down does help; I can see in black and white how silly and pointless some of this is. I know I need to (wo)man up and stop catering to the stupid, illogical guilt. My energies need to be focused solely on helping my sons (both of them) through this.

I'm trying.

But...I Don't Do Fear!

 "If there is one thing which I would banish from the earth, it is fear." 

-- Henry Ford

Yesterday, I read a blog post entitled, '10 Facts on Motherhood.' It struck me, (and other readers, judging by the comments), that while the truths she listed were entirely accurate, they also seemed counter-intuitive. Not that they didn't all apply (they absolutely do), but as an inclusive list, they seem to preclude one another. But as much as the list was accurate, the seeming contradiction is accurate, too. Wisdom and incompetence, resentfulness and joy, anger and appreciation -- yes, they are all felt deeply and simultaneously by mommies. Sometimes, all of them make an appearance in the space of only an hour.

My latest 'strengthener' (some may call them obstacles, but I've had so many of them that I refuse to characterize them that way) is a glaring example of this kind conflict in my own personality. On Thursday, my husband and I met with a team of educators from the elementary school my boys attend. We had this meeting scheduled for a while, and knew it was regarding our Little Guy's focus issues and his seeming inability to pay attention in school. I honestly wasn't that concerned about it. We had had the same meeting two years earlier for our older son. It was literally the exact same meeting -- the exact same team of our principal, the occupational therapist, the guidance counselor, the IST teacher and our first grade teacher and the exact same problems. Or so we thought.

Our previous meeting went a lot differently.

Big Guy got a sticker chart, with rewards for focusing in class each day. And the principal even said, 'Hes a first grade boy. If we're having this meeting in 5th grade, then there's a problem.' That was that, and by the next year it was fine. But, this time, the women's faces were much more serious. There was no 'he's just a little boy' dismissal. They had a different opinion. They felt we should have our Little Guy evaluated by our pediatrician for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD).

If you've read this blog before, you know I pride myself on my tenacity.  I live by the words perseverance, positivity and purpose. Not to toot my own horn, but I've been through a lot, health-wise. And I've come out the other side stronger, better, clearer. The arthritis, my stroke, all of it -- I've faced it as bravely as I could.  But here's where my conflict is. Now? I am scared.

Oh, how easy I find it to tell my arthritis brethren, "Just do it! Be brave! No excuses!" And here I am, shrinking and humbled by the possibility of ADHD for my boy. There are so many questions and so much information out there. How will this effect his education? Making friends? What are our treatment options? What are we going to do??  I am overwhelmed and frightened. I just want to grab my son, hide under the bed and squeeze him and not let go.

I am shaken and afraid, and we don't even have a diagnosis yet.

I have spent the last few days alternating between my stalwart self, and saying, "Bring. It. On. You don't know who you're messing with!" But in the next minute, I'm terrified for him. Am I going to choose the right path for him to succeed? Is he going to struggle throughout his life?  I don't know how I feel, but I do know I HATE being afraid. It's just not who I am.

Logically, I know two things. 1.) We don't have an official label of 'ADHD' yet, so I am definitely getting ahead of myself. And 2.) ADHD is NOT the worst thing a parent could have to deal with, and I'm learning there are positives that come from a brain that is wired a bit differently.

So for now, I'm holding tight to my logic, and trying to keep the resolute part of me at the forefront. I know that's what I need to do, and what my sweet son needs most from his mama right now.  As I look at his beautiful face and infectious smile, it's a little easier to believe that everything is going to be okay.