The Joys of Parenting

Ah the joys of parenting a seventeen year old daughter. I thought my struggles were everyday things, such as making out of bed without puking, or remembering where I was. This week my daughter Kat has taken that all to a new level by acting out and disrespecting me. Just when I thought she finally understood, what added stress does to someone with TBI, she whammies me. My body reacts by tensing up in a ball, and the voice in my head just begs, "Please no, don't do it!" Yes, she has been told, a stressed out mommy means more time in a wheelchair for me, but I think most teenagers don’t think too much about others. No matter what bumps she hits, I still have to be on top of my game enough to react and parent her. Kat is a mastermind at pushing my buttons, and I just want to wave a big white flag above my head and beg for mercy. I admittedly just can’t take the stress, as it turns in to overwhelming self-blame. The stress mounts itself and manifests as increased short term memory loss and an increase in my balance problems. Simply means a boat load of really bad days, of me barley leaving the house, and when I do I have constant feelings of being lost which cause anxiety attacks that just flank each other. Also, bad balance keeps me needing the assistance of a wheelchair or walker, so I tend to greatly restrict where I go, and frankly I’m far away from accepting my thirty-eight year old once extremely active self in this condition. Like I said, for me it is mounting. My daughter Kat, clearly still needs me to be on top of my game, and is dealing with losing her father to suicide two and a half years ago, so the last thing I want to happen is for Kat to feel unloved or not important. The struggle of finding some balance between trying to be that 100% kickass parent and giving myself enough space to heal is still a mystery. Taking it day by day does sound great but doesn't work for me, because as many TBI survivors, and Virgo's know, worrying is just what we do. In need of a practical solution, I sacrifice myself for Kat's needs. A no frills, downright real description of what it looks like for me to track down Kat, a six foot tall super model pretty blond girl on the fourth of July follows. After Kat is an hour late I take to foot on the beach she was dropped off at four hours prior. Trying to stay on the walking path because I have trouble on uneven ground, my heart racing, and fists clenched,  I walk as fast as I can, amazed at myself for not having any walking assistance, but also terrified at the police helicopters lighting up and circling above this downtown Long Beach, California area. I’m telling myself not to look up as my walking quickly starts veering off to the side and off the concrete path. The drug addicts and drunks are all that are left out after curfew and very aware of my safety, I pretend not to notice a gentleman, probably a good two hundred pounds more than me, breaking into a car to my left. As fights occurring on the other side of me, I look down at myself, and feel grateful I was wearing an oversized sweatshirt and long shorts, which is nothing that will attract unwanted attention from anyone. I try to look straight ahead so I do not make eye contact with anyone, and want so badly to watch behind me, but I know what quickly turning my head without holding on to something will do- cause me to fall hard on the ground, looking more vulnerable. Horrified, I make it about a mile when I get a call, saying Kat is now at the pick-up location, some two hours late, but gratefully in one piece. Now at a section of the beach where there is about a hundred steep stairs to walk up to get to the road, I am cursing my daughter's name left and right. Awaiting double hip surgery, I have grand plans to inform my carless teenage daughter about the physical pain she has caused me. After getting Kat home safely it takes me a couple days to cool down. I get it, this is just teenager stuff, but I also feel like I just don’t have the stamina to deal with it.  Do I try to live by the, "if you love something let it go" theory? Or clamp down harder on rules and drive myself insane when Kat breaks them? I hate that I have to take my health in consideration when doing my God given duty of raising this soon to be an adult. The better I feel the more quality mother daughter time I'll have with Kat, and I just want to maximize those days so damn bad. Now knowing the TBI diagnosis, I find myself constantly reflecting, and like probably a huge majority of people I share this diagnosis with; it often leads me to wishing I had my old life back for a thousand reasons. What else can I do, or we do, but just try to remember to take a breath and sit with these feelings? Though I know my daughter is stronger because of my struggles, and will most likely be hugely successful someday because of these hurdles we face, I still have to make it a strong priority to have this thought enter my mind before the mounting self-destructive thoughts regain control. Ah the joys of parenting.