Author: Shari Brauner

Finding Enlightenment Instead of Blame When an Adult Child Goes to Therapy

We all know the stereotype — starting therapy puts a person straight on the path toward blaming their mother. So, when my 20-somethings decided to explore their lives through a psychological microscope, I braced for the impact of mother wounds starting to come my way. Hindsight had gifted me with a dose of unpleasant self-awareness, meaning I had taken ownership for my helicopter mom moments, mama bear confrontations, and enabler missteps. I figured it was only a matter of time until my culpability caught up with me and then something unexpected happened. 

Whose Eyes Were on Who?

As my babies grew into adults, I always counted on my maternal instinct to help me guide, nurture, and love them. Motherhood for me was beautifully all-consuming, which apparently skewed my vision away from the fact that my kids had their eyes on me too — taking in the ways I treated them, others, and especially myself all while I thought I was supposed to be watching them like a hawk. I understood my place as a role model, but the magnitude of that responsibility never fully registered until my kids started therapy.

Looking in the Mirror

As a young girl whose lineage included women with extra meat on their bones, I knew that if I ever had a daughter, she would most likely inherit the same gene pool I had. Being chunky (as we always called it) was something I struggled with until high school. And because those extra pounds were given the power to define me, I became especially sensitive to my daughter’s experience. Between mean kids and critical family members, I found it challenging to navigate the fine line between encouraging healthy food choices and pushing my daughter into an eating disorder. I wanted her to have higher self-esteem and self-worth than I did at her age, but what I didn’t realize was that no matter what I said to her, my actions were negating what I was working so hard to preach.

Years of therapy helped my daughter realize she disliked what she saw in the mirror because every woman in her family felt the same way. “I’m so fat” was probably the most overused sentence passed through the generations. We were taught that we had to be cognizant of our bodies — meaning that we had to hide them. Even after the baby fat had been shed, the distorted self-image remained and that’s what I had been teaching my daughter. Not through intentional words, but by setting the wrong example.

What’s Wrong With Wanting Them To Be Happy?

Raising my children with higher self-esteem than I had experienced was only part of my goal. I wanted them to be happy. When the teen years arrived, we started to have conversations about dating and choosing partners who would bring joy into their lives. Enter another therapy lesson that opened my eyes: What is the real meaning of happiness? Is it finding someone to share your life with or is it finding happiness within yourself? 

As someone who pleads guilty to always rooting for the fairy tale ending, it upset me to find out I had been leading my kids down the wrong path. Painful rejections and the pressure to be in a relationship became more destructive than helpful. I had always encouraged them to love themselves, but once again my actions were not meshing with my words. It took their therapy to teach me that being happy in their own skin should never have been devalued by the lack of a significant other.

No One Is Perfect

These are only two examples of the things I have learned through my children’s therapy experiences. The irony is that I have only been blamed once for the things I thought I did wrong. And when my son’s therapist called me an enabler, he defended me so fiercely that I thought her head would spin. I learned two things that day. Therapists are not always right and if my children don’t see my parenting choices causing harm to their lives, then no other opinion will ever matter.

Years into this experience, I can say I’m happy my kids grew into young adults who choose to work on themselves. As they benefit and blossom, I have let go of waiting for the blame. I welcome their lessons and my own. Because what could be better than all of us being enlightened together?

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

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Summer Through the Ages and Stages of Life

The mere thought of summer creates a feeling and imagery that stands alone. While each season can be linked to specific weather and activities, I feel the anticipation of summer is a one-of-kind annual experience. Everyone can find something to enjoy in the summer — the benefits of daylight savings time, the freedom of shorts and t-shirts, and the opportunity to socialize and have fun outdoors. We often look forward to these delights, even during other seasons. But as I’ve grown older, I have also noticed that summer’s joys can begin to change as you pass through the decades.

Childhood Summers

Growing up, there weren’t many things in my life more enjoyable than summer. Counting down the last few weeks of school felt like the most significant moment of anticipation that life could offer. Summer meant no homework or alarm clocks, minus possibly having to get up for camp (something I wasn’t too fond of). We had a pool, and I was the family fish, spending hours swimming and playing water games with friends. We took beach vacations and spent extra time with our favorite people. On a summer day, it was so easy to find a simple slice of happiness running through sprinklers or slurping down popsicles. From sunshine to suntans, every day felt like it held an opportunity for fun. And with an August birthday, I always had something to look forward to a few weeks before the dreaded back-to-school countdown.

Summers as a Mom

One of the best things about parenting is being able to experience life a second time through the eyes of your children. When summer arrived, I found the mom benefit I could look forward to and enjoy. The end of school took on a new meaning when I could hang up my chauffeur hat and slow down. No alarm clock was even better when it meant I didn’t have to make lunches and get kids to school. July would feel like the most carefree month of the year before all of the back-to-school ads and commercials started to ruin the summer vibe. Even as my young kids became teenagers, you could still find me swimming in a pool or riding waves in the ocean. And a backyard barbeque featuring a fire pit and roasting marshmallows could quickly become a freeze-frame moment to hold onto for the rest of the year.

When Summers Become Your Own

As a woman gets older, things inevitably change. The daily parenting challenges are replaced by the opportunity to rediscover yourself. Who am I now and what do I enjoy about summer, especially when it no longer unburdens me from a stressful school year? My time is my own 12 months out of the year, but there is still no vibe quite like a summer one. Reading a book by the pool instead of playing lifeguard is beautiful. Taking the dog for a walk after dinner, savoring a bite of ripe, juicy watermelon, or watching a gorgeous sunset are summer activities that will never cease to feel special. And when I want to feel like a kid again, I break out the s’mores ingredients or head off to one of my favorite ice cream places. Adults don’t always have to act like grownups — especially during the summer.

You’ll Never Be Able To Stop Time

Life moves along quickly, just like the summer. That’s why it upsets me when I hear people declare that summer is basically over after July Fourth. In my world, that’s when summer is just getting started. Five decades in, I still try to take July and August one day at a time to find joy and make new memories. Appreciating every summer day will never change for me, no matter how many summers go by.

Photo by Ethan Robertson on Unsplash

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School Refusal: One Mom’s Battle With The Irrational Mind

Everything I did with my first two kids never failed to deviate with my third — new play gyms, preschool teachers, and an overall sense of life in general. My first two kids were Type A, but my youngest child seemed to be Type Z. The two older kids went full steam ahead, while my youngest usually went quite unwillingly. I later found that this unwillingness was due to his anxiety, and that I would have to learn to be his advocate. 

I Wasn’t Prepared To Parent a Child With Anxiety 

When my youngest hit third grade, his anxiety began to bubble up to the surface and take control. Yes, we did have a family history so I couldn’t claim to be completely shocked, but I was definitely unprepared. Suddenly, I found myself flying by the seat of my pants with no playbook, no experience, and a whole lot of emotions to keep at bay while I plunged headfirst into navigating a very challenging new normal.

School Refusal Became a Regular Thing for Him 

Anxiety can take many forms in a young child. All three of my kids experienced textbook moments, but of course my youngest had a family trend to continue. Nine years ago, school refusal had just started gaining traction. Thankfully, we were lucky enough to be part of a school system that had put some support in place. Today, after two years of remote learning, I can’t begin to imagine the number of children refusing to go to school every morning. As someone who lived through it, I can say with certainty that it’s more of a nightmare than any words could ever describe.

The biggest thing I learned through therapy and frustration is that there is no reasoning with the irrational mind. It was a head-shaking phenomenon to have my greatest moments of logic stopped in their tracks by pure illogical will. My black was his white and so it went, right along with my emotional stability and a good chunk of my sanity. 

I Had To Be More Than His Mom — I Had To Be His Advocate 

As someone who felt comfortable flying under the radar, it was a daunting task to become more proactive and confrontational. I found an adolescent therapist specializing in anxiety and reluctantly put my son on medication. The stresses of everyday life became a little easier for a short time, but eventually my son became a regular in the nurse’s office. I could no longer relax, even on the days when I got him to school. And by the end of middle school, he was on the attendance radar screen of both the administrators and his peers, leading to classroom ridicule that only made the truancy worse. Yet somehow, he managed to get good grades and make it to high school.

When My Son Entered High School, It Didn’t Get Easier 

When my son entered high school, he struggled. For two years, he repeated a cycle: missing class, falling behind, and then getting too stressed to catch up. Checking the school portal for his grades made me sick before I even opened my computer. Waking him up in the morning was also an exercise in terror because I never knew if he would get out of bed. And during his sophomore year, I had people coming to my house to either prod or threaten him to go to school. Even the principal argued with me that I wasn’t doing enough, as if I had the physical strength to force him into the car or the magic words to talk him out of his irrational state of mind. Every single day was awful.

We Moved Him to a School Better Suited To Meet His Needs 

After an unsuccessful sophomore year, my husband and I thought we had found our miracle in the form of a school refusal specialist (who knew such a thing existed?) and a local private school that specialized in children who needed a different learning environment. We were set to make the move until our district refused to pay for my son to attend. We hired a lawyer and were forced to sit in a room to discuss my son’s issues as if he was a chess piece that could be strategically controlled and manipulated. My family held our ground and the district finally agreed to move my son to a school that could help him. 

We spent the next three years navigating the path to graduation with the help of some of the best people I have ever met in my life. They got it. They were flexible and willing to work with me, even on those days when I still couldn’t get my son out of bed. The right people also understood that anxiety and school refusal can take down an entire family. I didn’t need to be scolded, I needed someone to assure me that everything was going to be okay and to support me in helping my son.

The Bottom Line 

When graduation day finally arrived, it almost felt like an out-of-body experience. It had taken five endless years plus two summers to get through high school. And along the way, he had gotten accepted to his first-choice college, which was a joyous relief. If I had been given the chance, I would have stood at the podium and thanked the numerous therapists, special mentors, and amazing human beings who supported and guided us through a challenge like no other. I often told my son that he had taken an off-ramp leading from the highway onto the back roads, but that the destination remained the same. A boy seemingly fated to follow a different route even before he was born had conquered debilitating anxiety and paved the way to what had seemed close to impossible — getting out of bed in the morning, feeling strong enough to face a new day.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

Posted on by Shari Brauner 0