Spent about an hour one night recently reading through some old posts from an idle blog of mine. I used to write a lot about the initial onset of my son's mental health issues, about the guilt I felt about not being able to do much to help him, and general ranting and raving.
I was one very angry woman. A year - 18 months ago - I was in a perpetual state of anger at everyone; everything.
That seems like a lifetime ago.
My son was going through a transition. He was forced to drop out of school; he was in a very scary, unreachable place.
Back then, I was always on the verge of tears. I felt powerless; unable to help my son. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, only stumbling blocks and pitfalls. I was lost in sorrow and impotence.
That was then.
Today, my son is attending technical school to learn a trade. He is managing his disorder, he is talking about moving out and living on his own.
I don't feel like I need to hit something all the time.
Life is still a struggle sometimes, but it's okay. We're learning, growing, and making our way.
My son is smiling again. I can breathe again.
When I meet other parents who are just starting on this journey, receiving a diagnosis that changes everything, I can confidently say, it will get better. It may not seem that way right now, but they, too, will see that light some day soon.
You will all learn to cope, even thrive. You will find a way to carry on. Hope will no longer be an inconceivable concept. There may even be laughter again. It may not be today, or even tomorrow, but it will happen.
I promise.
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