His Own Initiative

Our oldest, Michael, left the country one week ago today with excitement over studying and living in another country and a passion to become more fluent in another language. The hubby cried as he hugged our son goodbye, then cried more as we drove home, and once again as he searched birthday card after birthday card in pursuit of a suitable one for our younger son, Blake’s, nineteenth birthday. The hubby’s tears reflected many things: the sadness at watching Michael leave after several weeks in which they spent many close moments together, the bittersweet realization that we will be empty-nesters in a few short weeks, the juxtaposition of the personalities of our two young men – one who craves new experiences in the world and one for whom his bed and our sofa seem experience enough.

Michael’s parting recommendation to his brother had been that he begin to venture out into the world, that he practice the skills he will need when he moves to college in another state next month. He’d worried lovingly about his brother and whether he’d have the skills to live in his new environment. He’d proposed a plan to his brother in which Blake would go out of the house, perhaps a couple of times each week, so that he might gain experience and confidence, and perhaps a little momentum. Blake initially embraced the idea, but it quickly seemed to fall flat as I wrote about in my previous post (“A Plan That Lost Steam“). Depression and anxiety seemed to win out.

A Flash of Hope

I had resigned myself that Blake was not going to follow the plan he and his brother had plotted out. I expected to see him step back from life even more. The hubby and I were true to what we had promised and did not bring the plan back up. To be honest, I even stepped back on our therapy-planned morning routine of waking Blake up. Sure, I still saw that he got up and out of his room, but with much less rigidity and urgency. I felt deflated and spent time searching my mind as to how I would live as meaningfully as possible regardless of what would come with either of my sons in the months ahead.

Still, there were things to be done before Blake can leave for college. There were apartment supplies to be ordered and bank accounts to be transferred (Blake still only had a custodial account in my name). So, I continued to go through the motions of preparing for the move. On Monday morning, Blake and I prepared to go to the bank to get things in order so that he might obtain the all-important debit card.

“Do you want to go grab a coffee afterward?” I asked him just before we left.

“Oh, I was planning to go there myself as a way to get out today. You know, like we talked about with Michael. Is that okay?”

I was a bit startled, a little excited, but tried not to show it.

“Of course,” I said. “Do you want to take separate cars and meet me at the mall, then? We can walk over to the bank, then grab a coffee, and I then I can leave so you can have your time.”

So, we did. Blake navigated his way to the mall parking lot and we met up and walked to the bank and completed the business of transferring his account into his name. Then we walked back to the coffee shop, where I grabbed an iced coffee and quickly made myself scarce. Blake set up his computer at a table.

“I wish I’d brought a chess board,” he noted. “I’d ask someone here to play with me.”

When I got home, I dashed off an email to the hubby at work: “Thought you’d want to know…

And Then Another

On Thursday, he did it again.

“Mom, since we need to go out on another college planning errand today, can I use it as a way to launch into going out on my own again? It kind of helps ease me into it. I mean, since we are going out already, I can just go off on my own when we’re done. I’d like to go to the board game store.”

“Sure, honey. Let’s meet up at the store. We’ll pick out supplies and then you can head on your way,” I’d suggested.

About a half hour later, Blake showed up to meet me.

“Twenty-five minutes to find my way here!” Blake shook his head.

“Hey, you found it and you did it safely,” I replied.

Then we proceeded to giggle our way through the store, Blake being more frugal than I, me reasoning that the slow cooker he was choosing was going to be too small. As we finished, I bid him fun on his adventure. A couple of hours later, he was back home. He’d completed his mission, and had even observed a group at the store playing a Dungeons and Dragons game.

“I tried to join in,” he said, “but they were already too far in. They have a board game night there every other Thursday.”

Whether Blake will continue his missions out into the world we shall see. This week, my son, the one who prefers his bed and the family room couch, went out twice – for no reason other than to practice doing it. No one cajoled him or made suggestions. He just did it himself. While we cannot show great excitement because we know, from experience, that this will just send him back into hiding, this weekend the hubby and I are doing happy dances when no one is looking.

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A Plan That Lost Steam

Michael, our 21-year-old, is getting ready to leave to study abroad for the remainder of this summer. He sat the hubby and I down the other day and told us he was worried about Blake’s emotional state and his upcoming move out of state to begin college.

“He’s really not ready to go,” Michael observed. “He feels like a disappointment to you guys, especially when it seems that everything is based on whether he gets up in the morning or not. And he doesn’t respond well to tough love. It just makes him shut down more.”

“So what are you thinking?” I asked him, as the three of us sat on our back patio.

“I think he needs a mission, a purpose. You know, little tasks to get him out of the house. Things he needs to practice to live away from home. He can go buy his groceries so you can get an idea now what he’ll need to spend on them and so that he’ll get used to buying what he needs. And he can go to the library or the coffee shop and set up his computer and practice writing from there. You could give him a small stipend each week so he could practice. I think it would make him feel accomplished. But,” Michael continued, “I don’t think it should come from you guys.”

“What do you propose?” asked the hubby.

“I’ll talk with him tonight,” Michael noted. “I’ll see what he thinks and help him to make it his. If it’s his idea, he might be willing.”

So, we parted leaving this between the boys.

Michael Makes Inroads

The next morning, Blake stopped me early.

“Mom,” he said, “Michael and I were talking last night about ways for me to get ready to leave for school. Can we talk with you and Dad tonight about it? I think it’s a good plan.”

“Sure,” I answered. I tried to sound calmly enthusiastic, but inside I was kind of excited. Was my son who regularly chooses bed and the sofa to leaving the home actually wanting to launch a little bit?

The four of us met last night and Michael and Blake led the talk. Michael shared how doing these kinds of things would have helped him make the transition a little easier when he left for college. He thought it would give Blake more confidence to live in the world

And Then I Watched it Happen…

Blake went from mildly enthusiastic to questioning to looking downright terrified. He started finding reasons it wasn’t a good idea. He started worrying he’d be judged and held to this standard. He worried he’d fail. It didn’t matter what anyone said. The hubby and I noted we wouldn’t hold him to anything. It was his plan, and if he followed it, we would cheer him on. If he did not, we wouldn’t comment. Michael stayed positive and light and shared how beneficial it could be. I was proud of how he held his own and supported his brother. In the end, we left it that Blake could decide whether he did it or not.

And then, as I got ready for bed, he called me into his room.

“It’s just so hard to get out of bed,” he said, staring off into space. “Bed is the only place that feels good. It’s like having a hug and having to leave it. Nothing in the day feels good and I just distract myself with YouTube or games all day. And then it’s even hard to go back to bed knowing I’ll have to do the same thing again tomorrow. Living is hard and I’m too scared to die – so I’m just in that in between space.”

And there was little more I knew to do for my son than listen, acknowledge, and snuggle him with a tight squeeze until he dismissed me with a, “Good night, Mom.” For all my professional training and experience, I do not know how to move my own son from here to there. And right now, I don’t know that there is anyone else who knows how to either.

I’m Still Here

Image courtesy of Bill Longshaw at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Just a quick post to let my readers know that I’m still here. Life has been a bit busy with Michael returning home from college for the summer and Blake wrapping up his class for the semester. Friends’ kids are graduating from high school and college. My practice has been busy with more adults and children with OCD than I can humanly work with (I suppose that it’s a good thing that my practice is busy, but I always feel sad when I have to say, “No.”).

I’m working on my next post. In the meantime, if you’re looking for me, you might find me helping prepare one 18-year-old to go off to school in the fall, or helping a hubby prepare for a trip, or teaching a 21-year-old how to meal plan so he doesn’t eat out every day again in the next school year. Of course, you might also find me in a public restroom, coaxing a patient to touch a door handle; or crawling around in the outdoor planter with a child at work; or I might be in a home encouraging a frightened young patient to eat a challenge food or prompting an adult to put her things away “just wrong.”

No matter what I’m doing, it won’t be boring. Have a good week!

These Spring Evenings

Spring has finally arrived in our area. The plants are blooming and blossoming. The days are warmer and the nights are still cool. The hubby recently completed a project of changing over our landscaping to a more water efficient and drought tolerant one. Consequently, our backyard is a joy to be in right now. Every evening that I get home later than the hubby, I find him sitting in a cozy chair on the back patio just enjoying. Frequently he is flanked by a dog on either side, and both of these appear equally as content as their owner.

Along with spending more time on the patio, the hubby has suggested we move several of our evening meals in the last couple of weeks outdoors. I’ve obliged him, and therein lies the issue for Blake. I’ve shared before that Blake’s Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) has played a back seat role to his depression of late, but it is at times like this when it shows itself more.

“Are we eating outside again?” he asks.

“We are.”

“I’m guessing you’d like me to join you…”

“We’d love you to join us.”

I can feel the hesitation, the thinking, the rationalizing, the many things that must be going through his head. When we first realized Blake had OCD it showed itself in fear of contamination. Although it has had many incarnations, his OCD has never quite abandoned attacking him on the issue of things being contaminated. Our patio table is contaminated (it sits outdoors all the time). The chairs are contaminated (ditto). There are bugs out there (they might land on you or, heaven forbid, your food). I think even the outside air feels a little contaminated, but I’m not quite certain about that. It’s no wonder Blake is hesitating.

On one particular night, we have relatives over. We barbecue. I prepare the meal. The hubby prepares the table outside. Blake, as he has for several years now, prepares his own meal. I head outside with my full dinner plate and notice Blake at the indoor dinner table. He’s putting together his plate. One by one, my hubby and our guests all settle in for our meal. I’m guessing Blake will not be there, but I’ve guessed wrong.

Moments later, Blake has a full plate and he carves out space for himself. The rest of us reposition ourselves. He sets his plate down and leaves. He comes back with a can of soda in hand. I know what this is. Soda for Blake is liquid courage; it’s motivation and reward for doing something that is difficult. He joins us at the table. He eats his food. He actually participates in the conversation. At some point everyone except Blake and I have left the table for seconds or for dessert.

“I’m so glad you joined us,” I note. “How are you doing?”

“I’m glad to be here,” he says, and then he answers, “I’m uncomfortable. I’m definitely uncomfortable.”

I ponder this for just a second or two.

“Uncomfortable is good,” I respond – and it is.

We Have to Want It Less Than They Do

Image courtesy of Nanhatai8 at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

This week I attended a daylong community OCD event. The venue was completely full, there were terrific speakers, and there were lots of opportunities to connect. At the end of the day, there was a gathering to re-cap and ask questions. One parent stood up to ask a question that grabbed my heart and my attention.

The parent asked about a topic that is near to many of us who have young adult (or almost-adult) children struggling with OCD (or other mental health issues). That is, the parent wanted to know how to motivate one’s older teen or young adult to get serious and use the treatment being offered to them. I immediately felt a kinship to this parent. I wanted to reach across the crowded room and say, “Yes, I want to know that, too. You are not alone.” Yet my heart already knew the answer that was about to come.

A therapist at the front of the room took the question and tenderly noted, “I notice that many times parents want desperately for their child to get better. Yet that seems to keep the child or young adult from wanting it for themselves. They have to want to get better more than their parents want them to get better.”

And there it was. A simple truth. We parents can want what we want for our children. We can lead them to treatment. We can urge, press, plead, make deals…but we can’t be doing more work than they are. We cannot be more invested than they are. We have to want their recovery LESS than they do.

My heart feels heavy for just a bit as I hear what I already know. And my heart aches for the parent on the other side of the room. How do we do this? How do we care less when they don’t seem to care much at all (at least on the surface)? I think the answer is that we have to find a meaningful life for ourselves in spite of their mental health struggles. I think that we have to back off on the pressure and put faith in their ability to decide when enough is enough. And we have to have the courage to not pick up the pieces and make the consequences of their struggle easier – they have to be doing much of the hard work.

This is simple, in theory, but difficult in practice. As parents, we are programmed to respond to our child when we see them suffering. We are oriented toward providing comfort and to removing obstacles. With OCD, anyway, doing our job as parent may be presenting them with the difficult path toward healing, and waiting nearby allowing them the struggle of coming to the decision that there is a better life to be lived.

Miraculous Manatees!

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Smooch. Thanks to our guide for this photo.

We are home from our family vacation. Michael is back at college and Blake, the hubby, and I returned home a little over a week ago. I noted in my previous post that Blake was actually enjoying things we did on vacation. In fact, the rest of us had been tired and had been ready to call off a trip to observe and swim with manatees. Blake told us how it had been a dream of his to participate in this activity. Blake, for whom depression is ever-present, rarely shares that he has any dreams, so we absolutely had to rally and make the adventure happen.

I am happy to follow up and share that the adventure was unbelievable. If you ever have the opportunity to float in the water with these gentle giants, I highly recommend it. We went out in the bay with a well-informed guide and captain. They taught us about manatees and what we could and could not do. After learning that we were not to touch, pursue, or dive after the manatees, we got quietly into the water where several were in the area, and we did a “dead man’s float.”

After a bit of time, a manatee surfaced under my feet and began to swim the length of my body. It was exhilarating, and it took everything in me not to erupt into a fit of giggles. Our little group was very patient and several manatees took interest in us, nuzzling their faces into ours and basically hanging out with us for over an hour. Our captain told us that our experience was not the norm – we had been given a gift.

When the day ended, and we changed back into our clothing, Michael, the hubby, and I thanked Blake for asserting himself. The manatees were a highlight of our time together. Blake agreed. For him, the boy with OCD who used to stay out of the water because it was contaminated, it was a dream come true. In the fog that mental illness has enveloped him in over these last few years, it was one more clear day.

 

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A manatee comes to check out Blake

Glimmers of Hope on Vacation

The OCD in the Family family is on vacation. We are currently in Florida, in a small town on the Atlantic Ocean. The hubby, Michael, and Blake are in their rooms sleeping off the frenzied pace of the last five days. I walk the coast alone in what is unseasonably cold weather, but my heart is warmed by what I’ve experienced in my younger son on this journey.

Michael, our older son, has always enjoyed travel and is up for new adventures constantly. Blake, however, is a different story. He is usually extremely uncomfortable out of his usual environment. For as long as I can remember, he’s felt overwhelmed by new places, sounds, foods, smells, people, and, well – you name it. Compound this with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and, in the last two plus years, major depression, and you have a recipe for a very challenging family vacation experience.  We’ve gone on many a vacation where Blake stayed behind in the hotel room or the car, or only went out with us after substantial begging (usually pleading to go back to the car to wait as soon as we’d allow it).

This Time, It’s Different

This vacation, however, has been different. Blake wasn’t particularly interested in going on this vacation. As usual, he came along because we were going. Then something started to happen that none of us could have predicted; he started to enjoy himself.

I first noticed it when we were at Epcot. If you’ve never been to this Walt Disney World park (as we never had before), it consists of a Future World (East and West) and a World Showcase, which features different countries around the world in street scenes, attractions, and food offerings. After a long, cold day in the park, I began to walk more quickly through some sections of countries in the World Showcase. Blake slowed me down, though.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever make it to all these countries,” Blake said. “I want to see everything I can while we are here.” Then he proceeded to walk down every corridor and alleyway he could find.

The next thing I noticed was that Blake picked out a meal for himself at the Kennedy Space Center. Blake, whose OCD often centers around food choices (or, should I say, problems with the food choices around him), at first said he would forgo eating anything at the Center’s cafeterias. He would wait and eat food he was comfortable with back in the car. The next thing I knew, he had a tray filled with food, and even a dessert of astronaut ice cream. He joined us at the cafeteria table and ate, something he hasn’t done in years.

Last night, he had a long discussion with the hubby about all the places in the world he would like to see. What? Blake wants to see the world? He named off basically every country in the world – the more different from our country, the more he seemed interested.

“What about traveling for leisure?” the hubby asked him.

“The thing is, I’m so uncomfortable traveling, I couldn’t relax.” Blake answered, “I may as well go somewhere I can see things and learn about different cultures.”

Manatees in the Morning

This morning, as Michael, the hubby, and I ate breakfast (Blake was sleeping in), we decided to call off our manatee excursion for the next day. It was too far away, we’d have to leave too early, and it was just too cold for swimming in rivers. Plus, we’d been moving at breakneck speed for several days. It would be nice to have one more leisurely day.

We took it as a given that Blake wouldn’t mind the cancellation. So the hubby went off to call the tour company and I took a breakfast tray in to Blake.

“Dad’s cancelling the manatee tour and swim for tomorrow,” I told Blake. “That way we can take it a little easier.”

Blake’s face contorted into a pained grimace.

“Are you reacting to the manatees?” I asked.

“Yes!”

“Did you really want to swim with them?”

“More than anything,” he said, “but I can wait…if that’s what everyone else wants.”

“Let me see what I can do,” I said, as I bolted out of the room. It just rarely happens that Blake wants to do anything, and I wanted to reward his speaking up. I caught the hubby on the phone talking to the tour operator. I waved wildly for his attention, then told him what had occurred.

“Well, it looks like we’ll be coming after all,” he told the tour operator.

I went to tell Blake that the manatee adventure was on and the glee in his expression told me I’d done the right thing.

I Don’t Know What’s Going On, But I’ll Take It

Blake, wearing a hat that belonged to his grandfather, contemplates the space shuttle rocket.

I told the hubby how excited Blake was about the manatee tour. He and I marveled over the exciting things happening with our son on this vacation. The young man who normally doesn’t want to leave home, who only wants to read about the world instead of live in it, and who regularly says he dislikes himself and much of the world has had a few positive days where he seems to actually want to be here and to experience life.

Afterward, Blake and I perused the library at our lodging. He marveled over the books and wished he had more days here to sit and read. He supposed one thousand hours might do. As we passed through the hubby’s and my room, Blake shared his sentiments with his dad.

“You know, Dad, I’ve changed my mind about leisure vacations. Sometimes it would just be nice to sit and read a good book on vacation for hours on end.”