I hadn't considered I was mothering children who battle their own brains. Little did I understand that mental illness filled my home. I was a mother marinating in the feelings of inadequacy, fatigue, and I was overwhelmed with the emotional strength and physical energy it was taking to lead my children through the day.
There were strong voices within myself telling me I was barely hanging on, barely holding my children--perfectly healthy children--into a world of normalcy. I was having such a difficult time keeping with a schedule and keeping my home in order, clean, and tidy.
Keeping my home in perfect order was a major complaint of my ex-husband's mother. She had one child to raise--a single child whom she adopted. I mention adoption because while there is certainly an adjustment period those first few weeks, there were no hormones, body composition changes, breastfeeding, healing wounds, emotional turmoil from the experience of birthing within the American medical model of care, etc..., she simply had to adjust to a new schedule of sleeping, changing diapers, and making bottles...she only had to do it once..
I was blessed or cursed--depending on you're own point of view--with incredible fertility. My first three children were born within three years of each other. I was a hormonal mess! Pregnant for nine months, breastfeeding for nine months, pregnant again for nine months, breastfeeding again for nine months, and once more pregnant for nine months, and breastfeeding... I was tired, I was on my own roller coaster, I was overwhelmed, I felt very alone, but I was committed to being a good mom and loved my little munchkins more than breath.
Though I read stories, played with, sang to and with my children, every single day, made lunches and supper, and took them to play outside, I was always behind and therefore unworthy of anything but criticism from my ex-in-laws. My house wasn't magazine clean, it was, at times, really very messy. There were times it was just too much to do alone. And, I...was...A L O N E.
While I was married, my ex-husband spent almost every waking moment when not at work on the computer playing games or watching movies. He was not raised to participate in the active parenting of small children: changing diapers, getting up in the middle of the night, walking and holding a screaming--ever screaming--baby, to potty train, or basically anything that wee ones need other than hugs when he came home. He wasn't raised to participate in the washing of dishes, laundering of clothes, making of beds, sweeping of floors, cleaning the bathroom or any other in house chore. These were ALL for me. He was only tasked with his 8 hours working for a corporation. I was tasked with all the above and I was T I R E D!
Oh, how I wish I had known the symptoms of early onset mental illness. If only I could have recognized that the night terrors, the vivid bloody night mares, the bed wetting, the glassy-eyed empty and vacant looks, the zero to 1000 mph in emotions, the complete spaz attacks, the 20-40 minute temper tantrums, the touch me without touching me fit-full demands, the pulling their own hair, the banging of their heads on walls and floors, and the voluntary isolation of self when upset along with so many other things were all symptoms of a bigger problem than simply being super energetic and precocious.
My two first born children live with bipolar disorder--early onset bipolar disorder.
Turns out, I have always been a mother with children who have special needs but because they don't "look" different--they don't appear disabled--I had simply misjudged my children, had been terribly unsympathetic to their struggles, impatient to their their troubles, and totally thought my children were just naughty misbehaved young people. As do others.
People don't understand that my children have a frontal cortex that doesn't function properly. Had they diabetes, others would be understanding that their pancreas may not work well and have patience if there were a sudden issue with their blood sugar level. Had they cerebral palsy, others would quickly understand their muscles may not function normally, that they may not be able to sit up. Had they a broken leg, others would understand their inability to run. Because they do not have an altered appearance they are assumed simply to be jerks, brats, or obnoxious miscreants.
My children have shifting and cycling levels of energy. At times they are so tired being awake is a heavy and difficult task, other times sleep is a burden not necessary. Bipolar isn't just happy/sad. It's racing thoughts, inner overwhelming forces compelling action, it's hallucinations, delusions, soul sinking depressions the likes of the dark depths of a black hole, elation brighter that the noon day sun, irritability, belief one can do things that normal people cannot, it's distortions that can put them or others into danger, it's a significantly higher risk for suicide.
As a mother of children with bipolar disorder I worry. I never know who's coming out of the bedroom door in the morning. I have no idea what's coming through the door any time of the day.
I could be talking my child into the realization that leaping off of the roof is not actually a good idea; I could be trying to talk to an F5 tornado wrapped up in the body of a hormonally driven young person; I could be held hostage by one child who feels the need to have my undivided attention in all things one second away from a complete melt down if I so much as turn my head toward one of the other children; I may need to lay on one or jump between two to foster safety; I may have super "chatty Cathy" on fast forward to try listening to; I might have the world's most fun and exciting character breathing life into our home; I could be receiving a humorous giddy ball of fun; I could be interacting with a virtual zombie barely able to function; it is also possible half a shell of a person might be moping about and stumbling through the halls. Of course, not only does this apply to one child, but TWO...and they're now teens which means they are bigger, they are stronger, they have more emotionally compelling drama, they have a biological and psychological need to pull away from our family and become independent--which often times looks and sounds frustrating, disrespectful, hurtful, and sad...but sometimes not. I have to be concerned with medication and treatments. And...I have to navigate school rules, student dynamics, and IEPs (Independent Education Plan). I also have to prepare for really bad days that could include police officers or emergency rooms.
No, I don't have beeping monitors (though it would be really helpful if there were some sort of technology that could tip me off to a mania, hypomania (whether it's euphoric or dysphoric) or depression episodes. I don't have tubes to concern myself with. There aren't any wheel chairs, nor special foods, but, YES, I am a mother of children with special needs..
Thank you for your post. This is what I have been trying to convey to a lot of people. Dealing with children or spouses with this type of special needs if hard. Love ya lots and you can always give me a call.
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