Too Close

My daughter's English Teacher called me today. She wanted to tell me that my daughter was pretty awesome.

She also asked me if I knew that Lauren had called the Suicide Hotline a month ago.

I am a social worker. I am trained in mental health. My daughter shouldn't have mental health issues. I must be doing something wrong. I am a bad mom. This is my fault.   The negative thoughts and self blame always swirl around my head, and become my worst inner critic.

The truth is my daughter struggles. She struggles in big ways. She gets angry. She yells. She attacks. She has thoughts of hurting herself. She has cut.

And She Has Been Too Close To Suicide.

It is real. It is scary.

I cannot fix it. I cannot mom it away. I cannot control it. To be honest, I really do not know what to do.

So I talk.

I talk and talk and talk to Lauren.

I tell her that middle school sucks. I tell her about when  a girl said I was gross because I was too skinny. I tell her about being poor and too embarrassed to ever have friends over. I tell her all about my dark days.

I talk and talk and talk some more.

 I tell her how unique she is. How bold and confident she is. How her sense of art and music is so beyond her years. That she is so much cooler than middle school.

I talk and talk and talk some more.

I tell her that she is strong. Her self worth is not based on the opinions of the minions. I tell her that she is more than the drama. ( I also tell her that the so-called populars all seem to have gigantic foreheads.) I tell her to fight and never give up.

And I love. I love her from the distance because at 13 your mom cannot get too close. Hugs are embarrassing. Moms are embarrassing.

I take her to counseling. I take her to her Psychiatrist appointments. I refill the medications. Finally, I pray. I pray that she will be ok, I pray she is healthy. I pray she is safe. I pray that she knows just how much she is loved.

Today Lauren let me peek. She let me peek inside her head and her heart and she shared the most beautiful piece of writing.

It was raw, vulnerable, and true.

After she read it to me I was able to breathe for a second. After she read it I realized why I talk and talk and talk. Why I pray and pray and pray. And why I love. Love so very hard.

Teenage years are one chapter I will be grateful to complete. So many pages of it are messy, angry, hurtful, and dramatic.


Excerpt of Imagine, by Lauren Page

Imagine… Being okay

Imagine… getting a break from school the next day.

Imagine… going to school the day after.

Imagine.. Finding friends to sit with.

Imagine… being fine from the past month

Imagine… believing you actually tried to commit suicide

Imagine… being thankful not dying.