Tonight, after my nearly-four-year-old son’s hour-long tantrum culminating in him being held down in the car so he wouldn’t unbuckle his seat belt or hit my husband, I said while clearly shaken-up: What if I had been by myself? What would I’ve done?
Person who shall remain anonymous: God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.
Me: So what about someone who commits suicide? God’s like: Oops. Misjudged THAT one.
Because seriously, what does that platitude even mean? It’s said a hundred different ways, but it all sounds the same to me: God has given you CRAP and you better deal with it… smiling.
And if you don’t deal? Doesn’t that mean your God isn’t omniscient? Which is kind of an important part of the definition in most mono-theist conceptions of a god.
Or putting suicide aside, what if the person handles it with heroin? A fifth of Jack Daniels? Unprotected sex? Violence? (Because I would’ve LOVED to handle this afternoon with violence. Or at least duct tape.) Is that the HANDLE God’s aiming for?
I’m totally broken by my son’s tantrums. By his inability to control his emotions. He just goes shark. Something somehow somewhere hits him and BAM. He is unreachable, inconsolable and exhausting. Screaming and thrashing. Anywhere from fifteen minutes to sixty. Five to seven times a week.
And for the other twenty-three hours, he’s a sweet, well-mannered, verbal, athletic, independent and loving child.
I was motivated to cut television out completely because I thought that TV wasn’t helping him. There isn’t a causal relationship (these began long before television was apart of our lives), but TV did seem to introduce additional edginess. And he didn’t need any help.
But without TV? His episodes now occur in the middle of the night. Almost every night.
Yes, we are seeking help. And yes, it is probable that he will grow out of it. So don’t give me your non-MD/PhD diagnosis of my son. I’ll troll your blog like a dog in heat if you come after him.
I feel helpless and hopeless tonight. Because my son had two episodes in twelve hours. Because I bust my butt to parent without television, and we are up in the middle of the night trying to calm our inconsolable boy. Because the stigma of getting help is almost as bad as the stares during his rages.
I’m fighting the isolation, and I am losing. The episodes are unpredictable except that having two in a single day is rare. (Not rare this weekend, but when E’s tired, everything is worse and he had trouble falling asleep at the beach.)
And where can I go with a forty-pound unpredictable boy, his twenty-pound sister and my baby bag? Nowhere that isn’t within sight of the car. Or without a friend.
I’ve become careful and edgy. I cry easier. I have to stay away from other stressful events because I’m already at my limit. My edge.
He screams at me: GO AWAY!
And as I walk away, he screams louder almost terrified: STAY MAMA!
So I come back and he says: BUT NOT IN MY ROOM!
I have no place to go to help him.
And sometimes he hits and kicks in between the screaming and tears and terror. He’s bigger now. The physical attacks are more painful. They set off my own history of violence. Sometimes all I can do is walk away until I squash the desire to protect myself first.
And afterwards he cries. He tells me: Mama I don’t like when I feel that way.
And my heart breaks. He’s so little and scared. And I don’t know how to help him.
So when you say: God doesn’t give you more than you can handle, I think: God gave me this?
Don’t tell me God’s just very impressed with my strength. I’ve been strong all my life. I don’t have anymore to prove to God.
And all those people with their easy children? They are weak?
Here I sit writing between my tears. But if your version of God is one that makes you cry from pain and humilation, you can keep him. Tuck him next to your platitudes and have fun pulling him out when YOUR life sucks.
Meanwhile, I’ll sit next to my God on the edge of the bed while aching to pull the covers over my head.
Me: God, what if I can’t handle it?
God: Life sucks sometimes. But you don’t have to do it alone.
Me: Thanks. I still hate you right now.
And God will laugh. We have that kind of relationship.
It’s the laughter that makes me willing to get out of bed each day.
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Sigh.
How many times have people beat me over the head with that stupid sentence? It’s a polite ways of saying, “Suck it up, kid!”
To hell with that. I will not suck it up. You don’t have to either.
Every word here? I understand. I can feel all of it. I know. And my God doesn’t shame me or test me. My God already knows what I’m made of.
Email me anytime you want. No one has helped me more in the past 8 years than other parents who are walking the same difficult road. Most of us have the good sense not to make diagnoses or suggest that the elimination of red food dye/gluten/whatever will magically cure all.
And next time someone says that God never gives you more than you can handle? Ask them to show you where it says that in the bible.
Finally? I’m giving you a Bad Ass Award.
http://www.nopointsforstyle.com/nps-bad-ass-blogger-award
Thank you. For your comment, the award, and your blog. You already know that you gave me the courage to write this without even knowing what that you were doing it.
And I am sure that I will be in touch. Now that we are on the bumpy road to get help, I feel impatient for answers. For the fix. Which I know is ridiculous. But probably normal.
Alex, my heart aches. I am sorry your little boy and your family are going through this. My heart broke when he said he didn’t like it either. It must be so scary for him. Good for you for seeking help and for speaking out. We will keep your family in our prayers. If I could bottle us strength and send it to you I would, in a heartbeat.
Thank you for your thoughts and prayers. Those mean so much to us. (Although a bottle of strength would be pretty cool. Like Popeye and spinach)
I’m so sorry that you’re going through this. I won’t insult you with platitudes, but I’m pretty sure that people who are saying that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle are not God’s spokespeople.
Thank you so much.
And I agree that God probably sighs and shakes his head and says: Not that stupid saying again.
Now I’m grateful to Adrienne too, because I can’t imagine not having read this beautiful post. And I’m grateful for your relationship with your God, I hope it continues to help you sleep.
Thank you for your kind words. And I’m so grateful for my relationship with my God too.
Alex, I’m so sorry you are going through this! I feel for you, I really do. It sounds like you are doing absolutely everything you can for your little guy, and I just hope that you all get through it soon. Big hugs to you. xo
Thank you for saying that we are doing everything we can for E. That sentence makes me feel SO much better. It’s hard not to get into the place of if-only-I-did-more.
And thank you for the hugs.
Oh, I’m so sorry! Thank you for sharing. You and your family are in my prayers. I know that there are solutions for you out there, I hope you find it soon, whatever it may be. I’m with Adrienne also, show me that in the bible. Better yet, how about looking up something that will really help! {{hugs}}
Thank you for the prayers. And hugs.
Don’t worry, I’ll put those God/handle people in their place. Perhaps a quick karate chop.
I hate that saying. God only give you what you can handle. Yup, hate it. (I hate the word “hate”, too, but we’ll let it fly for right now.) It’s not as if I’m a God-lovin’, Christian woman, but the saying crosses over religion and “God” can be replaced by “Life”, in a way. Suicide, drugs, difficult children, easy children, you hit the nail on the head with all of those examples of things life brings with it.
I’m on the edge nearly every day. I’m tired of being here. I have screamers, biters, hitters who flail and whine and yell in my face. Don’t want me to talk to them, but want me near enough to know I’m around. Three boys battling each other in one moment and battling me the next? I want to just say I’M DONE! But can’t. And THAT saying is pointless anyway. We are never done with Motherhood, the big M.
All this is to say, I hear you. I get it. You are not alone. I know it’s not enough, it doesn’t solve anything, you still have this dilemma, this battle to fight, but it’s something–because the isolation of this stage can be nearly as terrifying as the stage itself.
Knowing I’m not alone is almost enough. Because I agree, the isolation was killing me. I could hardly write. I was in tears. And although I still have to walk through this with my son, I feel like I have other mamas too.
And I hate the word hate too. But I get it. The saying is so… demoralizing.
Thank you for your thoughts and for sharing your struggles. It’s so hard when all I need is to be alone and instead I have children who “must” follow me screaming. And no back-up for hours. {sigh}
You are one brave mama sharing that. It always breaks my heart to read about mamas having a hard time with their kids. I’m not a religious person nor am I super good at giving advice, but I’ll tell you what I tell all my peeps when they get overwhelmed and sad: When I get overwhelmed and freaked out the thing that makes me feel the best is taking a walk. Even if it’s hours after “the incident” that freaked me out in the first place. Sometimes that’s not possible because you can’t leave the kids alone (even though it’s super tempting). But if the hubster is home, that’s what I do. Sending you positive vibes from the Great North Woods. – Mommyk
Thank you. For calling me brave and for sending my positive thoughts. It helps so much.
And I agree with the walks. We got a dog a month or so ago so taking him out (sans kids) is really helpful in getting my head back on straight.
I always go crazy when someone placates me with “god doesn’t give you more than you can handle.”
Right, like a child’s death? or a miscarrige? or a parent’s suicide? think you can handle that?
I like to say, “god doesn’t give us stuff, life does. God is there for when life doles out those cards. So we have someone to hold us while we steer through the storm.”
And to feel the worth of the anchor, you have to feel the strength of the storm.
I like your response to the God/handle phrase. Because I agree that God gives us strength to walk through life. And sometimes life sucks.
Thanks Alexandra!
I’m so glad you were able to write about this. I know it couldn’t have been easy. I hope getting it all out and sharing it were some comfort to you. I know I don’t have any kids, but I’ve been through emotional/psychological stuff like that and it can be very scary, confusing, and hurtful for everyone involved. I definitely understand about the stigma and the isolation and being mad at God. And I hate that saying. Besides, God giving me more than I can handle is what brings me closer to him eventually- I think it’s like that with lots of relationships. So I will definitely be thinking of you and E and of Scott and N, and praying for you, too. What’s wonderful is the love you have. I think that’s what saves us when life gets insane. Love you! :)
Thank you so much for your thoughts and prayers.
And I appreciate you sharing about how isolating and scary it can be. And for reminding me that we are not alone at all in this. And that our love is so powerful!
Okay, first business. I tagged you for a meme (I know you don’t read my blog so you’d never find out what an honor you had in store for you). And yes, I’m being humorous. Oh, and if you don’t know what the heck I’m talking about, you can read my post before last which explains all about memes.
Okay second. Wow. So much to say. It’s a good thing you mentioned that we could all save our breath on the non-med diagnosis because soon as I start readin’, I start thinking “could it be this? could it be that?” Not in a “I’m better than you” way, but in a – “wow, that’s really hard – what can a friend do to help” way. So no diagnosis. But I do want to say that I don’t think there is ANY stigma attached to seeing someone. I certainly wouldn’t have a problem with it. In France, everyone talks about taking the kid to talk to the psych at the PMI (protection mother infant). Or for the mom to set up an appointment for herself.
But mostly what I wanted to say is that I think your perception of God is spot on. That conversation sounds just about perfect. And that doesn’t mean he’s not omniscient.
Way to keep fighting girl.
I wish the US was as comfortable with mental health as France is. Because I agree that talking to someone is GREAT. But people are so funny about it. It’s like GOOD FOR YOU! with a lot of GLAD IT’S NOT ME and some IT WOULD NEVER BE ME.
Or maybe I’m just oversensitive.
And thanks for the encouragement.
I read this in a book last night, and it made me think about you. “God isn’t interested in watching you enact some performance of personalty in order to comply with some crackpot notion you have about how a spiritual person looks or behaves.” : )
I love this quote. It made me cry when you left it here. Not in a bad way but just that you took the time to send it to me. And it’s just such a great quote.
thank you.
i was told that phrase, “god doesn’t give you any more than you can handle” by someone once… the week after i had been raped.
and in the almost 10 years since, i’ve been told that same line repeatedly, in response to different circumstances, but i’ve never quite understood it.
come to think of it, after reading this post of yours, i don’t think i want to understand it. to me, it simply does not make sense. but that’s me.
in terms of you… i offer *hugs* and applaud you for writing about it.
Thank you for the hugs. And the phrase is so condescending. It trivializes our experience and responses. At times when that is the LAST THING we need.
Hugs back as your 10 year anniversary nears.
Hey – for yoga….Try Lydia (Nitya) Griffith’s Yoga Camp for Kids. Here’s the link on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/pages/Kharma-Khameleon/352063384257
I’m so sorry. I have nothing. No words of advice. No tips or tricks. No tried and true, result-oriented, fail-proof methods to dish out.
What I do have is sympathy and some empathy. While we’re not coping with daily tantrums, the few that we get from our four-year-old come with the force of an earthquake and leave us all shaken, confused, frustrated and ready for a stiff drink. I can’t imagine enduring these quakes on a daily basis.
Kudos to you for recognizing a potential culprit (the TV). And double kudos for going out on a limb and blogging about it. For opening yourself up, for exposing your vulnerable mother’s heart and for recognizing that you don’t have to do this alone. One of the hardest parts of motherhood is the self-imposed solitude when things are rough. One of the joys of blogging is the ready community there to support you without judgement.
And those that judge can be deleted/blocked/flamed. Win/win.
I’ve re-read your comment and every time it brings tears to my eyes. In a good way. Thank you for being so caring. And for talking about the self-imposed solitude of motherhood too. I had no idea how alone I felt until I blogged about it and people like you shared So thank you. For understanding without judgment or self-righteousness.
I don’t think I can say anything here that hasn’t already been said. Just want to let you know that you are in my thoughts – for what it’s worth, my own little girl is entering her Terrible Twos stage and I have a feeling I will hang on to every word you say about this because I will need them for myself too.
The only thing that helps me through a difficult situation is this very simple but true (and surprisingly comforting phrase): This too shall pass.
And I promise you, it will. *Hugs*
Thank you for the hugs and good thoughts!
And I find “This too shall pass” very comforting (except when I think it during the good times.)
I don’t know how I just read this post- maybe I missed it when I was out of town. I hate to be the one who says I Know How You Feel, because I know how annoying and, sometimes, insincere that can be. But, although my H is younger and smaller, I have the same kind of reaction to the behaviors of his that I don’t like. Probably because I could easily behave the same way. I’ve been known to throw and break things and yell, and it terrifies me to think that my son might be the same way. Most of what he does is so trivial, but when it’s one thing after another, I eventually lose it. It’s such a crappy part of parenting, isn’t it? And there have been countless times, starting from before we even came home from the hospital, that I thought I couldn’t handle it. And I probably didn’t handle it very well. But we are here, still a mostly-stable family.
I find it heartbreaking that he knows he is out of control and he doesn’t like it. I’m sure you do too.
I have friends going through this with their 8 year old and I think the more help you can get earlier the better off your son (and daughter) will be in the long term.
Courage.
love this post. love the honesty of it. I think we’ve all been there, if it’s not this it’s that, and I hate people who tell you “my kid never cried” and shit like that, and envy people with calm easy children, sometimes, other times not at all cause they are also for the most part boring, and my kids may drive me insane, but when I am not trying to cut my head off I’m laughing my butt off.
It sounds to me like you need a day (or two) TO YOURSELF. you do go first, it’s like in the airplane: if you don’t have the airbag you won’t be able to help the minor.
my 5yr old son has been known to unbuckle & jump out of his carseat… on the freeway… with just moi in the car. it’s terrifying. i think the last time he did it was in October. before that it had been a year. i thought we were past it and then… starting school again this year and all the transitions that go along with it seemed to facilitate in bringing back that behavior. i took a parenting seminar and enacted the tools from it in addition to his therpeutic preschool and all the other therapies and interventions we do. so far so good.
Alex, this post really touched me. I have a two-year-old boy, and I wonder what kind of temper he will have. I wonder how I will handle it. I think you’re brave and strong, and I love the raw honesty in your writing. It has been a year since you posted this (or a little longer). How is it going now?
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