A Wild Ride: Our Blog

Who’s Taking Care of Mom?

As a new stay-at-home mom, I received invitations for playgroups and lunch, for trips to the swings and strolls through the park. I bought a baby jogger and joined a moms group sponsored by a local church. Eager for adult social interaction and opportunities for Nicholas to enjoy babyhood, I accepted invitations and attended meetings.

The moment we walked into a new environment with its bright lights and high energy or its subdued lighting and hushed voices, Nicholas would whimper. At first, I carried on my conversation, trying my best to comfort him. Finally his screams reached a crescendo and I could no longer hear or talk. We left most playgroups before they even started.

Meetings at the church were worse. They arranged for child care so the moms could enjoy refreshments, a speaker, and social time. Margaret, a grandmotherly woman in charge of the infants, reassured me as she took Nicholas in her arms. Without a word exchanged between us, Margaret smiled knowingly. “Ah, time to enjoy the company of other moms,” I thought as I hurried to see my friends. But it was not to be. Within the hour, Margaret found me in the meeting hall, motioned with a nod, and we stepped outside. “I’m very sorry. He’s just not consolable.”

I became the quintessential stay-at-home mom. I left my house only when necessary to take my other son to school or my mom to the doctor’s. I welcomed a trip to the dentist for an hour in a comfortable chair. All they asked was – Open wide.

My husband and I set dates for dinner and the theatre. I enjoyed these stolen moments with my husband but paid dearly the next day when Nicholas became ill after a night of anxiety.
“You should go out more, not less,” suggested the therapist. (Yeah, well, you’re not the one who deals with the aftermath!)

“What he needs is more disciplined,” offered a family member. (Let the beatings begin!)

“I think Nicholas’ problem is his mother,” one doctor noted to the therapist. (Who asked you?)

I began to question myself. Maybe this doctor was right. Maybe Nicholas’ problem IS his mother. Would someone please show me how to NOT be his problem? What am I to do with this information? What am I doing wrong? Am I doing anything right?

Slowly a depression began to worm its way into my thoughts. Since Nicholas’s birth, I could not recall a day that was not difficult. His baby book showed few “smiling child” snapshots. Most photos were images of a worried child, a painfully shy child, one who was clearly troubled by everything around him. Photos of me showed a woman in need of sleep, chocolate or a drink. My weight yo-yoed. It looked obvious, at least to me, that five o’clock never came soon enough.

My husband tried to help. His travel schedule translated to “Available only on Weekends.” By Saturday, the Monday To-Do list had tripled in length. Our other son, on his best behavior all week, now wanted transportation to a friend’s house or the soccer game. My mother needed my company for something other than a doctor’s appointment. My body ached regularly; flu-like symptoms became the norm.

At my lowest I met Joan. Joan shared with me that she too had a son who tested her every waking moment. At first I could not relate to her story. Joan’s situation seemed too dissimilar to mine. Her son, Michael, acted aggressively toward other people. Nicholas withdrew into himself. Michael needed many friends. Nicholas wanted limited social interaction – the fewer people the better. Michael was labeled socially deviant and expelled from pre-school. Nicholas didn’t even want to start pre-school.

As we talked, I realized that our boys were similar -- they both fit somewhere between normal and institutional. More importantly I realized that Joan and I were both concerned mothers who shared common feelings of worry, embarrassment, shame, and guilt.

Joan told me that she and a few other women formed a support group for moms of challenging kids. These children shared some similar emotional difficulties or problem behaviors. Some also had a professional diagnosis. But the glue that held the group together was the moms’ need for support and resources.

At first I resisted attending the group. My son’s issues, and how our family dealt with them, were our business – no one else’s. I didn’t want to talk about these troubles with strangers. We already had a good support system and professionals who were helping us understand Nicholas. But what about me? Who was helping me?

During the next year, I would see Joan around town, and each time, she asked about Nicholas with sincere concern and interest. I would roll my eyes and give her a brief update of our constant day-to-day struggles. “Come meet the other moms,” Joan encouraged me.

Finally, the years of dreadful isolation drove me to attend my first group session. Joan introduced me to the other moms – Maria, Alice, Jackie, Margaret, and Tess. I sat comfortably on the sofa while the others sat in the surrounding overstuffed chairs, all eyes looking at me, welcoming, both curious and respectful. I could talk in my own time and so I just listened. I listened to their stories and struggles, their dreams and hopes for themselves and their children.

“So did you learn anything new?” my husband asked as I came through the door.

“Yes.” I replied. “I learned that I’m not alone.”

Read more about forming a Support Group on A Wild Ride.

Part 8: The Future
Read the beginning of the series:Read Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six.