The beginning of these days…

Earlier I wrote about handling a situation with one my children in the wrong way. I have to admit, I’m hard on her. I’m hard on me. So much of my upbringing spills into my present life, sometimes it’s like a suffocating, inky black oil spill destroying everything in its path. Things I have always said I would never do, come pouring out and I always, ALWAYS, regret them. I’m trying to raise children who don’t have to recover from their childhood like I did, like I am still doing.

I uprooted everything we knew one year ago. Moved to a small town with my husband, four hours away from our families and the very good life we had. Our life was good, my children were happy, my husband was happy but I was contemplating the end of my very short marriage. My husband worked in this small town and we saw him a max of eight days a month and after 4 years that was no longer enough.

The toddler was, of course, fine with the move. The eight year old? Not so much. It has been a very long year for her and I, complete with near daily meltdowns and an eating disorder that lasted for several months.

I finally wised up about a month ago and got her (and myself) into therapy. Sometimes being “mom” just isn’t enough. The love I have for my children can’t always reach to the deep dark places in their psyche that are hurting them and in those cases, we NEED direction and we need an outside look on the situation with some unbiased advice. Initially I was embarrassed to admit that I needed the help, now I couldn’t be more grateful for the insight and the help I’ve received.

Bless all you of you Doctors of the mind…

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.