Those People

Two years ago, my son Jackson and I were going through a really hard time. It was the ultimate power struggle and it was sucking the peace out of our home. It had been just the two of us for so long. His dad and I separated when he was eight months old. And even though my older son Bryce was still home, with an age difference of 15 years, Jackson was raised like an only child. He thought he was the man of the house. I can see how he thought that … it’s a symptom of a single parent home, especially a boy and his mom.

When Todd and I married in 2016, it was an adjustment for all of us, but especially for Jackson. He gained a step-sister, we sold the only home he knew as a child and he switched schools. But more than all of that, he felt like he had to share me. And no matter what I did or how many times I told him I had enough love to go around, in his 10 year old mind, he was losing everything. 

Jackson battles anxiety. He’s smart, competitive and strong-willed. When he can’t control his world, his emotions can come out sideways. To him, I was the only thing left in his world and he was fighting for control. He had so much rage and anger. It was all directed towards me. We were walking through hell. I was so beat down. I would come home after work, sit on the back porch and mentally prep myself before picking him up from aftercare. And I would wait until the last minute to pick him up so that I would have enough energy to make it through the night. Am I Still A Big Deal? 

I had the support of Jackson’s dad and step-mom. I had grandparents, the school principal, counselors and coaches all on standby for the next melt down. His dad and I had several conversations about what to try next, where to go from here, what are we missing. Jackson lived with me, his dad lived an hour and a half away. We worked hard to co-parent but I was super-mom and I should have this under control. I thought very highly of myself. The idea of Jackson living with his dad was never, ever a thought. That’s not how this was supposed to work. Children of divorced parents live with the mom. If they didn’t, something must be wrong with the mom. Right? 

On Tuesday, January 31, 2017 I called Jackson’s dad and said, I’m bringing him to you. Jackson and I were both in so much pain that I was frightened. Not in a million years did his dad expect that phone call. I never in a million years expected to make that phone call. My son was hurting and I couldn’t fix it. Maybe his dad could. I didn’t know for sure, but I knew I had to relinquish control and swallow my pride. I withdrew him from school, packed up his things, picked him up from aftercare and drove him 83 miles away. I believed this trial was for and about Jackson. This was for God to teach him something. I’m fine. 

After two months of not being fine, sleeping through every weekend and dodging family functions becuase I couldn’t stand the thought of being there without Jack, Momma called. 

I was so ashamed that I couldn’t help Jackson. I was even more ashamed that I couldn’t control my 10 year old’s behavior. I was embarassed that he lived with his dad and not me. In my snooty opinion, I could provide better.

“Momma, People are going to think I’m a horrible mom. They are going to ask why Jackson wanted to live with his dad more than me and when am I going to see him.”

“What people?”, Momma asked softly. 

“They are going to ask me about baseball and his school. They are going to ask me why I couldn’t control him.”

Momma asked again, “Baby, what people?”

“What am I going to say?  Oh, Hello …  Jackson is so angry that he won’t talk to me! That I didn’t see him on his birthday and the only reason I spoke to him was because his dad made him take my call.” 

“Baby, What people?”, Momma asked.

“They are going to say I can raise step children but I can’t raise my own son!”

“What people are you talking about, Stacey?”

“You know those people, Momma! Those people in my head!”

It sounded silly the minute I said it out loud. Those were my fears … that was my shame … it wasn’t anything that anyone else had said or even insinuated. I had been prideful for a long time and considered myself the better parent. The journey toward humility is difficult. If I would have kept Those People a secret, there’s no telling how long I I would have been stuck in my own pride. Shame and fear will hold you hostage from truth and healing. 

My son lives with his dad. He’s doing fine. He has grown so much in the past two years and he has learned a lot from his father.  I have been able to establish better boundaries for myself and with Jackson. We are both more comfortable with the order of God, Spouse, then Children. It makes the time we spend together sweeter … it allows him to be a kid. I miss him. And I still hate it when he misses a family function. But we visit often and I gladly drive the 83 miles to watch him play sports. 

I thought I was the superior parent. I was wrong. Am I Still a Big Deal?