When I was 14, I was always in trouble. My parents, my siblings, my church leaders and even my pets had no idea what to do with me. I had no idea what to do with me, and that scared me to death, even though I never would have admitted it.
When I was 15, grounded for the 134th time, laughing in my parent’s faces and manipulating the entire situation to my advantage, I jokingly said to my mother that if she really wanted me to change, she’d have to send me somewhere else where the cops didn’t supply me with alcohol and the teachers didn’t give me A’s in exchange for flirting.
About a week later, she sent me to live with my sister. I was passed from older sibling to older sibling for the better part of 3 years. I was initially dumbfounded, then felt tricked, then angry as hell, then frustrated and finally beaten down into accepting the situation. I swore I would never, ever send one of my kids away. Ever. I hated my parents and swore I would never forgive them. Ever.
My mom did what she knew she had to do and took all kinds of backlash from people in town, extended family and my therapists. She had a feeling that I needed to leave the small town where we lived, that I needed to get away from my set of friends, to have a chance at making my life worthwhile. Every path I was headed down would have led me straight to death, jail and/or general life-long unhappiness. She saved my life.
It was a thankless job then. I’ve thanked her before, a few years ago. And now I’d like to thank her again.
Thank you mom. It took me a few years, but I learned to be responsible for myself. I learned to grow up. I learned to be honest and tell the truth. I learned to listen to my gut and trust myself to know the answer. And from your example, I learned that sometimes you have to do the hard thing to get the right result. Thank you.
I love you and daddy very much.
xo,
leah