Parenting a Child with Mental Illness While Having a Mental Illness *Trigger Warning*
At times in my life, when depression had flattened out my world, I have had suicidal ideations, with my first attempt when I was only 9 years old. But this narrative is not about me, it is about my own now 9-year-old son. School had only been in session for a few weeks when I came home from work hurriedly, briefly missing my son’s school bus that was dropping him off. He was in 4th grade and had been struggling with bullies since K5. This year was ramping up to be a challenge already with an increased academic workload and social struggles. Added to that was the fact that he experienced the death of his little brother four years earlier, around this time of year.
I must have missed the signs, or perhaps I did not think that, at his age, he could experience paralyzing depression, especially since he did not come from an abusive or neglectful past as I had. When I came through the door, I smelled smoke. I called his name several times as I checked the upstairs rooms. I knew he was home because his bookbag was tossed on the floor of the kitchen. The smell of smoke became stronger. As I started down the stairs, my son finally met me.
I asked him if he smelled smoke. He denied that he did. When I went into the guest bedroom, however, there were holes burned into the blanket on the bed. I assumed he had been playing with matches and started into demanding he tell me what was going on. He became visibly shaken and, for the first time, took off running away from me.
I followed him outside, calling to him firmly and kindly, asking him to come back and talk with me. I would not be mad. I wanted to help. He refused. It took me about forty-five minutes to get him to calm down and agree to come inside to talk with me. Once inside, he burst into tears, telling me his heart could not take the sadness anymore and he was trying to light himself on fire because he wanted to die. Once I looked at his clothes, I could see the holes where he had attempted. He explained that the lighter he found kept going out. He sobbed as he told me he would put a knife through his heart because it hurt so much.
My mind was reeling, but I knew he needed help. I took him to the Emergency Room. Due to no beds in any psychiatric hospitals that could take a child of his age, he was admitted to our local Children’s Hospital with a one-to-one patient “watcher” for about 3 days until a bed opened up. As hard as it was to see my son in paper scrubs, escorted by a police officer, I felt a numb relief that he was safe.
Throughout this year, I have really struggled with my own mental anguish, but I do not want my child to suffer in silence. I want to know what is going on in his life. I believe his diagnosis helps provide a guide to recovery. I work hard to listen to him and keep communication open. In the past, I had resisted taking time for myself, but now more than ever, I believe that taking care of myself is of the utmost importance. Raising a child with a mental health condition is challenging. My patience can wear thin, because I want my child to do the things, he needs to do in order to be successful. Frustration sometimes leaks into my communication and he puts up walls. I am still learning. He is still recovering. I want him to know that I accept and believe him. I tell our story because I want to end the stigma and I want other parents to feel that they do not have to remain silent.
