No one can break me like my older kid.
Week two of University brings us to the conclusion that he is exactly where he needs to be right now—and he’s pissed off about it. He likes his classes, being surrounded once again by peers, teachers, taking the train…but he jams his heels in, stopping just short of admitting it, because that would make him wrong about not wanting to return to school—and by extension make us right.
Hence his anger. In his head, he’s wrong, and he hates being wrong.
Up until now I’ve been his best friend, and now I’ve become his worst enemy by pushing him forward. I yield the baton to hubby, who is a hell of a lot more clear-headed than I am. We will work together to help elder get back some of the skills he lost in COVD, but my role, by necessity, will be silent partner.
My younger guy is just doing him, taking classes, playing his music, planning and executing his radio show, and in so doing seems to have connected with my own head and heart; I can’t get through his playlists without tears at least once a show.
This is how he reckons with his own stuff.
It’s hard sometimes to see progress when emotions run high. Sometimes you just need a minute.
