It's the middle child who clutches at my heart

By sarah toohey   I AM SITTING at the kitchen table enjoying the silence. My youngest child started college today. This day has been long awaited. She worked hard and got a place on the course that she wanted. She is still a morning grouch. My eldest child finished his degree this year and is now working, unpaid, in an architect's office in the city. The experience will look good, we hope, on a CV. He doesn't want to emigrate and I don't want him to emigrate, but I think it might be his only option. [private] My middle child has lost her way, and it is she, rather than the other two, who occupies my thoughts this morning. And most mornings. I go around in circles in my thoughts. She grew up in the same home as the other two. She was exposed to the same imperfect parenting and the same value system. So why is she living in a grotty flat and why is she deeply unhappy? She was a happy child. She loved playing and having friends up. She was very mischievous. She liked tennis and hockey but had no staying power. Maybe I did not push or insist enough. In Transition Year things began to unravel. She started lying about being at after-school study while mitching with friends. When we discovered this she got angry. Very angry. We did not understand her. Her friends were all important. She started putting on a lot of weight. I was in a dilemma. Should I say something about this or would that only make her feel badly about herself? I said nothing for a while as she steadily went up in clothes size. As she put on weight her sense of style deteriorated. She lived in torn jeans and dark hoodies. It became her after-school uniform. She started going down in grades at school, dropping back to Pass in many subjects. I lectured her but again, I did not want to give her the message that her only value was in how well she did at school. There are many different types of intelligence apart from the purely academic. I encouraged her reading. But things were getting worse at home. She started smoking. Staying out late. Sanctions were difficult to enforce. She was quite aggressive. Doors were kicked and damaged. She spoke with the chaplain at school. We were called in and were told that she had very low self esteem. Maybe, in hindsight, we should have got counselling at that stage. I don't know today why we did not. I walked a thin line between trying to give her guidance, without causing a row. I tried to draw her attention to the way she was eating without giving her a complex about her body. I grounded her. And that was tougher on us than it was on her. She was like a caged animal. She did her Leaving Cert and did not do particularly well. There were a few courses that she could have done and which would have had higher links with further education. She refused to do any of them, choosing instead a one-year stand-alone course. I thought at the time that if she did it and liked it, it might lead her to something else. When she failed all her modules I contacted the course coordinator. She had not handed in any course work and had not attended since April. I had driven her in to the school in the mornings, for crying out loud. She waited until I was gone and headed into town. Things got worse after this. We limped along for another year. We got the psychological assessments and counselling. Her behaviour got more aggressive. Basic house rules were flouted. Eventually, after much agonizing and speaking to people, we suggested that it might be good for her to move out of home when she clearly hated it so much. She moved out at the end of June. She had little money and no place to stay. She was effectively homeless. She stayed with various friends and eventually moved into a flat with one of them. She had had casual part-time work for a few years. She was let go shortly after she moved out. I did not rescue her. It was one of the hardest things that I have ever had to do. That is an abbreviated account of the last four years. There are many things that I have omitted but they don't substantially change the essence of our experience. Or the outcome. This morning as I wave my son off to his unpaid labour and my younger daughter to her first day at college, it is my middle child that clutches at my heart. I know she is unhappy. I have seen the marks on her arm. I have tried to get the help for her that she needs. But I am faced with two things beyond my control. She is 20 years old and the medical and healthcare professionals will not talk to me about her because she is over 18. And I am not convinced that she is in a place where she recognises that she needs help or that this involves some engagement on her part. To my shame I feel resentful of my friends and family whose offspring are either at, or finishing, college. I resent that their daughters look beautiful and are full of confidence, while my daughter is so lost. I hate myself because I feel embarrassed by her. And I hate myself because I believe at some level that this is my fault. That I was a bad mother. That I did not do the right things. I sent her to the wrong school. I have always had to watch my own weight. Maybe I gave her the wrong message about food. I am angry with the health professionals who jauntily tell me that they cannot discuss my daughter with me because she is an adult. Even though I am the one who has been living with my daughter for most of her life. I am also the one writing the cheque to pay their professional fee. Ostensibly, I have let her go. As I was advised to do. By shoring her up at home, putting up with unacceptable behaviour, I was enabling it. I was also protecting her from the consequences of her own choices and actions. But I have not let her go. She is still clutching my heart. And today as I watch my youngest child head off to college it is my middle child that I am thinking of. [/private]