*Trigger Warning: This post discusses suicide.*
I wrote about my experience mothering a struggling child a few months ago when things were especially difficult for my younger child at school. Back then, I still had hope. I genuinely thought that I could handle the situation and that, with proper care, things would improve.
But nothing prepares you for when your child is suicidal. The moment you know, nothing is ever the same. Your life is meaningless; your efforts are pointless, and your whole existence is purposeless.
My child, my baby, has always struggled with their mental health for as long as they started to talk. They had always been anxious; their mind was always racing frantically, and they struggled with sleep and relaxation. They struggled with their gender identity. They’ve been bullied relentlessly for being different, for looking different, for behaving differently, for trying to fit in, for just being themselves.
They’ve had suicidal ideation and self-harm behavior since elementary school. And we’ve been working closely with professionals through it all.
I let my guard down whenever things improved and breathed, thinking, “We’ve finally made it; my child is safe.” Then something happened, and they regressed.
It’s gotten to the point that I don’t think they will be fine anymore. I’ve adopted the idea that they will always be at risk and that I always have to be on full alert. I sleep with my eyes and ears open, constantly preparing for the worst.
But having the idea is one thing; having a plan is another, and acting on that plan is totally and entirely another horror.
I’ve locked up everything that can be used to end their life. No more closed doors. I monitor their mood like a hawk. I don’t trust when they are in a good mood anymore. I’m always anticipating regression at any given second.
I think about the what-ifs all the time. What if this is the last time I see their face alive? What if these were the last words I heard from them? What if I wake up and they somehow succeed and are gone?
It’s a living nightmare, and it’s our reality now. I now know that there’s nothing—and I mean absolutely nothing—I can do. I keep reminding them of the good things in life to convince them to stay and help them find their lives worth living.
Some ask in what can only be dismissive: “But what could be wrong with their life at this age for them to want to end it?” Or “So what, we’ve all been bullied at some point in our lives.”
Unfortunately, that’s not how mental disorders work. And obviously, none of those commenters struggles with their mental health.
Depression is not just being sad as a reaction to adversity; don’t ask an individual struggling with depression to cheer up. Anxiety is not just being worried about an upcoming life event; don’t ask someone struggling with anxiety not to worry. ADHD is a neurodevelopmental disorder, and it’s not just being hyperactive; don’t ask an individual with ADHD to focus. Dyscalculia is a learning disability, and not just being bad at math; don’t call an individual with dyscalculia stupid. A nonverbal learning disability is another neurodevelopmental disorder, and it’s not autism; don’t call someone with NVLD a weirdo.
My child struggles with the above. And I can tell you, it’s A LOT for anyone to deal with, let alone a child. As a mother, I do all I can to help. But it’s not enough. Although, I admit we are very fortunate our child feels safe around us that they share their darkest thoughts.
Unfortunately, no one outside of our family and mental health professionals offers support. Peers are judgmental and drop them at every chance, saying, “They are too much to deal with.” Some teachers don’t support them the way they need.
Last school year, my child was beaten up at school, and because they didn’t understand people’s behavior, they kept on going back to the aggressor, telling them, “They should be friends,” gaining them more beatings.
My child came back home with bruises and an injured ankle, still refusing to report the incident. If not for a witness who reported it, the school would’ve still believed my child exaggerated circumstances and was paranoid.
When do we truly embrace differences? Children with developmental and learning differences need our support. Children with mental disorders need our support. Children with gender dysphoria need our support.
When you meet a child who is not your “typical child,” show your support and try to see where they are coming from. Ask them if they are OK and if their needs are met.
