This Time of Year...

Do people use the word sucks anymore?  I don’t know, but I couldn’t think of a better way to explain this time of year.  I live in Florida which means this time of year is when they put the desks in a row instead of the nice little groupings, hardcore review, and (sometimes) put the pressure on. 

 

Let me say this isn’t a rant against teachers.  My kids’ teachers have been AMAZING.  In fact I want to erect statues to each and every one of them.  That’s how in love with them I am.  It’s more the system that puts the pressure on, but I digress… This isn’t a rant on testing, but more what happens in our family during testing time.

 

It starts small.  The review packets come home.  The practice tests start.  And as it gets closer and closer, sleep becomes a little more elusive, especially for my son.  He started a couple of nights ago, peeking his head into our room, saying he couldn’t sleep.  His stomach hurt.  He’s worried about the questions he missed on his Algebra review practice test. 

 

And I’m a therapist right?  I throw all my best stuff at him – where do you feel this in your body?  What does it feel like in your stomach?  What is the worst that could happen?  This goes on for about an hour.  I finally have him back in his room, so sleepy he can hardly see straight, and I ask…

 

“What happens if you get a 1 or a 2?” 

He says “You have to wait a few weeks and then you can take the test again.”

I say “Okay, well, we can do that.”

He says “Thank you.”

 

I was baffled by this.  All that good feeling and body stuff and me saying I’m okay with him taking it again is the only thing that gets a response?!?!?!  The only thing I can figure is that at that point he knew that I was okay with him whether he gets a 1 or a 5 (5 is the highest, for those who haven’t had the privilege).  He’s 13.  He doesn’t care about where he feels it in his body or what the underlying meanings are.  He just wants to know he’s loved and accepted here no matter what. 

 

Fast forward to the next day.  It’s my day off.  Who doesn’t love a day off?  I have a good list of things to do.  Some personal, some refreshing, some not so fun.  But both kids get off to school and… I. Just. Can’t. Do. It.  My list overwhelms me.  I have no idea where to begin.  Should I exercise or skip it? Should I go out and then come back?  Hmm… maybe a soufflé from Panera would help (insert sneaky face emoji here).

 

It’s taken me a long, and I mean long time to be able to connect my body and my head sometimes.  And I am still a very long way off, but today I was able to do it.  I felt paralyzed because I knew my son was at school feeling paralyzed.  Hopefully, you are way healthier than me and are able to go on your merry way knowing this is part of life and school and you did the best you could when he came to you and you run down that to-do list like nobody’s business.  I couldn’t do it. 

 

I realize I am carrying the weight of his anxious feelings.  Even last night as I’m trying to “therapy” him to death.  I’m hoping to take his pain away somehow.  Maybe I can keep him safe from ever feeling anything bad.  Wouldn’t that be wonderful, if both my kids could walk through life in a bubble where they are happy and pain-free all the time?  Well, actually… no, as much as testing sucks, that would suck worse.  They would never know their own strength.  They would never know what anyone else in pain felt like.  They might even be cold and feel superior.  They wouldn’t be better off. 

 

So, as I work all day to separate myself from my son, not so much that I’m not there for him, because I am and always will be if I’m able, but just enough so that I remember I have my journey and he has his.  My stepping in and paving roads and trying to bubble him isn’t doing either of us any good.  So, I went to Target and bought some curtains as we get rid of our current cat pee soaked ones.  Am I dying to see how he felt about it all when he gets home?  Absolutely.  But, he needs my empathy and my assurance that he’s okay no matter what - not for me to carry his weight on my shoulders.

Sarah Pippin