In my day job people might say I work with computers. In reality I work with software so working with computers is simply a natural by-product of that. I do know my way around a computer but my strength lies in understanding software, what it should do and, when it's not doing what it should, why it's not working properly. That's part of my role as a Business Analyst. As such, I have a good understanding of "broken code", programming routines and sub-routines that have not been written correctly. I'm pretty good at working out these problems, if I do say so myself.
In my night and weekend job I'm a dad of 4 to 6 kids (we have shared custody of two of the children). It can be tough being a father to so many kids. It can also be remarkably rewarding. However, in my "non-day" job I've found that I'm also working with broken code. We have a daughter who suffers from mental illness.
Now, just to be clear, I'm not writing this to elicit responses of what a great or terrible dad I am. I want neither commendation nor condemnation. I'm simply writing this as a cathartic measure and because, maybe, someone in a similar situation might happen upon it and be able to relate to this. Perhaps it'll bring them comfort to know that their family is not the only one going through this. I don't know, but I hope so.
Miss 8 has a beautiful soul. She loves to draw, she loves to dance and sing, she, of course, loves to play with her siblings and to laugh. She is perfect in every way (as are all our children, in my opinion) with the exception that she is a victim of broken code. Initially the diagnosis was of ADHD, but the Marinoto team that we are working with have since withdrawn that and are, it seems, struggling to put a "label" to our daughters condition. While they ponder and ruminate and talk ad nauseam of feelings and rainbows (yes, I'm a little disillusioned with Marinoto) we continue the daily struggle against the results of Miss 8's broken code.
Let me paint you a brief picture, which hardly does the situation justice, of a typical day. There's (any combination of) the tantrums, the shouting, the swearing, the lying, the stealing, the damage and the very rare outburst of violence. There's the outright refusal to do anything that she's told until, at a loss for any more patience, we raise our voices, shouting at her to get on with [insert thing here]. Back when I was a child, Miss 8 would simply have been called "willfiul" or "naughty" and dealt with appropriately (who remembers the wooden spoon?), but today we understand that there are underlying causes for this behaviour.
We, as parents, do our absolute best to deal with each incident as it arises, trying to remain calm and talk the situation through. There are still consequences, there has to be, but we try to temper those with a lesson in how not to suffer these consequences again. Unfortunately neither of us are super-human and, as with any undesirable, repetitive behaviour our patience has a point where it simply runs out. Mine has a tendency to drain away first. I've never considered myself an angry man. I'm pretty passive about most things but, just like everyone else, I have buttons that, when pushed, cast a red veil over my vision and Mr Shouty comes out.
Tempers flare, harsh words are spoken in raised voices. Punishments are meted out with impunity. All for naught because we know that come tomorrow, or even later that same day at times, we'll be travelling this road again. There are almost always tears from Miss 8 and, through them, I can see the confusion in her eyes. It's not confusion over why she is being yelled at or punished, she's knows exactly why. It's confusion over not knowing why she continues to do the things she does. Being someone who has never dealt directly with mental illness I find it extremely difficult to understand how she actually doesn't know why she does the things she does. I have no frame of reference for this. There's no educational knowledge filed away in my own brain. It's one of the most frustrating things I've ever dealt with.
Yet I know this isn't the girl, this is the broken code sending ideas, thought processes and rationality out the window. There's no thought of consequence until after a thing is done, and then the lying begins because the realisation dawns that she's done wrong and is about to get into trouble. That merely exacerbates the problem and a big snowball effect kicks off.
I don't want to blame her because I know there's a lack of control there but we, all of us, have an innate sense that justice must be done. If someone has been wronged, if there is a victim, there must be a perpetrator and that perpetrator must be held accountable for their actions. That's how society works but is that societal mechanic really fair on the likes of Miss 8 who don't understand the impulses that their brain is sending out? Well, that's a topic for an entire post on its own. Let's get back on track...
I love all our kids and I always will, regardless of what they do and where they go in life. Miss 8 is no exception. However, anyone who is a step-parent and also has children of their own will admit that the connection is different. It's subtle, but is certainly different. For example, Master 10 is my step-son. I love that little goober to bits, as much as I love my own Miss 11 or Miss 9 (or Masters 2 and 5 months, for that matter) but the love, while strong and real, has a slightly different colour. It's not that the love for the one is less than the love for any other, it's simply that, for your genetic children, those that you have helped raise since new born babies, those you've watched grow and develop and become little people there is history and that's the fundamental difference. There is an indestructible silver thread connecting them to you that stretches back to the day they first entered the world, whereas, the same thread that connects you to step-children is only as long as the time they've been in your life. That sounds very wishy-washy and hippy-ish, I know, but it's true... or maybe that's just me.
Either way, I would do anything for these kids I call mine and that connection to my step-kids is, I believe, made better due to the fact that their biological father is not on the scene. As far as dad's go, I'm it for better or worse. However, when you take that slightly different coloured connection, that lack of history, and you throw in mental illness the love equation becomes a lot harder to solve. I do not mean to imply here that my love for Miss 8 is weaker than the others, it's simply harder to reconcile the love that I do feel with the anger that I also feel and with the frustration, the despair, the longing for a solution to this daily crisis that we find ourselves in.
I know that she loves me. The occasional picture, the beautifully heart-felt gift of a "Great Dad" coffee cup, the hugs and the smiles all tell me this. But I also know that our relationship is rocky. I believe that, at times, she really wonders if I love her. I do my best to tell her and, when I can (or I'm not angry) to show her, but I also know I do need to make more of an effort to reassure her. This is where that reconciling of the love with the anger gets in the way. Like I said, I've never had to deal directly with mental illness of this nature before. Every day is, I hope, a learning experience for me. Perhaps for Miss 8 too. I need to find my patience reserves. I need to make sure they are replenished daily. How? Buggered if I know right now, but that's part of my challenge.
I deal with broken code every day. If I can't fix a problem I find a way to work around it. I should be able to - no, I need to be able to find a way to put those skills into practice at home. I don't like the person that comes out when I get angry and I know none of my family do either. Miss 8 doesn't understand, fully, what she's going through so I need to be the understanding one for her. If I can't what kind of dad can I be to her?
There isn't an end in sight for this. There isn't a miracle cure that will fix Miss 8's broken code. Putting a label to it won't make it go away, won't even make it any better. If the problem can't be fixed then adapt to the problem. I want my relationship with Miss 8 to be as good as with all the other kids. In the end only I can make that happen, not for me, but for Miss 8.
That's my challenge. That's my journey.
No comments:
Post a Comment