I kind of snapped today, a small implosion where I physically made an attempt to remove myself from my grown kid’s dramas. I know that this is part and parcel of the adoption of older children; that they tend to constantly recreate the chaos and confusion that they’ve always found comfort in during their early lives. It was all they knew.

A peaceful lifestyle and a quiet coexistence alarms them, happiness confuses them and they think, on some level that they don’t deserve a good life and all too often do all they can to sabotage their own success.

Now for self-preservation I am screening my calls, not answering those that want to argue with me, criticize me, or take their own anger at themselves and their poor choices out on me.

I need to not enable anyone. If they can’t pay their rent then I’d suggest they not spend money on drugs or alcohol, but they’d just get mad at me for saying that to them.

It’s as if they are rebelling against me in every single decision. The areas that I taught them well include personal finance, accountability, honesty and responsibility. I’ve taught them to treat folks decently and that includes their mama.

These are now their “control” buttons. “You can’t make me act right,” they toss over their snippy shoulders as they flounce off, “I’m grown!”
OK, fine, but I can choose to not participate in this sorry state of affairs. Act hateful somewhere else, leave me out of the equation.

So I distance myself, lick my wounds like a yard dog, and attempt to emotionally heal from the latest onslaught of rage from traumatized children in adult’s bodies.

Because I always forgive each offense, they’ve mistaken it for a license to continually be rude. I have to find a no man’s land, a bridge, and a neutral place where I can protect what’s left of my own battered feelings and still be a warm and loving mom. I have a very long way to go.

Photo Credit Cindy Bodie