So, at the beginning of the summer we started CBT. I say we as I went into all the sessions (his choice not mine) and we both learnt & benefited. School starts tomorrow, and I have had good nights’ sleep for over a week. He stayed at a friend’s house on Friday with no drama or angst. At the moment he is singing in his bedroom after an hour of baking with me. This is the first last day of the holidays when I haven’t felt like rocking in a corner due to cumulative stress. This is an amazing breakthrough. I get that CBT won’t work for everyone, and I also get that he clicked with his therapist straight away, and she ‘got’ him straight away, explaining the science behind what he thinks & feels, suggesting pod casts and YouTube sites for both of us, and books for me. When the sessions end at the end of September, I’m going to miss them. I have learnt new words  – catastrophising and awfulising – and I also learnt that I do both of these far too much. I also learnt that I know more than I thought I knew, and all of the things and coping mechanisms I have done with him have been right, I just needed to teach him to do them himself. And, obviously, there have been lots of new things that we have both learnt too.

In a month, we will have been discharged from CAMHS (again). Whether we go back again remains to be seen. I would like to think that, at the moment, things are under control and we won’t need to go back at all, and if we do, it won’t be for a while, but I also know and understand that there are no rules to any of this. We will take each day, week, month and term as it comes, and deal with any issues that may come along.

I think the picture below sums up our summer quite well – this is what happens when your clinically anxious son has a summer of CBT……and we haven’t quite hit the teenage hormones yet!!!

Last week, a petition popped up on my social media feed. You can read about it here, and it is a campaign to get mental health on the curriculum for agriculture courses at colleges and universities. Agriculture (and associated industries) has an incredible high suicide rate, and the person who set up the campaign has pointed out that they were taught about health and safety when using machinery, but no one ever taught them anything about keeping their mental well-being healthy.

Surely this should be on every course, not just agriculture courses. I teach teens, and listen to the problems that they face every day. It can be a very different world to the one I grew up in, and we need to put mental health firmly on the agenda, we need to remove stigma, and the language we use every day to make sure we help our teens grow up healthy in every way.

But let’s not forget adults – men are three times more likely to commit suicide than women, it’s the most common cause of death in men, and it’s still a taboo subject. There is an interesting article from Esquire Magazine here, and, as it points out, we are cutting deaths from cancer and other physical diseases, but mental health numbers, and suicides, are rising.

Women aren’t immune either, and there must be hundreds of woman suffering in silence from the effects of mental health issues.

However, controversial bit coming up, we also need to be honest, and change our language. If I have a bad day and am feeling a little low, I am not depressed, I am just feeling a little low. If I have an exam coming up and am worried, this doesn’t mean I am plagued with anxiety (if I have anxiety, I might be, but being worried about an exam is not the same as being overwhelmed by anxiety on a day to day basis).  Just as a cold is not the same as ‘flu, feeling sad after you go back to work after an amazing holiday is not the same as depression.

Nevertheless, if it is us who is struggling and suffering, we need to be brave enough to speak out. If we run a company, we need to support our workers and recognise that there are times when a sick day may be needed to alleviate a mental health issue, and not just physical health issues (like this company have, and it’s gone viral).

We need to put mental health and mental well-being firmly on the agenda. We need to be there for each other, to understand that what may be routine for us is a battle for someone else. We need to be supportive of our friends, colleagues and neighbours. We need to listen, and if it isn’t time to talk, we need to sit with them in the silence and let them know we are there.

 

So, Scottish Higher results were released last week, A-levels this week and GCSEs next week. Tensions are high in so many households, and there are teens wondering and worrying about how the world is going to carry on if they don’t get the magic 5, or the grades needed for uni. We can tell them that whatever happens, the world keeps turning, and the sun still rises and sets, and life carries on, but right now that means nothing. Everything, every possible future, their whole lives depends on what is on that piece of paper. Except, sometimes not getting your magic 5, your predicted grades, or any grades is the best thing that can happen. These are true stories.

Story 1:

A young man of 18 went to get his A-level results so that he could go to the university of his choice and read accounting & finance. He was clever, top sets at GCSEs, so although he had enjoyed a few nights out with friends in the lead up to exams, he felt relatively confident that he’d done OK. And then he opened the envelope, and saw that the predicted grades weren’t there at all. There was no way he was going to get into his first choice (or possibly second choice). Determined to go to university, he got into a college (not uni) to do an HND (equivalent of a FdSc today), and he had the best time, came out with good grades and on graduating, got a job in accounting. Different route, same outcome. Today, he is the managing director of a successful IT company, has worked all over Europe and is now planning his next adventure.

Story 2:

A young teen wanted to do biology GCSE, but was told by her biology teacher that she was not good enough to get good grades. Fast forward to GCSE results day, and they were all fine, but no biology. A-level choices were compromises, and, again, she did OK, but not fantastically, getting quite a lot lower than her predicted grades. Realising that she was not on the right path, she chose not to go to uni, and worked, got married and had a child before finally going to uni at 26 to do a biology based degree where she came top of her cohort. She then went on to do a biology based masters, and was top again. Just because a teacher tells you something doesn’t mean it’ true. If it’s what you really want to do, you will find a way.

Story 3:

A skware peg struggled all the way through school. Exam results were never particularly good, and he got into a cycle of ‘I’m not going to to well, why bother trying’. GCSE results day wasn’t very good (2 passes above C), retakes were the same, but after getting Maths & English Functional Skills at level 2 (GCSE equivalent(ish)) he got onto an AS level course, got a place at uni, but, again, had a disappointing results day. He took a year out, found himself, got a place at a different uni, and has just finished his first year, but because of his determination, may not be going back full time as other opportunities have appeared.

These are all true, and happened to people I know.  I also know people who got their grades, went to uni and have fantastic careers doing what they wanted to do. There are others who didn’t go to uni, didn’t do A-levels, and they are successful in their chosen fields. And there are others who choose to travel, to have a family & be a stay at home parents, or to go from job to job as they see opportunities. All of these people are successful in their own way.

So, to the parents and carers of those waiting for results this week or next, my advice is this: in the long run, it doesn’t matter what that piece of paper says. It will matter on the day, and will matter for several weeks later.  But sometimes, not being allowed to take biology, not doing well in your A-levels and doing things the ‘long way round’ is a blessing. I am glad I didn’t take biology. I am glad my grades weren’t that good, and I am glad that the world kept turning and I found fantastic new opportunities that I would have missed if I hadn’t been pushed onto a different path.

There have been lots of articles over the last year or two about art in schools and as part of the National Curriculum for KS3 & beyond. The pressure is to reduce the amount of time that students spend on ‘soft’ subjects like the arts, so that they can spend more time on more serious subjects, such as physics or geography.  As a teacher, I understand that if you are judged on the marks in the serious subjects, you will automatically spend more time on these ones, but art should never be seen as a soft subject – and what is this about soft and not soft subjects anyway?

Art subjects – be that fine art, design, crafting, sewing, woodwork, cake decorating garden design, photography or any other variant – is good for the soul, it feeds the imagination part of our brain, and it also allows us to day dream, to escape into another plain where we can work through things that are bothering us. I’d like to think that blogging is an art form, and for those of you who regularly read my blogs, you know that it is a form of therapy for me, but so is gardening, sewing, jewellery and candle making. They all allow me to shut off from the pressures of the news, school, work and reports. I can think about anything, and while I am thinking about what seeds I might want to grow next year (did you know that you can grown quinoa in the UK – not planning to, but hey!) I then get a light bulb moment about the way to teach grammar to teens, or how I can tackle the sleeping problem we’re having with our youngest, or even what I can going to buy my grandmother for Christmas. Art is essential for our mental health.

Moreover, (and I think I may be plagiarising this from a Dan Brown book, so I acknowledge that now, but can’t actually cite it as I’m not sure which book), the higher you get in science and maths, the more artistic things become. There are patterns and rhythms to maths, there is beauty beyond words in the vastness of the cosmos, and the microscopic intricacies of the world too small for our eyes to see. And, perhaps most importantly, the sciences and maths need the arts. They need the imagination that sees beyond what is there and what we know. They need the mind that can wonder until it suddenly gets an idea that might change the world, and save mankind as it does. We cannot have advances in science without scientists who have imaginations to see what others cannot see yet.

Seeing art as a soft option goes beyond school. As most of you will know, I teach, and I am really enjoying being back in the classroom. I also did a science degree & masters, and see myself as a scientist, which is probably why I keep stopping myself throwing myself into my arty hobbies more. I love sewing, and am quite good at it (I made an amazing bridesmaid’s dress last year), and I also make jewellery, candles and am formulating lotions and potions at the moment. However, I cannot commit myself to these completely as my head still sees crafting as a non-science even though my lotions and potions, and, to a certain extent, candles, are a perfect symbiosis of science and art!

We all (me included) need to embrace all the difference subjects available to us as adults, and to our skware pegs. We need artists, scientist, mathematicians, geographers and historians, and we also need people who don’t see any barriers between the different areas, who can be artistic, mathematical geologists who can live happy, imaginative lives, while making amazing discoveries and inventions. And me? Well I need to relax, go into my garden and see where my mind will take me!

Anxiety rules our world – it really does. Sometimes it’s our youngest’s anxiety, and sometimes, bear with me here, it’s my anxiety about his anxiety. And sometimes it’s not the anxiety as such, it’s the need for his safe place (home) which means after almost a week of a two-week holiday in a wonderful part of Cornwall, he is homesick, or at least safe-place sick, and the next few days are going to be a bit of a roller coaster. Our eldest isn’t with us, and I worry about him too. He’s had a day trip to Amsterdam (lots of plane stalking yesterday to make sure he got there and got home OK), and now he’s back home, and I still worry! Hence the blog; my anxiety about our youngest’s potential anxiety has now kicked in, and the best thing for me to do right now is write about it.

We are staying in a different holiday cottage, but in the same little hamlet we have stayed in for the last 9 years. He wanted a change even though we were happy with the flat we stayed in before. He helped me choose this (there were others that he preferred, but this looked lovely, and it was in our budget), and it is a lovely cottage. But, he now misses the flat we used to stay in (even though last year he didn’t want to stay there any more). He misses home. He misses his bed. He misses the animals. He misses his safe place. He’s ok, a long way from a meltdown or shut down, but there is still an underlying tension today.

It’s not just today, though. The house has a double room, and a twin room. We arrived on Saturday, and I have been sleeping in the twin room with him, as he doesn’t want to sleep on his own. To be honest, we expected this. Somewhere new, somewhere strange….yep, it’s hard to be on your own. Last night, however, as the home sickness really kicked in, we played musical beds all night. I had to hug him til he fell asleep, a nightmare in the middle of the night meant he needed another hug and then at 6am he had another bad dream and came in to my tiny, uncomfortable bed that’s only just big enough for one.

This is what people looking in fail to understand or comprehend. Anxiety, autistic traits or whatever barrier is driving this current angst is there all the time. It doesn’t ever go away. Not completely. If the CBT works, we have been told it will just allow him to control his anxiety, rather than it controlling him. And it won’t really have much effect on the ASD traits. They will be there forever, but….. I was going to write that he will be able to control them. And then I stopped and paused. Should he have to control them? If he finds smelly crowded restaurants stressful, should he have to find a way to overcome this? If he finds some places overwhelming on a sensory basis, should he have to find a way to be in there anyway, controlling the head ache or whatever physical affect this causes?

Anyway, the purpose of this blog, this ramble, is to say to all you parents who are sharing rooms on holiday, or watching out for possible stressors or triggers, you’re not alone. Our normal may be different to many other people’s normal, but you are not the only one going through this. We live in a crazy world sometimes (all the time??) but the positives, the conversations, the amazing children and young adults who share our lives make all the craziness worthwhile.

A year ago our youngest had just finished year 6, and our 17 year stint as parents as the same primary school was over – emotional times. Ahead was the roller-coaster summer between years 6 & 7 where our youngest would fluctuate between excitement and terror. Added into this mix was an autism assessment, and the associated stress with the test itself, but also with the results.  Our eldest was getting ready for university, a world he didn’t think he would ever be allowed to enter because of his poor academic record and lack of A-levels or any other level 3 qualification.  Added to all this was my application to get back into teaching after a 15 month hiatus.

One year on, and our youngest has almost finished year 7. In 9 weeks when he goes back to school, he won’t be one of the babies any more. He will be in year 8. He will also go back with another diagnosis of visual stress, or Irlen Syndrome (because dyslexia, clinical anxieties and ASD traits aren’t enough), and his colour will be dark green. The year has been incredibly tough for him, and although things are getting better, he had a big anxiety attack on Sunday night, we slept on the sofa as he didn’t want to be alone, and after an upset tum at 5am, we decided that he needed to have Monday at home. He has started counselling with CAMHS for his anxieties, and sessions with a CBT therapist start at the end of July. All good in so many ways, but it’s all still there, and we still have to help him deal with it. Another blog post will follow very soon about the attitude of some of the other children to mental health issues, but to summise, some of his peers have been understanding; others definitely have not.

One year on, and our eldest has swapped courses, completed his first year, but will probably be looking to change course again for September, but still at the same university. What his year in HE has shown me, is that the symptoms of ADHD & dyslexia never, ever go away. To be completely honest, I was expecting more support and understanding from an established university. Yes, he made mistakes with emails, communication chains etc, but he was honest and open about his learning barriers from the start, and I feel he needed more help, and he needed to be asked if he needed help.

And then there’s me. One year on I have really enjoyed being back in the classroom. It has been very challenging at times, and although I am very part time (only 8 teaching hours a week) it has been hard to balance supporting students and supporting our boys (and each other). But I’ve done it – good attendance, retention and pass rates, and hopefully new, exciting courses are on the horizon.

So, we’ve almost done it. We are almost there. We have survived teaching, university and year 7. We are also making plans for a greener, more eco-lifestyle which will mean than eco-therapy will be on our doorstep, and there will be more info on this in future blogs, and also how eco-therapy can help our skware pegs find their own holes.

The other thing that this year has taught me is that as a parent (and sometimes as a teacher) you need to trust your gut instinct. If you believe something isn’t right, pursue it. If you find something that works for you and your skware peg, embrace it. But most of all, this is your life, these are your skware pegs. There are no other skware pegs anywhere in the world like them, so do what’s best for them.

What a strange week it’s been. It certainly has been a roller coaster, with the highs of an award at Speech Day for our youngest, (plus an award recognising the commitment my husband has with his voluntary coaching he does week in, week out at school) and then the (?selfish) lows of Saturday night.

Saturday was the annual fund raising ball at school, where teachers and parents all let their hair down and have fun. We almost missed out on tickets, but managed to get 4, and I asked our youngest if he would be OK staying at my parents over night so that I could have a proper grown up night out (our eldest usually babysits, but he was coming too!). I wouldn’t drink, because I don’t tend to, and so would be there to have breakfast with him and then we could have a normal Sunday. Back in February he agreed, so I assumed it was all sorted, and started planning our Big Night Out.

Earlier last week, I checked that he was still OK with the arrangements. His face dropped, and it was clear he wasn’t. He was OK going, but didn’t want to stay over. I asked him to reconsider as it was a big deal, and I really wanted to stay out late. I thought it was all resolved, until Saturday afternoon when we chatted about packing his bag and I mentioned staying over. Tears, a shutdown and a change of plan was needed.

So, the new plan was that we went out (we did) and he would stay at my parents (which he did), but we would be home by midnight to pick him up. In return, he would keep it together, not meltdown or shutdown, and we would be able to stay out til then. All OK, compromise made, time to get ready and go.

I had an amazing time. The food was nice, good company, funny speeches, but it all went on a bit, so by the time we had to think about getting ready to leave, it was only just getting started. No dancing, no mixing, no real socialising, and on the way home, I got so cross and so upset. I wanted one night of not watching the clock or checking my phone. I wanted to leave when my feet hurt from dancing, or when everyone else was going. I didn’t want to be the first to leave. I wanted to be carefree, and instead I was conscious of the time. I want to be in some of the funny photos that are on social media, I wanted to do dodgy mum-dancing, make memories and laugh at the jokes we all shared. Instead, we left early, and were home soon after midnight.

I honestly can’t remember the last time I really let my hair down and threw caution to the wind. I can’t remember not worrying or phone checking. I can’t remember being completely spontaneous; I can’t remember being completely selfish and putting me at the centre of plans. That makes me sad.

On the flip side, though, I can discuss Einstein with one son, and the general election with the other. I can indulge in thoughts and conversations on time travel, music, and the benefits (or not) or spirulina and coconut flour.

I really so have an amazingly blessed life. There is so little for me to complain about, and I know that compared to many special needs parents, we have it so easy.  But sometimes it all gets a bit much, and it seems really hard. Sometimes it feels very controlled, and it feels that I sometimes forget who I am while I try to help my wonderful boys.

This isn’t asking for pity, by the way, far from it. I really do have an amazing life, and we are planning for exciting changes in the future. I honestly wouldn’t change anything as it all works, and, for the huge majority of the time, it is truly wonderful.

So, I am now going to crank the radio up, and do some very dodgy mum dancing round the kitchen – and I don’t care who knows!

 

Before I start this properly, this isn’t a ‘poor me’ post. I am not looking for sympathy, I’m just being very, very honest about the lows of parenting, and how some days can be lower than others.

As you know from my previous post, this week was about exams and CAMHS, and so was bound to be stressful for our youngest. What I failed to acknowledge was how stressful it was going to be for me. At the moment, while the rational part of my brain sees two amazing humans who have no desire to be round pegs, and embrace their skware-peginess (???) the irrational part of my brain is currently seeing that we have two children who have barriers to accessing education that has necessitated help from CAMHS. When I was pregnant with both of them, and I was making plans for their future, spending time at the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services department of a hospital didn’t feature at all.  As I talked about in a previous blog (skwarepegrowndhole.wordpress.com/2015/06/30/17/), there is an huge amount of guilt at times when you are an SEN parent, and all those feelings are very close to the surface at the moment.

I am also trying to build and develop a new business venture at the moment, trying to fit everything I do around family, revision, trips to buy suits and everything else that has been normal in our family this week. I am putting extra pressure on myself, but it’s something I really want to do. I stopped working full time 21 years ago when I went on maternity leave, and although I have worked part time for the last 20.5 years, I have chosen not to apply for promotions or new jobs as the boys were my priority. However, they are now 12 & 20, and I am only in my 40s, so feel that this is my time to push what I want to do, and drive my ideas and dreams into reality.

Now you know the backdrop to this week, I need to admit & confess what happened last night. I came home from a day teaching to a full dishwasher, a sink full of pots and pans, dry washing waiting to go on in the washing machine, and (and this sounds so silly now), our eldest had eaten the wrong frozen fish, and had had a double portion for his lunch (and hadn’t washed the baking tray he’d cooked them in). Well, I released the inner banshee and I heard myself shouting, stamping and ticking every ‘bad parenting’ box I could manage. I calmed down, both boys were summoned, and all the washing up was done.

Fast forward an hour or so, and our eldest was back in the kitchen cooking himself tea. There were bits of cheese and stuff on the cooker, and my red mist descended again. He mumbled something under his breath, and, forget the banshee, some sort of demon from hell was released. I was horrid. I lost the plot completely. We’re still barely talking 18 hours later.  I was just feeling so frustrated, that I was drowning in a sea of mess, and that neither of them listened to me. Ever.

This morning I had to take our youngest to CAMHS for counselling for anxieties, feeling a huge amount of blame – of course our 12 year old has anxieties, his mother is a screaming banshee – mixed in with the SEN parent guilt.

The morning was actually really interesting, and his/our work to do at home is to look at feelings. One of these is looking at the ‘negative trap’, where you think of your most difficult situations and write what happens, how you feel and what you think about when you are in that situation. I thought about this on the way home from school, before writing this.

Last night, when I was faced with the mess and chaos, I was thinking: why can’t anyone else see the mess? I don’t have the time, but I really don’t want to stop what I’m doing; I can’t do this anymore; something has to give, and I don’t want it to be me anymore.

What I did: erupted, shouted, stamped my feet and bellowed

What I felt (and this is the interesting one, and I’m being really honest here): sad, let down, that I was drowning, scared that I would never have time to do my thing, guilty (no idea why, but guilt was there), disappointment in myself for not getting the boys to do this kind of thing already, undervalued, and very upset.

This week I am not winning at parenting. There is no kick-ass warrior parent writing this today, but that’s the point of this rambling post. Some days we win, some days we are so freaking amazing that the whole world seems to turn to give us a thumbs up, most days we coast along, doing our best, somehow, hoping no one notices how much we are winging it, and then sometimes we lose it, and we completely f&%k it up. When this happens (and let’s be honest, this does happen) we have to apologise for our words and actions, and then we have to reflect, learn, pull ourselves together (write a blog post) and then find our sparkle again, and carry on.

To my wonderful, passionate 20 year old, I am sorry I lost it last night. It wasn’t good parenting, and I know that. Mum xx

Last week was my exam week – 11 students took English exams at various levels. I know that 4 have passed already, but the other 7 have to have theirs externally marked, so I need to wait for those results, but I feel positive. They were ready, they were capable of passing, and I did everything I could before they went in to make them believe that they could. If you go into an exam thinking you will fail, you probably will. If you go in thinking you will pass, you are much more likely to.

So tomorrow marks the start of exam week for my youngest. Stress levels are high, but we will manage the stress. He probably hasn’t spent as much time revising as he should have done, as every time the books come out, the meltdowns appear on the periphery. On the other hand, we discuss what topics he’s doing at school all the time. I know what the curriculum has been this year for all his subjects apart from Spanish (I don’t speak Spanish, so that’s more or less down to him). I have helped him research the Norman Conquest, we have read maps together, we have discussed forces and energy, made atomical models and have dissected plants to look at stapels and stamens.  We have looked at Roman lives, watched documentaries on Pompeii (and have watched the Doctor Who episode The Fires of Pompeii many times with the excuse that it’s research and revision). We have also debated what or who ‘God’ is, and how much of a marketing tool The Bible was to early Christians (his ideas, not mine). We try to go that little bit extra with home work and research, and I make sure he understands everything as we go along, so all revision is for is fine tuning, checking spelling (as much as we can) and getting last minute details and facts logged.

I don’t mind what marks he gets, but he will. When he had a mini-meltdown that was almost a tantrum last week, I told him I was happy for him not to revise, but asked would he be happy with grades lower than he got last time. He shook his head and did some revision. I really mean that – Ds, Cs or As don’t matter. At 12, in year 7, all that matters is that he learns how to handle the stress of exams, and finds a way to cope. I am one of those strange people who would rather do exams than coursework. I perform well under pressure, and as long as I am prepared (and no obscure questions come up), I generally do well. I am sure this comes from doing school tests twice a year from being 7 (and that was at a large state school).

Thursday is also the first CAMHS counselling session – and that’s causing me more stress than the exams.  I have no idea what will be covered, what will be discussed or how he will react to it. I do know it will be around 10 sessions, 3-4 weeks apart, and I know that there will be homework. I know that, at least at the beginning, I will need to be in the room with him. Maybe it will help me too. Not long til I find out.

Right now, as I type, we are watching yet another episode of our latest box set marathon. Two series down, two to go. In between episodes, we are dog walking, having outdoor time and revising. I firmly believe that mental health is more important than grades. However, when the two are interlinked, and, to a certain extent, good grades are important for his mental health, it is a fine line we walk to ensure that both are attainable.