Living After the Aftermath

After sending Lilo to an in-patient program, their first 6 to 8 months were promising. They enjoyed canine therapy and had requested working with dogs in the past. They were also thriving academically and socially. But after the honeymoon phase ended, numerous shifts in the residency’s staffing led to a lack of stability that impacted Lilo’s mental health.

During the remaining few months in residency, I felt like I was being shown a highlight reel of bad news. If the school made an unscheduled call, trouble was brewing. I sat stunned as I was told that my child had jumped off a two-story deck, drank an entire bottle of cleaning fluid and attempted to throw themself through a plate glass window. I was confused, fuming and deeply hurt that I had made what felt like the wrong decision in providing Lilo the care they needed. 

What’s more, I didn’t have the relationship I wanted with Lilo, and it was hard to feel like I was doing the right thing. The desperation that parents feel when we cannot keep our children safe in our own home is beyond devastating. I am still absolutely primed and programmed to respond to certain situations in a fight or flight response. It’s an old, anxious habit that served as protection during the hardest parts of Lilo’s treatment. But it has been hard to let go of this defense mechanism in the aftermath.

There were times during Lilo’s treatment where it felt like I couldn’t recognize them, and in tandem, there were times where I found it difficult to recognize myself. In some ways, their treatment and care consumed my life. During this residency program, I spent days driving to meet with Lilo and their care team, forcing me to place my youngest daughter into the care of friends and family members. I spent hours participating in virtual therapy and doing my own homework assignments required for Lilo’s therapy. 

This near-constant stress, the phone calls from the clinic, the way I felt my existence split between two very different worlds—Lilo’s treatment and that of my other two children—manifested in an intense emotional exhaustion. I was struggling, learning defense mechanisms and other behaviors that while useful at the time, are no longer necessary for my day-to-day life. It has been important to me to try and work through these learned behaviors. 

Emotional exhaustion is a type of burnout caused by chronic stress and can manifest both physically and mentally. Someone suffering from emotional exhaustion might find themselves lacking the motivation to take care of their own basic needs. Physically, the condition can manifest as frequent illnesses, weight gain or high blood pressure. Other symptoms include: trouble sleeping; irritability; physical fatigue; change in appetite and headaches (source: healthline.com). Being on the lookout for these signs can help caregivers protect themselves and their children.

When suffering from emotional exhaustion, it is important to prioritize basic physical needs: eating a healthy diet, exercising, and sleeping well. This may include stress management techniques, like journaling and reaching out to a support network. 

The best resource I found for managing emotional exhaustion was professional help. I have no doubt that therapy saved my family. 

Unfortunately, the stigma around mental health frames professional help as a last resort. You do not need to be at your most extreme before you find support – finding a therapist does not mean you are not strong enough to handle things. On the contrary, reaching out for the help you need to take care of yourself and your family makes you brave; it shows that you have the will to want to get better. Asking for help is the ultimate sign of courage. 

Here are a few sources for those curious: 

• HealthLine
• Mayo Health Clinic

While Lilo and I are through the worst of our storm, the journey to healing our relationship and my personal journey to recovery continues every day. Writing our upcoming book, Letting Go; Loving Forever as well as these blog posts, is part of that recovery. Lilo’s treatment and sending them away was a chapter of parenthood I had not expected; the emotional exhaustion and trauma forced me to seek help to address my own needs in order to begin the healing process. Parents wear so many hats – we are providers, teachers, nurturers and caregivers, but we are also our own person who needs sleep, nourishment and space for ourselves. We are not bad parents if we require professional help to find that balance – we are courageous.