I hugged the teenager yesterday. While I have no doubt that he’s already forgotten it happened, this was a momentous occasion for me. Maybe more important than the hug was just having the chance to tell him that I miss him…not the fighting, not the stress, just him.
He’s doing a little better. He hasn’t lost the bad attitude (which I suppose is reassuring), but his behavior is taking a slow but steady upturn. I am relieved, of course, and also sad that I’m not part of it. It’s hard enough to feel like there’s nothing more you can do to help your child…it’s exponentially more difficult to see that you were somehow making the problem worse. I’m oversimplifying, yes, but that’s what it feels like.
Still, I’m trying to stay focused on the goal of ending up with a healthy and happy young adult. Whatever it takes…no matter how many times my heart gets broken in the process. Here’s hoping he’s got another hug for me when it's all over.
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