My teenage son took a knife out of the kitchen drawer. Feeling stripped of power and control, he believed the only thing he had left was pain. Behind the locked door of his room he began with his left arm. With each slice he traded his emotional anguish for physical pain. It was just enough to suppress his desire to die. An inch into the pain, a mile into the suffering.
I discovered my son was cutting after he gouged his hand severely enough to require stitches. It was only after I asked him to wash his hands, and I pulled up his sleeves, that I saw the other marks.
What did I do wrong as a parent?
That is what I asked myself. I was angry and confused. Why would he cut himself? Why would anyone want to deliberately hurt themselves? What I didn’t know was that his internal pain was far greater than anything he could have done to himself physically. I didn’t know that he had been suffering inside for many years and that he had buried his misery deeper and deeper only to have it turn into self-hatred and spill out from self-inflicted wounds. I didn’t know that watching himself bleed helped him feel real, in control, and sane. I didn’t know that every day my child fought to keep himself alive. Every day he won his battle and I never knew there was a fight.
After the anger vanished, I wondered why I didn’t notice that my child needed help. I wondered why he didn’t or couldn’t or wouldn’t come to me and tell me about his torment.
That is when the blame started.
I blamed myself for not being a good enough mother. I blamed myself that my sweet boy didn’t think I would understand how he felt. I blamed myself that maybe I was too busy or too self-involved or too anything other than the “perfect mother.” I blamed myself that I didn’t know. I believed I should have known. This was my child. Wasn’t I supposed to have some kind of intuition about these things? Wasn’t I supposed to protect my child from all the harm that came into his life, but how could I protect him from himself? How could I take away my child’s pain when I didn’t even know it was there?
How does a parent of a self-harmer heal from the physical pain inflicted on their soul? One small step at a time.
I had many steps to take and lessons to learn along the way. I learned how to validate my son’s feelings so he felt heard, acknowledged, understood, and accepted. I learned that I needed counseling just as much as he did. I learned that I could not fix his behavior; he would have to want to do that for himself. I learned that I didn’t have to be the “perfect mother,” just one that listened to what her child had to say, didn’t judge the choices he made, and loved him unconditionally.
With each step I not only helped myself, but I helped my son. I stood by his side, I helped him through difficult times, I counseled him, and I also reluctantly stood back and let him make mistakes, and each time he faltered, each time he fell, he would get up and start over.
I learned that being a parent wasn’t what I had dreamed it would be, instead it was painful, brutal, arduous, and exhausting. But being a parent was also rewarding and fulfilling and no matter what obstacles I had to face, being a parent always required love and acceptance, that is a true parent, where you learn that you can trade pain for love.
I discovered my son was cutting after he gouged his hand severely enough to require stitches. It was only after I asked him to wash his hands, and I pulled up his sleeves, that I saw the other marks.
What did I do wrong as a parent?
That is what I asked myself. I was angry and confused. Why would he cut himself? Why would anyone want to deliberately hurt themselves? What I didn’t know was that his internal pain was far greater than anything he could have done to himself physically. I didn’t know that he had been suffering inside for many years and that he had buried his misery deeper and deeper only to have it turn into self-hatred and spill out from self-inflicted wounds. I didn’t know that watching himself bleed helped him feel real, in control, and sane. I didn’t know that every day my child fought to keep himself alive. Every day he won his battle and I never knew there was a fight.
After the anger vanished, I wondered why I didn’t notice that my child needed help. I wondered why he didn’t or couldn’t or wouldn’t come to me and tell me about his torment.
That is when the blame started.
I blamed myself for not being a good enough mother. I blamed myself that my sweet boy didn’t think I would understand how he felt. I blamed myself that maybe I was too busy or too self-involved or too anything other than the “perfect mother.” I blamed myself that I didn’t know. I believed I should have known. This was my child. Wasn’t I supposed to have some kind of intuition about these things? Wasn’t I supposed to protect my child from all the harm that came into his life, but how could I protect him from himself? How could I take away my child’s pain when I didn’t even know it was there?
How does a parent of a self-harmer heal from the physical pain inflicted on their soul? One small step at a time.
I had many steps to take and lessons to learn along the way. I learned how to validate my son’s feelings so he felt heard, acknowledged, understood, and accepted. I learned that I needed counseling just as much as he did. I learned that I could not fix his behavior; he would have to want to do that for himself. I learned that I didn’t have to be the “perfect mother,” just one that listened to what her child had to say, didn’t judge the choices he made, and loved him unconditionally.
With each step I not only helped myself, but I helped my son. I stood by his side, I helped him through difficult times, I counseled him, and I also reluctantly stood back and let him make mistakes, and each time he faltered, each time he fell, he would get up and start over.
I learned that being a parent wasn’t what I had dreamed it would be, instead it was painful, brutal, arduous, and exhausting. But being a parent was also rewarding and fulfilling and no matter what obstacles I had to face, being a parent always required love and acceptance, that is a true parent, where you learn that you can trade pain for love.
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