Sunday, December 7, 2014

The Blame Game

As we pulled into A's former preschool for the Thanksgiving brunch, the car filled with silence and anxiety as the roar of the engine came to a halt. Suddenly my four year old baby boy cried out from the back seat..

"Mommy, please don't make me go in there! Please Mommy, I can't go in there."

Immediately my eyes filled with tears and my heart broke into a million pieces for this child whom I had sworn to protect and had somehow failed. 

Leading up to this point A had been experiencing some issues in school in regard to his behavior and was constantly being sent home. All that had gone through my mind at that point was 'boys will be boys' and boy was I wrong. 

One evening when I arrived at the school to pick up both of my boys from preschool, the director mentioned that she wanted to speak to me. I immediately got a headache. 

Before I could place my backside into the hard chair in her closet-like office, she barked "You need to put A on medication, he has ADHD."

WHOA! Wait a minute! My mind swirled and thoughts ran through my head at the speed of light. 
Was this lady a doctor? How dare she say that about my son? If she doesn't want to deal with children, she should find another line of work!

If I knew then, what I know now, I would have been better equipped to deal with the ignorance of this preschool director who claimed to have been a teacher and had a very successful business for over 20 years. Clearly, experience is not wisdom. 

On the road to my sons diagnosis, I would meet many people like the Preschool Director. Those who threw out labels without the slightest bit of factual information, or doubters who actually believed that I was the problem and the only issue my son had was lack of discipline.

I blamed all of these people as well as myself. 

I blamed the Preschool Director who probably meant well in her meeting with me, but her delivery didn't have a chance. I left that meeting angry and bitter and refused to look any further into the issue.

I blamed the people who told me I wasn't being a good enough parent so I chose not to have my son tested and ignored my motherly instinct opting for more discipline.

Most importantly, I blamed myself as I sat in the parking lot the morning of the Thanksgiving feast for the anxiety my son felt after having so many negative experiences in the building that lay before us because I refused to believe anything was wrong. 

By this time, I had mastered the blame game, and I had to realized there was no winner in this. I had to stop blaming others and most importantly myself. My son needed me and I had to put the blame aside to get us back on the right track. 

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