These past six months have been difficult for us all. Pandemic shifts and effects in social worlds trickle from children to parents in different ways. Livelihoods have been compromised for far too long making a world at home with families even more tense. Not every family has had a chance to learn new baking skills, put together puzzles, and break records on video games because the stress of making it from day to day is almost unbearable. Many families stood together in a closer and slower world, brought together by quarantines and family projects while others drifted apart—in close quarters.
As a mother of three kids, two teen girls and one near teen boy, I hoped our world would be better. We’d be together. We’d make it work. Finances were stressful, but we’d all make the best of it, stay healthy, stay together, and build our family again.
My workload decreased at first, then increased. My partner is essential, so she was gone each day living in a new world yet in many ways, unchanged. Too busy to micromanage school in the spring quickly shifted to allowing my children to drop classes at least until our education system caught up to the new demands of remote learning which evolved into a lazy hot summer in the pool, together when possible and apart when not. Now that school is back in session – we did remote learning for the first two months before campuses reopened with hybrid learning models – I’m reminded just how much we have been through as a family and how much of what has happened 
stemmed on a school campus.
In fact, a year ago this week, my daughter was hospitalized for the first time—for suicide ideation. The last time I took her, in the midst of the Coronavirus pandemic, I noted in a journal:
This time wasn’t the first time I’d driven my daughter to the hospital. It wasn’t the first time I’d driven away with her shoestrings and belts, electronics and spiral notebooks sitting on the passenger seat next to me. In fact, the first time my daughter was hospitalized wasn’t during the pandemic at all. And it had been years in the making.
One thing I’ve learned over these past few months is just how many families are facing depression, new or heightened anxiety, and thoughts or act of self-harm. I learned of a dear friend’s daughter who had been in the hospital for a few days because of self-harm choices she’d made. Parents have shared their stories with me left and right – tales of children saying things they don’t mean, of young teens toying with self-violence or popping too many pills, of suicidal thoughts… I’ve learned my story – as a mother – is one that just may resonate with many parents. I learned I am not alone, and though many of the children my friends mention get over their negative thoughts pretty quickly, surely my journey as a mother still fighting the battle that started under a table in kindergarten can help some other parent who is struggling with the very thought that their child might be on a much darker journey than others.
So, from here, I tell my story. The story of the mother of a young girl, a student who was bright and cheerful, who loved life, who smelled every flower as she passed with a yearning to pick each one because her grandmother once told her, ‘flowers are for picking.’ This young girl who knew all the planets in order before her second birthday and used to read the Kitten book every day (memorized) before she was eighteen months… The young girl who removed everything (and I seriously mean everything) from her room and piled in into the hallway before she fell asleep each night… My daughter whose many comedic voices could match the talent of greats such as Robin Williams… the girl who loved to create and give to others… no longer wants to live and has become everything that happened to her.
I hope you’ll join me each Tuesday starting October 6th, for a mental health check in and a piece of my story each Wednesday.
Until then…
Be well.
~Stella
All images courtesy Canva Pro, multi-use license