Honesty vs. Sugar-coated Bullshit

I had a brutally honest conversation with my 18-year old Man-Child #1 yesterday. I’m not sure that either of us was ready for what I said, but nevertheless, it got said and there’s no taking it back.

“They” say:

There’s magic in truth and honesty.

Children know when you’re being fake.

Truth. But I’m still feeling uncertain that I pulled back the curtain and showed my darkness.  Here’s how it went down.

Once again, the Man-Child #1 “borrowed” money from me without permission and for items he knew he shouldn’t purchase: a new pair of ($90)  headphones, an online gaming card, and candy. Turns out, whenever I’ve given him my credit card to pay his College Admission Counselor for her weekly consulting, he takes the scenic drive home distributing more of my hard-earned dollars at Game Stop, the Gate Station, and Walgreens to buy his vices, totaling $600 over the past few weeks. As I was perusing my AmEx bill, I saw these suspicious charges, and they seemed to line up with the very dates of his college admission counseling. Of course, I hit the roof. We’ve been here so many times before, because my son just can’t seem to learn the lesson from The Rolling Stones:

You can’t always get what you want.

He and I had the usual (heated) discussion, consisting of:

I love you but I’m so disappointed.

Your character matters.

Honesty and integrity are hard-earned but easily lost.

Just because you want something right now, you can’t give in to every urge. Things matter more when you work for them, rather than just take them. 

He nods in agreement, has no answer to the “why did you do this” other than the mono-syllabic “I don’t know, I just wanted it.”, and I go to bed with yet another sleepless night worrying about his future, and my bank account. He’s grounded, car and phone privileges removed, has to pay back every penny, and here I am punishing an 18 year old senior in high school. Goddamit.

I truly cannot tell you how many times we’ve been here before. And the truth is, I’m tired. I’m tired of teaching trying to teach the lessons of adulthood TO AN ADULT! I really must be the crappiest parent ever because he just doesn’t seem to learn. He has a therapist, his dad weighs in from afar, and my partner – a bastion of honesty and integrity – models it every day. Man-Child’s twin brother has committed the same acts of dishonesty, but they were years ago in middle school. #2 seems to learn the lesson as he’s approached adulthood. But not this one.

So, yesterday, as I was driving Man-Child #1 to a college tour, I was still not over this latest act of egregiousness. So, I started lecturing. I asked him to try to look inside himself, and try to tell me why he does these things that he knows are wrong, he knows he’ll be caught and punished, but yet he does them anyway. Nothing.

Then it hit me. How can he share introspective, deep fears with me, if I don’t do the same with him? How can I expect authenticity if I am not showing him my own truth?

So, I took the plunge. (What did I have to lose?)

“Z, can I be really honest with you?”

Something about how I said this must have been different, because he met my eyes, and whispered, “Yes”.

And here’s what I said. Actually, I word-vomited. While crying. While hurtling down I-295 (driving accidentally to the WRONG university in Jacksonville).

 

“Z, I’m tired, honey. Bone-tired. I’m afraid, and I’m really struggling with clinical depression. I think about suicide (did I really just say this? Oh god.). Not in detail, but as a fantasy escape because I’m just exhausted and I wonder what it would be like to have no worries.

 

I’m shouldering a lot of things now, and when you do these things that are so preventable, it just feels like piling on. My company is not performing well this year, and I don’t know what to do to change it. I pay my employees, but not myself. The house needs significant work, and I can’t afford it. In 9 months I will have the expense of 2 children in college. I’ve taken off many days of work to go on college tours for both of you, and I’m perilously behind in projects. Because your father has moved away, you are with me 100% of the time, but the child support I receive isn’t enough for this. I miss Dad’s physical presence and support as a co-parent. I feel resentful that he’s living a happy, privileged life and I’m handling things alone. I don’t like being resentful and I don’t like asking anyone for money. I’m sad for you and your brother that you don’t have a constant father presence, other than by phone. I’m not sure it matters to you, but it deeply pains me. At times like this, I’m massively pissed off because I have to deal with everything.

And, Z, I’m ready for you to grow up. I’ve parented you to the best of my ability every single day for 18 years. I’ve taught you all I know, in every way I know, and you aren’t learning the lessons. You have consequences when you mess up, you have mentors, a strong safe family unit, but it doesn’t matter. Somehow, you’ve got to open your eyes and your heart to see how your actions are affecting others, how it is affecting me. I just can’t go around this circle with you anymore about honesty, integrity, giving in to impulses, and more. I am telling you, I can’t do this with you anymore. I can’t. I just can’t.“

I said that.  All of it.  No sugar-coating. Real, brutal, adult-themed honesty. Anger. Depression. Resentment. Fear. Money. Loss. Sadness. Exhaustion. Suicide.

And a plea. A plea to please “Step the fuck up!”.

After I said all this, and we realized we were sitting in the parking lot of University of North Florida, rather than Jacksonville University where we should have been, I looked at him with a runny nose and red eyes, and said,

“So, what do you think about what I just said? And do you know how to get to Jacksonville University?” (Always multi-tasking.)

Z replies, “Some of that I knew. Some I didn’t. Like, about suicide.”

Then it hit me full force. I had just given legs to my greatest fear of my children, that they would think suicide is an option. So I spent the next 10 minutes walking that back (again hurtling down I-295).  I continued to harbor this fear for the rest of the day, so much so that at 2am that night, I went in Z’s room and woke him up to talk more about it.

In the moonglow (actually it was the glow from his phone charger, but moonglow sounds prettier), he said, “Mom, I know you wouldn’t commit suicide. You were just freaking out and it sounds like an escape from the troubles. I’d never ever do that. Please don’t worry.” And he sat up and gave me a hug, and a kiss on the cheek, and said, “I love you, Mom. Go back to sleep. All will be fine in the morning.”

And so, for that moment, Man-Child was the Man, and I was the Child. I needed a hug and reassurance.  I got ushered off to bed feeling that I was loved and things were going to be OK.

This morning, upon reflection, it occurs to me that maybe that’s what Z needs too. He needs the reassurance that I can keep doing this with him, as many times as it takes. That I can keep showing up, parenting, offering advice that seemingly falls on deaf ears, but makes him feel like someone is there. He needs the rules and consequences too.

So somehow, I’ve got to muster the energy to keep showing up. And doing my best. To realize that parenting is not a matter of wins and losses. Rather, parenting is about the beauty and difficulty of loving hard, even when it’s hard.

You can’t always get what you want. But if you try, sometimes, well, you just might find you get what you need.