destructive rage
0 comment Saturday, July 5, 2014 |
After a less than ideal weekend last week with Son, the beginning of the school week went well. For three days I got to be a parent to two happy, funny clever kids. It felt good to be a Mum and that was quite lovely.
Then when I picked them up from school on Thursday, I knew something had changed with Son. Quick to take offence and oppositional, I felt my anxiety levels shoot up and knew I had to keep things calm and get food into him asap when we got home.
Cooking tea, I went to check on the kids as they were unusually quiet, to find only Son in the living room. He told me he had hurt his Sister and she had gone upstairs to her room. I felt that familiar surge of frustration with him. He said he didn't know why he'd done it when I asked him why. I told him that I knew something had happened at school and asked him again what had happened. He told me that he and his best mate had "broken up" again. I told him I was really sorry about that, but he knew that he shouldn't take it out on his Sister. Because he couldn't be trusted not to hurt his Sister, I said I would have to keep him away from her, and that as she was upstairs in her room now, he could be the one to go upstairs and be in his room after tea.
I did reflect afterwards that what I could have done at that point, instead of telling him that after tea he would go to his room, was to get close to him and give him sympathy over his distress. Trouble is, I am not in a place to do that with him. All I feel when he hurts his Sister is anxiety and frustration. That's probably why I need some serious support, to get myself to a place that I can override those feelings and parent him sympathetically.
Anyway, I then got a torrent of abuse screamed at me. He pushed past me, stood on the stairs and screamed at me things like stupid fat fucking bitch. This time I did not take the bait and did what I had been practicing in my head, which was to stay out of sight. He went upstairs and I heard him banging and screaming in his room. I went upstairs too and asked Daughter to come downstairs with me. I told her that whilst I was cooking tea, I wanted her to watch telly in the living room and not to go upstairs for any reason. Then I texted Husband and asked him to get home from work asap.
Whilst I cooked the tea the most almighty banging was going on in his room above me. I turned the radio up, closed the kitchen door and carried on cooking the tea. It later transpired that he was dismantling part of his bed, which he was to throw down the stairs. He also pulled off his curtains and they got thrown down the stairs too, all the while keeping up a torrent of obscenities.
My Son is 9 years of age.
When things started smashing onto the hallway floor, I phoned Husband in tears asking him to get home as soon as possible. He got a taxi, but it still took him nearly half an hour. I had to constantly pull myself back from a place of panic, because I knew I had to be strong for Daughter.
Things had gone quiet when Husband and I went upstairs together to see him. He was playing with his cars on the floor and seemed quite normal. I asked him if he felt better now he had done that, and he replied that he did, and said added that he had 'needed to get it all out'. Husband wanted to lecture him, but I stopped him, told Son that it was bedtime for him, and ushered Husband out.
He stayed in his room for the rest of the evening and put himself to bed. Daughter acted like nothing was wrong throughout.