10/15/23
So…..now what?
That is one of a million questions running through my mind after my daughter showed me that first cut. What do you do when your child is intentionally harming themselves? There is nothing in any parenting book that prepares you for this. There is no algorithm to follow to get to the right path. Over the past 3 years, I learned that there is no right path, because what was right last week, is not right this week, but could be right next week. It makes no sense and there is no rhyme or reason.
My daughter was already seeing a counselor, because earlier in the year, she had a lot of negative self-talk going on. Her demeanor was changing. I could tell it was more than just normal teenager behavior. I was hoping seeing a counselor a few times a month would help, but instead, she continued down the spiral of anxiety and worsening depression. On top of that COVID started shutting things down, including school and sports, and we were all isolating from each other. Not the best timing for a fragile teenage girl.
In the fall of 2020 she started 7th grade, but this was not your typical start to the school year. This was a school year with COVID. At that time any exposure required isolation. The grades were split in half, and only half the kids would be in school at a time. It was a very chaotic and unknown time, and I know we all have our own stories from that uncertain time in our lives. She started a new sport in 7th grade – volleyball. She got her first concussion. She was in a neck brace for about a week d/t a sprained neck at the same time. So, combine being a 13-year-old girl in middle school, along with a global pandemic and a scary sports injury. All of that, along with worsening anxiety, depression, self-harm, and now thoughts of suicide led to her first trip to the hospital and her first overnight stay.
To say I was terrified is an understatement. We were in the behavioral hospital emergency department for hours. There was no bed available in the behavioral hospital, so we eventually were placed in a “holding” room, which was a dingy old hospital room completely stripped down of anything that someone could possibly hurt themselves with. There was no attached bathroom, there was a camera in the room, so someone was always watching, and cell phones were not allowed. I just remember vacillating between fear, sadness, anxiety and panic. How did we end up here? What is going to happen next? Is my baby girl going to be ok? These are questions I would find myself repeatedly asking for the next few years.
Thankfully she was assessed by a psychiatrist the next morning. A safety plan was put into place, and she was able to go home, instead of waiting several days for a bed. My baby girl was able to come home. But again, I found myself asking, so….now what?