A Conversation With My Daughter

Do you ever have one of those conversations that just rip out your heart?  Last night, Mya and I talked, and I was slowly dying inside.  My heart ached for her, and I wanted so much to grab her up, and never let her go.  But, as you know, Mya won’t allow it. 

 When we have our “heart to hearts”, I have to be very careful, and not push anything.  If I ask too many questions, she will shut down, and the conversation is over.  I tread carefully, act casually, and hope to get a peek into her thoughts.

 Last night, I was successful, and it killed me inside.

 I had discovered earlier, that she had found a thumb tack at school, and used it on her hand.  At first she wouldn’t show me her hand.  She thought I was going to be mad, or disappointed in her.  After convincing her I was concerned, and needed to see, in case it needed to be cleaned and bandaged, she showed me.  As always, when she shows me her wounds, she looks at me and says, “I can’t help it, Momma”.  I know she can’t help it.  I told her we need to figure out a way to redirect.

 Our bedtime talk went like this:

 Me:  we really need to figure out a way to redirect, so that you have something with you, you can chew, or pick, instead of doing it to your body.  The problem is, we need to find something you can take to school with you, that won’t be a distraction, and cause you not to listen to the teacher.

Mya:  I know if I had something at school, I’m not going to listen. 

Me:  I know.  That’s why I need to think really hard about what we can use.

Mya:  I can’t help it, Momma.  I’m not perfect.

Me:  I know you can’t help it, and I don’t expect you to be perfect.  We all have flaws, and make mistakes.  No one is perfect.  That’s what makes us all unique.  I’m not perfect, and I would never expect you to be.

Mya:  I’m not unique.  I’m like Graci.  We both love dogs, we both have brown hair….

Me:  Yes, but Graci has brown eyes.

Mya:  I do too.

Me:  You do not.

Mya:  I can make mine turn brown.

Me:  You can’t make your eyes change colors.  we giggled

Mya:  What is special about me?

Me:  You’re very smart, you’re funny, and you’re full of energy.  It’s our uniqueness that makes people want to be around us, and be our friends.  If everyone was the same, it would be boring.  It’s much better to be who you are, than try to pretend to be someone else.

Mya:  I pretend I’m someone else, at school, all the time.

Me:  Why?  (I couldn’t help but ask why, but I know never to ask that question!)

Mya:  Because I don’t like who I am.

Me:  Why don’t you like who you are?

Mya:  I don’t know, but I don’t.  Can we go to sleep now?

 

Oh, how I wanted to ask so many more questions.  I know, when she’s finished talking, asking more questions only leads to frustration, and anger, on her part, so I didn’t push.

 I lay awake at night and think about her, and all she goes through.  I want to help her.  I crave to hug her tight and comfort her.

 This week has been a rough week for her.  We’ve had to bandage almost every day.  She comes home from school, completely exhausted.  Her lunch is hardly eaten, and she’s not hungry for dinner.

Just a glimpse into what I see most days.

 From the thumbtack she found at school:

 

 

 

Thankfully, this one was mild, compared to the time she used a lapel pin.  Nonetheless, it hurts to see your child hurting inside.

 She explained to me, when she did this, she had a really hard time picking off the little pices of skin sticking up, that’s why there’s still some left on there.

 I asked her if her teacher sees her do this.  She said, I think sometimes she peeks, and sees me.  Like today, I think she peeked and saw me, so I hid my hand under my desk real quick.  If she sees me, she will send me to the nurse, and I DO NOT want to go to the nurse, she’s mean.  She also added, sometimes I pick, and it bleeds, and my friends see it, and I tell them not to tell the teacher, but they do it anyway.

Several things to notice in this one.  First, notice the fingernails chewed off.  That’s the norm for her.  Second, notice the “tall man” fingertip being chewed.  And of course, the obvious one, the chewed place on her hand.

 

 

Here, she’s chewed the tip of her thumb.

 

 

 

These were all taken this week.  When she chews, she chews down far enough, she bleeds, and the places stay sore for several days.

 

This might explain why she's been exhausted this week.  The anxiety has surely been high.

 

We get by, and take it one day at a time.  I just hope, in the near future, we figure out something and move past this.