I’m Not Okay

My daughter (and only child) leaves home in less than a month. I just need things to slow down. I didn’t think it would be over so soon. I’m not ready. I’m seriously on the struggle bus.

I knew it was going to be hard, but as it turns out, it’s fucking brutal. My body is also staging a revolt against the stress and angst. I have been sick with various aliments for more than a month and my back has decided to let me know what pain is really all about.  Pain that multiple trips to the chiropractor for adjustments and dry needling have barely touched. There have also been multiple massages which have left me more sore than relaxed. I’m trying really hard to take care of myself, but I’m a mess.

As I write this, I’m sitting at an outlet mall in Savannah, Georgia taking a break from shopping for school stuff. This has been a painful experience on many different levels. Shopping with Josie is a marathon, not a sprint. You have to be in the right headspace and have incredible patience. I’m lacking in both those areas for this excursion.

All I see are kids of various ages surrounding me. From the screaming toddler, laying on the ground having a total meltdown, to the 5-year-old sprinting to the bathroom while simultaneously holding her mom’s hand and her crotch, as to not have an accident. Every kid I see, I remember something about Josie at the same age. My heart feels like it is quite literally breaking. I’m on the verge of falling to the ground and sobbing uncontrollably with that toddler.

I have enjoyed most every phase of my daughter’s life—some more than others. I did not meet Josie until she was 15 months-old. I’ve never mourned not changing more diapers. Teething was also a bitch. I don’t want to do that again.

I loved it when she started developing a sense of humor. She is a very funny kid. I knew good times were ahead when I told her at 6-years-old she needed to go to bed because she was tired. She informed me she was not tired (always a BIG red flag). I said, “Well, you look tired.” She shot back, without missing a beat, “I’m Chinese. That’s just how I look.” I threw her into bed, kissed her face and ran from the room. I died laughing just outside her door. That is one of my favorite Josie moments. The Traver sense of humor isn’t for everyone. However, we do crack each other up. It is often inappropriate.

If I had to pick a favorite age, it would probably be right now. I was so scared about having a teenager. Rarely do you hear someone say, “Teenagers, now they’re a joy!” However, I adore teenage Josie. She’s a good kid. I love talking to her. We are very open and honest with each other. She is also smart and thoughtful. I really value her thoughts and insights.

My sister, who is not one to hand out random compliments (or any really), said to me a couple of weeks ago, “You were made to be the mom of a teenage girl. You are so good at it.” I had no idea how much I needed to hear that. I kind of feel it in my bones, but the reinforcement was very welcome (and needed).

I would not be a good mom for every teenager. I know I am deeply flawed. I cuss like a sailor, I’m incredibly over-protective, too indulgent and will drop a “that’s what she said” joke in mixed company without even thinking. I’m really a loose cannon, but I’m a good fit for Josie—most days. I believe the universe brought us together.

I know I will never stop being Josie’s mom. I just have to be it differently. It’s the hardest thing I have ever faced. I’ve tried to put up a strong front, with limited success. Thing is, I may already appear like a train wreck on the outside, but it is SO much worse inside my head. I’m not okay. That has to be okay. For now. Luckily, the back pain, nausea, headaches and crippling anxiety are here to distract me.

Ashleigh Fiorino