Dear labels,

Dear Giftedness, ADHD, Motor Dyspraxia, Anxiety, Depression and whatever the hell else labels are happening around here,

I just wanted to send you a quick note to say - thanks for nothing. No. Really. We are 16 and 15 years into this "journey" (doesn't that word make you want to puke?), and quite frankly, it's not getting any easier and at this point in time, the light at the end of the tunnel is looking mighty dim, indeed.

I know my kids are bright. Unfortunately, they are at the end of the bright spectrum, unicorn rainbow, that makes life rather more complicated than it would be if they were just plain, old, garden-variety, smart. What I actually wouldn't give for that. Straight B's would be a delight.

Instead, I have over-thinkers, boredom, meaning-seeking teenagers. Which, when coupled with said teenage hormones is the recipe for a veritable vortex of existential angst.

If that was not enough (and I believe that would make life interesting enough, thank you) we have the other bits. You know, those chapters in the gifted books (and I have many) that I used to gloss over, skim through. The ones on ADHD, nerds, emotional disorders, underachievement, kids questioning everything about themselves (yes, those ones too, just for jollies). Fuck. Me.

Just a small selection of the library...

Sorry labels, I don't mean to swear...actually I fucking do because it is the one thing that allows me to vent my frustration without resorting to the excess use of alcohol. Oh wait...

See labels, you are STILL making life difficult. Yes, for the kids, because they are the ones living it. But also me! Will no one think of the mother?????

The mother who keeps the household functioning (see executive functioning issues - it may be a bit prevalent around some of the other adults in this house too - the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree).

The mother who is, in fact, the primary breadwinner due to her predilection for collecting pieces of paper and being good at her job.

The mother who nags, cajoles, hell BRIBES to get some help around the house.

The mother who keeps in contact with two schools, two sets of assessment tasks, two lots of parent-teacher nights etc.

The mother who attends, or requests, yet another appointment with the school to ask for special provisions, or part-time homeschooling, or adjusted programs or whatever is needed.

The mother who makes the appointments to see GPs, psychologists and any other specialists we need.

The mother who sits up late at night, after a full day at work, helping keep fucking school assignments on track so they are not overdue (again). Still.

The mother who is the one that the said teenagers download all their woes and fears and thoughts to (which I'm glad they feel they can, but DEAR LORD, again?).

The mother who may just be dealing with her own hay-wire hormones and the shit that accompanies that.

The mother who every now and then, sits down at the keyboard and has a good, old-fashioned rant about fucking hard it is.

Having just typed that sentence, I do know that I'm lucky. I have my kids. They are (mostly) healthy. We are not dealing with chronic disease. I still have them here and talking to me and I can hug them. I am grateful for that.

But labels, I think you can just fuck the hell out of here, because I, for one, have ENOUGH. I just want normal. Hell, at this point in time I'd settle for mediocre. Don't get me wrong - it's not the labels per se, that I object to. I think good, evidence-based labels on the whole help you understand what you are dealing with. It's just that the labels, and all the hard, hard, work - physical, emotional and some other -als - that goes with them become so, so, tiring after a bit. Like 16 and 15 years of a bit. And I'm tired.

So, give a mother a break and go away now? There's a good label.

Kind regards,
Ingi

The picture of a mother who's had enough, if ever I saw one...

PS: oh the irony of looking over to the right and seeing "Labels" to tag as part of the post. Well, you can get fucked labels.