Over the past year I have become depleted in every way. What began as worry for my son has changed into deep anxiety. This anxiety affects every part of me. For the most part, I struggle to get to sleep at night. I ruminate on what has been. I search every corner of my mind for a solution that will ease his suffering, and mine. When I do sleep, malignant, sinister dreams disrupt it. They wake me early, long before I am recovered and ready to wake. The first waking moment of the day is both my favourite and worst part. Before my consciousness blooms into being, I have just a moment where all is well in my world. Then reality crashes home. I can feel my heart sink into my stomach and tears returning to sit on the precipice. Crying first thing in the morning and last thing at night has become an almost daily occurrence. I have developed chronic pain in my lower back and hips and after medical exploration, have realised this is the manifestation of stress and anxiety. I don’t often meet with friends anymore because that would need me to be away from home. I have, over time, stopped getting out on my bike and I haven’t been in to the mountains in a long time – hobbies that used to be monthly, if not weekly pursuits. I have stopped going to the gym because I’m exhausted. I love to read, but imaginary worlds on audible have been replaced by podcasts and books about addiction and parenting. All too often, I relax in the evening by watching something on the television. I do this passively and half-heartedly, with a glass of wine in my hand. It takes the edge off my own emotions. I know, and I mean, I really know, that I am not coping.

And my husband? Oh yes, he knows too. I have just enough in the tank to keep my terror hidden from my son and his younger sister. His sister, who is a thriving almost 17 year old, brings me great joy. Although, there are times when watching her thrive only deepens my sadness for my son. It is hard to see one of your children struggle and suffer when the other is happy and carefree. It is painful to see him celebrate her. It is also difficult to watch as his head goes down because he too, sees the differences between them. But my husband? He is enduring what’s left over. He gets the scraps. The tears, the silent contemplation, the panic and the catastrophising. He is a wonderful, patient man who is doing his best to support me and he has always been an exceptional step parent to my children. But I would be wrong not to acknowledge the impact my son’s issues have on our marriage. They affect us deeply. How long can we really expect our significant other to tolerate being bottom of the pile? How do I improve the way I am showing up in my marriage? I have come to realize that all the ruminating and worrying in the world will not solve my son’s problems for him.

As I have been writing this morning, I realise that I am beginning to answer my own question: Save your loved, yourself or your marriage? I cannot save my loved one, he needs to find his own way. Of course, there is a role for me to support him. I can continue to love him without adopting his fear and shame as my own. Indeed, as I reflect on my part of this story, I realise my distress likely makes the situation worse for my son. So, I must accept that I cannot save my son. But I can do much better at saving myself. If I can taking better care of myself, there’s a bloody good chance the other two will take care of themselves.

With that, I am reminded of The Serenity Prayer I have heard twice now, at the two Al-Anon meetings I have attended:

God, grant me the serenity

To accept the things I cannot change;

Courage to change the things I can;

And wisdom to know the difference.

Signing off for now with the full intention of caring for me today.