Navigating Toxic Love: Motherhood and Mental Health
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Understanding Toxic Dynamics
The reality of my adult son occasionally mistreating me is something I cannot overlook. While this is clear to me, determining the right way to respond is murky. If his behavior escalates, I should ideally distance myself—if only it were that simple. What do you do when he’s in the car with you, refusing to leave? The boundaries are blurred, and it’s challenging to decide when enough is enough. As a grown man grappling with significant mental health challenges, he relies on me for support. As his mother, isn’t it my duty to help him?
At present, we find ourselves in a standoff. He has blocked my number, preventing me from reaching out, or my messages seem to vanish into thin air. He instructed his case workers to avoid any contact with me under threat of legal action. Although he is an adult with privacy rights, he is upset that I declined his requests for expensive items and financial support related to his housing situation.
To be honest, I often contemplate fulfilling his wishes. I dislike denying him, especially since his life appears chaotic from my perspective. However, this time I consulted with his father, who advised against it. “Why would you buy him a costly backpack when he just lost the expensive iPad you got him?” he questioned. It was a valid point.
“And if you help him move to a hotel, he might lose his housing subsidy,” he added, which also made sense.
Reflecting on my relationship with my son, whom we’ll refer to as Chance, I realize I may be enabling him. Our dynamic resembles a co-dependent one, reminiscent of my childhood with a father who also faced severe mental health issues. The way I handle Chance's requests often intertwines with my unresolved feelings about my late father.
I strive to make sound decisions and carefully assess each request from Chance to determine if I should fulfill it. His father, despite his rational demeanor, also dislikes upsetting Chance.
A Disturbing Encounter
The last time I saw Chance, his behavior was alarming. It seemed he hadn’t taken his medication or perhaps had used substances. All I know is that he was erratic. He screamed at me in the car about his physical pain, gesticulating wildly and refusing to exit. I felt trapped and unsure of how to respond while an onlooker observed our exchange.
“Get out of the f*cking car!” I eventually shouted, and when he finally complied, I drove away quickly, shaken.
Since then, Chance has reached out twice using other people's phones, likely under the impression that I blocked him. During both calls, he maintained a calm demeanor, albeit with unreasonable requests. He mentioned mediating about his daughter, who lives far away and is well cared for by her grandparents. I told him I wouldn’t engage in any mediation that might disrupt her stability.
On another call, he asked me to file a complaint against a service provider. While I have concerns about the treatment he has received, I worry that pursuing any form of accountability might only cause him more distress.
Despite the unreasonable nature of our interactions, I felt relieved to hear him sounding calm, if only temporarily. However, once the calls ended, I was left in silence again.
The Void of Absence
The lack of communication with Chance and his service providers has created a significant void in my life. I find myself with empty days on my calendar, yearning to embrace this newfound time for self-interest but feeling anxious about the disconnect.
I know Chance’s situation is dire. A combination of past traumas and his landlord's eviction notice has pushed him into a downward spiral. He has been taken to emergency psychiatric services multiple times, only to be released shortly after. What he truly needs is a safe space where he can receive consistent care—something that seems unattainable.
In America, options for individuals with severe mental health issues are limited: psychiatric hospitals, which are often overcrowded, or incarceration.
The Dilemma of Helping
Mark believes my attempts to support Chance may actually be detrimental, asserting that my unconditional love is counterproductive. “Let him hit rock bottom,” he suggests, “so he can learn.” But I question whether Chance is even capable of learning from his experiences.
The truth is, Mark’s perspective has merit but also lacks nuance. Each situation requires a unique assessment, and sometimes I succeed in helping Chance, while other times my efforts only serve to enable him. Both Mark and Chance frequently assert that my actions infantilize him, which complicates my role as a mother.
What is a mother to do?
I must develop a thicker skin and persist. My intention isn’t to play the martyr or seek validation. I want to strike a balance between involvement and independence for my adult son.
An additional challenge stems from "anosognosia," a condition where individuals with severe mental illness lack awareness of their own condition. Following a series of traumatic events, Chance has directed his anger toward me, falsely attributing blame for his circumstances.
Now, I wonder if being cut off from my “toxic” love will lead him to recognize that his choices have real consequences. Will this realization prompt him to make better decisions in the future?
Perhaps not. But then again, maybe?
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