“I want to die. I don’t love you anymore and you’re not my friend anymore. I hate you.” These are about the last things you’d ever want to hear your child say to you, though you might expect it from an overly emotional teen. Unfortunately, I don’t have a teen and these words were screamed at me by my three year old, Finn.
Finn was recently diagnosed with ODD. ODD or Oppositional Defiant Disorder might be a term you’re not so familiar with. A quick Google search defines ODD as: an ongoing pattern of behavior that is characterized by anger, irritability, as well as argumentative and defiant behavior towards those in authoritative positions. I’m guessing that sounds like every 3, 4 and maybe 5 year old out there to you, right? Well, not so much.
If you go on to read further, this behavior can be something that kids only exhibit at home or at school, maybe not both. Also, it lasts for a long time, and happens quite frequently. More so than your typical child, even toddlers, as crazy as they are. And this is where I’d like share my story of being a mother to a child with ODD.
Donning My Armor
We’ve been dealing with the “I hate you’s” for a couple months now, but the “I want to die” is new, and it HURTS. Quite frankly,, living with and loving Finn is painful and hard. You have to develop a thick skin, or you’ll quickly devolve into tears. It feels akin to being in an abusive relationship- you never know what will trigger the next explosion, so you’re constantly walking on eggshells.
Before you rush to judgments and try to tell me that Finn “seems normal” or that he’s just “high spirted” so it clearly must be my parenting, I ask that you try to put yourself in my shoes. Raising Everett is tricky, but it’s nothing compared to Finn. Everett had clear issues that I was able to work with at home and therapy. He thrived once he started getting therapy, and unless you spend significant time with Everett, you may not even realize he’s on the autism spectrum. Finn is, for lack of better words, utterly chaotic.
I find myself dreading the simplest tasks with him. Taking him to a playground or friends house is a constant struggle. He manages to make EVERY SINGLE THING into a weapon. Sticks, blocks, trains, etc. I’m constantly waiting to see which child will be his next target. When he’s corrected, he frequently screams “I hate you” and I feel the eyes of other parents staring at me, silently judging.
Don’t get me wrong, he can be the sweetest and cutest child. He loves being snuggled by me and tells me the sweetest things about how much he loves me, but the second I say or do anything that upsets him, boom, the Finn bomb explodes with vitriol. I’m dodging toys while he screams insults at me, all because I asked him to do something simple, like pick up a toy. And this goes on all day. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week.
I’ve officially been emotionally beat down.
No matter how well I put together my emotional armor, he still finds a way to get through my cracks. I’m to the point where I’ve officially been emotionally beat down. The thought of doing anything with him fills me with anxiety. I dread the thought of him getting older and even more potentially violent. I worry constantly about his future and if we will get lucky and he’ll “grow out” of it.
Don’t get me started on the mom guilt side either…You think to yourself, “Gosh, I’m such a horrible mom, I dread the park because I can’t just let him play, what’s WRONG with me”? And then things are bad, and you cry. And you feel so angry, and sad, and resentful. And hurt. You’re so hurt, that the next time your child wants to be with you, hug you, love you, it’s hard. Because you’re a human being with feelings, and it’s hard to let go. So then, you feel guilty. You feel guilty that you resent this child that you do love SO much, but that you don’t feel like “liking.” And then you find yourself pulling away. Because you’re scared of those feelings. So, somewhere, in the back of your psyche, subconsciously, you pull away. Shut down. Try not to feel because it’s too much. You feel alone. Isolated. People don’t understand.
You’re even at the point that when someone says, “I bet you love being a stay at home mom,” you feel angry. They’ve said nothing wrong, but in the back of your mind, you’re thinking, “HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT WHEN YOU KNOW WHAT I’M GOING THROUGH”? But, they don’t really know, do they?
“He Looks Normal”
The rub of all of this? He presents so typical for short periods of time that I am already having issues getting him help through our school system. From the outside, things look OK. Here’s this beautiful, thoughtful, highly intelligent little boy, who can act like an angel for strangers. Can charm and be friends with any child around him. At home, that same child can be verbally mean, physically abusive, manipulative, and so defiant that asking anything of them is almost pointless. So, people think you’re overreacting. That you’re just overly sensitive to normal childhood behavior. And you start to think that maybe you are crazy. Not good enough. Inadequate. That it’s your fault.
There’s a Jekyll and Hyde situation going on. And nobody sees. And you can convince yourself that nobody cares and that you’re not going to make it. And if I’m being honest, I’m feeling like that most days.
Moving Forward
Right now, we’re in the trenches. Fighting every day, living our truth, being honest, getting help, and doing what we need to do to survive. That means getting him even more therapy and better methods for interacting with him.
We just had him screened and he didn’t meet the qualifications for general special needs, so we are having to get him tested for other issues his pediatrician thinks he may have. It’s so frustrating to know that he’s suffering from an invisible diagnosis and we can’t seem to get him the help that we so clearly need.
However, our story with Finn is just starting. I’m hoping it has a happy ending, but the harsh reality is that around 40% of children diagnosed with ODD don’t grow out of it and out of that 40%, half of them eventually develop antisocial personality disorder. So I’m going to fight like hell to try to avoid that path. I’m going to do what needs to be done to try to give him every tool he can use to battle this, and, I’m going to tell his story.
Why tell his story? People deserve to know it. Right now, I’m treading water, and sometimes find it overwhelming to do anything more, so I hope this reaches some people that are maybe struggling like I am. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. Hearing the words, “I know what you’re going through” have such enormous power.
Welcome to our journey with Finn.
Thank you for sharing your story. My heart goes out to you, Crystal.
I am balling like a baby reading your story. My son is in OT but I usually just get told to spend more time with him and he will stop hitting me. He also presents so normal at school. Thank you for sharing your story. I feel so hopeless but maybe we can talk to our OT about this diagnosis. A diagnosis isn’t an answer but maybe I could learn more. Thank you again.