Tag Archives: Work / Building The Orange Rhino

When Your College Kid Calls Upset: How to Listen Without Fixing Everything

Posted on by
Reply

Your college kid calls upset. You hear their voice on the phone. And you hear all the other voices in your head. The voices reminding you of how you’re supposed to respond. Let them vent. Let them share. Let them be. Let them fly. The voices in your head remind you this is their chance to grow. To learn. That’s it’s okay to hurt. That they will heal and come out stronger, wiser. As you listen, you hear it. You hear their hurt.

You hear their frustration. You hear their fear. And oh, do you feel it. You feel it so very deeply. And you want to give them advice. You really do.

Because you see the path to feeling better. Faster. Easier. With so much less pain. But you know that easing their pain today, right now, can just create more pain in the future. You know that letting them figure things out now, even though it hurts, might actually help them hurt less later. And so you bite your tongue. And you fight like heck to hide your own pain. To sound confident in their ability to figure things out.

To not sound concerned. And you struggle right along with them because this is not easy. In the moment, their pain is your pain. You hurt with them. Oh, do you ever. And you worry right alongside them.

But you don’t offer advice. And you don’t ask leading questions. And you don’t dig for more hard stuff. You offer love. You offer a soft landing place. You offer “uh huhs” and “oh, that’s hard” and “I’m here for you.” And then you offer to make homemade chocolate chip cookies even though you simply do not have the time.

Because that is all you can do to make them actually feel better. And then you think, not to them or of them, but to yourself: Who is making me chocolate chip cookies to help me feel better? Because this stage of parenting? Honestly? It can be brutal. He is okay, to be clear. This wasn’t a crisis. Just one of those tough, emotional, figure-it-out moments that comes with being away at college. Having our college-aged kids, especially our freshmen, far away from us, struggling, and not knowing which adults in their life are there to support them, guide them, help them find the answers they need? B.R.U.T.A.L. The letting go here is an incredible act of strength.

Of course I will lean in when I have to. But I will also let my kiddo fumble a little. I have to. It is part of this stage. This journey. His journey. And also? My kiddo wants to. He is in his independent era. We have returned to the “I do” phase. Except now it’s a more complete sentence, not that of a toddler. It’s: “I got it, Mom.” I know you do, kiddo. I know you do.

He sent me this text last night: “Good night. Love you. Thanks for the support (even though I keep denying I need it or want it. When I’m ready I’ll ask for it. Let me know when the cookies are coming.)” Ooof. That hit hard and heavy in a wonderful way. That’s the whole ache of this stage. Being needed in a whole new way. A quieter way. A farther away way. Not to fix. Not to solve. Just to stay close enough that they know you’re still there. Sending my warmth and a little oomph to you all this Monday morning.

You are all loved and appreciated, near and far.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

Don’t Let a Disability Tell You What You’re Capable Of

Posted on by
Reply

There is no polite way for me to write this post. I’ve actually waited a few days (and months) so I could be “cool, calm, and collected.” Truth? I’m not sure I will ever be entirely cool, calm, and collected about this. This post is for any parent, child, or person who has ever been told they weren’t good enough because they have a disability. Or because they learn differently. Or because they learn more slowly. Do not, I repeat, do not, let anyone tell you that you are not good enough to become what you want to become.

I have four sons. I’m sharing this with permission. One of my sons has severe ADHD, auditory processing and other learning challenges. He was bullied by students and teacher aides alike. In 6th grade, an aide said to him, “You will never go to college or succeed.” Imagine if he had listened?!

Well, he didn’t. Instead, he basically said, “Oh yeah? Watch me.” He is now at a top college, on scholarship, getting good grades, and studying to become a special education teacher. Because he had a few of us rooting for him, pointing out to him the good we saw in him; his strengths, his opportunities. We believed in him until he could for himself.

Another one of my sons has struggled since kindergarten. In 3rd grade, his teacher told him, “We don’t have books at your reading level in this classroom. You’re a big kid now. You need to try harder. Stop being lazy.” Lazy? I told her to look at the facts. To look at everything else he could do; how hard he worked, how hard he was trying to find ways to help himself read! I said, “He is not lazy. He is struggling to read. There is something we are missing. Help.”

Fast forward two years. I asked the elementary school principal for extra support going into middle school. “We don’t proactively add support.” Right…

Middle school was a challenge. His mental health took a hit; his homework, tests, quizzes, you name it, took a hit. A child who used to love learning, who tried so hard, slowly stopped trying. I pushed again for help. And I was asked, “Are you sure you’re not being a helicopter parent? Overbearing? Maybe trying to get him extra help just so he gets A’s? We see that a lot in this town.”

The fact that I stayed polite at that moment?

Honestly, a true Orange Rhino® moment. Because no. That was not it. I said, “He is masking. He is truly struggling. You’re missing it. I need you to trust me.” They didn’t. They kept insisting he needed to try harder.

And now? That child has an IEP because one person finally listened to me. One person took the time to look beyond the struggles to see the strengths. My son has a learning disability, including a form of dyslexia.

And the testing showed it is not mild. Cue the tears. Cue my rage. Cue the heartbreak of knowing I was right and that it took years to get him all of the support he needed. (I had gotten him other support but what he needed most was in school.) But here is what I need people to understand: A child (anyone really) who learns differently should not be written off. Different pace. Different path. Different strengths.

Still capable. Still worthy. Still full of potential. My boys are proof of that. Their struggles have built empathy. Determination. Resilience. Leadership qualities. Yes, I wish parts of their journey had been easier. Of course I do.

And I know they feel the same. But who they have become because they kept going? Because they had to try harder to learn and to (sadly) prove themselves to the world and sometimes to themselves? I would not change who they have become for the world. Who they are in heart, grit, perspective, and character is second to none.

So let me say this loudly: Let’s stop confusing disability with inability. A disability is not a disqualification. And different does not mean less. (argh!) Sending my warmth and a little extra oomph to you all today and always, and an extra amount of love and support to any parent who knows and feels this post all too well.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino