Tag: Motivation

Addiction, Mental Health

Anger: The drug of choice

Katrina Russell

Have you ever known someone who was angry? I don’t mean like, “I’m mad that Burger King stopped carrying curly fries.” angry. I mean truly to their core angry. The person who festers on every wrong and injustice ever put upon them. Hitting every light on their way to work. Getting whole milk in their coffee instead of soy. Every relationship they ever had ended badly, or they had one that was so bad that they could never imagine entering into another because all people of their chosen sexual interest and all romances are painted with the brush of evil.

Have you ever tried to have a conversation with this person? Like, an actual one. One in which the person listens to you and actually hears you? It’s not as easy as one would think. People who are angry are almost impossible to reason with. The amount of cortisol and epinephrine running through a person’s system makes it very difficult for that person to listen to anything anyone has to say that doesn’t follow the narrative that’s pushing those chemicals.

In some cases anger becomes the drug of choice. It doesn’t matter what they are angry at. A person, a system, or life itself. Everything is someone else’s fault. They are always the victim, and anyone who tries to change their mind on this fact is the enemy. There is a clear line in the sand that must never be crossed. The person has to stay on that side of angry. On that side of justified. On that side of victimhood or else they’ll have to take a look at them self and see that they are the problem.

I know that when I’m having a bad day everything suddenly goes wrong. I wake up late, I can’t find my keys, I fumble and drop my keys when locking the door, my purse gets caught on the screen door handle, that causes my coffee to spill all over me.. and I haven’t even left my porch yet.

That is a sucky day. But the reason it is so sucky is not because the keys and the door are against me. It’s because my mind is otherwise occupied by the angry drugs coursing through it and I can’t focus on the keys, the lock, the door, the coffee.. and so on. I am rushed. I am distracted. I AM. And that’s the key. I am those things. The only way to change those things is to change how I react to those things. I take deep breaths. I learn to laugh at myself. I keep a spare shirt in my car for the MANY coffees that get spilled. I make better decisions.

It’s a scary thing to realize though. No one wants to “be a loser”. They don’t want to think that had THEY done something differently that the outcome may have been better. They want to blame someone else for their misfortune. Much better to be a victim, than to be a loser, and let’s face it, the angry chemicals are way more fun than the depressive ones, and a lot less complicated than doing the work.

When someone is stuck at a job they hate, and someone mentions that they could possibly get a new job. That’s paramount to assault. They are stealing their identity. The person couldn’t possibly just change their actions. That’s not how it works. That’s not how any of it works. They are stuck. Their boss won’t give them a raise or a promotion, so obviously they’ve stopped doing the extra work because no one cares anyway. They can’t go to another job because???? they have bills to pay??? and looking for a job is hard work.. and it’s not like anyone is going to hire them because their boss won’t give them a good reference… and… and .. you just don’t understand. No one understands.

People stay in crappy relationships, because it’s “easier than leaving”. Have you ever been in a crappy relationship? They’re nothing easy about that. Now I’m not talking about actually physically abusive relationships. Those are a completely different situation and they need real help sometimes getting out of. That is a fact of there being a predator and a victim. I’m talking about the crappy relationships in which you don’t talk anymore. You don’t have fun anymore. You don’t care anymore. People just cling to them for the sake of it. Because it’s what they are used to and it gives them something to complain about.

When asked if they’ve thought about therapy, or what they have done to try to bring back the romance or work on it at all.. they just say “you don’t understand”. The most cliche phrase in existence. It’s literally the phrase teenagers say to their parents, who, by the way.. were teenagers once too.

The problem is not that the other person doesn’t understand. The other person completely understands. You like to be the victim. You are addicted to the chemicals in your brain.. you don’t want to do the work. You want to blame everyone else for your problems. We all understand. The question is, do you?

Love

If you can’t handle me at my worst…

Katrina Russell

There has been an odd trend going about on social media for a while, especially among women that I have found very strange. There’s memes everywhere that spout the same insanity about, “If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best” and “If you don’t check on me when I’m down, don’t come around when I’m good” as if people are supposed to have a constant line into your innermost world.

Now I’m not talking about someone that you’re romantically involved with, because yes, they are supposed to have a line in on your world. I’m talking about your average friend. I’m am in my mid 40s. I have been to a few different schools in my day. I have worked at about a dozen different jobs. I have had many different social circles and cliques in my life. I have people that I have known since i was 3 and people that I spent my entire 20s with.. I can’t possibly check in on everyone ALL THE TIME.

Thankfully, with social media today we have the ability to reach out to those who have meant something in our lives. Though it seems unlikely, considering how much I write on here, I’m actually a fairly private person. When my son’s father and I were having problems I never posted about them. Even some of our closest friends who we grew up with had no idea. They didn’t KNOW that they were supposed to be asking us about our personal problems. They had their own lives to worry about. They couldn’t possibly be constantly checking up on mine and everyone else’s that they had always known.

When my son’s father finally died, and I posted it on social media my notifications exploded. People who had no idea that he had a problem. People that had no idea that his problem had gotten so bad. People that just loved me and wanted me to know that they were thinking about me. I appreciated that. I had reached out just by making a post and people had responded with tenderness and heart. They truly felt for me. Same when my father died. They reached out and let me know that they were there for me if I needed them, but let’s be honest. I just wanted to be left alone.

I didn’t begrudge people who “should have known” I was having problems. I didn’t hold it against those that didn’t come to my house to really be there for me instead of just offering platitudes. I understood that as bad as they felt for me, they still had work, and their families, and their relationships and I couldn’t expect them all to drop everything for me. I know how I feel when I hear about something happening to someone that I care about. How I still think about my friends who have lost people, or are sick, or going through what ever they are going through. Sometimes I send them a little message to let them know I’m thinking about them. Sometimes I wonder if it’ll hurt more to bring things up. Sometimes I think about it and then life happens and I get side tracked. Not because I don’t love them, but because it’s life.

I can only assume that people who post these kinds of memes don’t really understand human relations. The “you don’t deserve me at my best” is even worse. I’ve known some people at their worst.. and they are the worst. Why on Earth would someone feel that they have every right to be horrible human beings and treat other’s badly, but if the person they’re treating badly doesn’t like it then they’re the problem. The quote should be, “If you can’t handle me at my worst, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want me at my best either”.

People somewhere along the line have stopped taking personal responsibility for themselves. Anything they do isn’t their fault. You are now responsible for fixing their lives and their problems and reading their minds to know when it is time to fix their lives and their problems. If you don’t like it or anything that they do then you’re the problem because it’s your job to fix them… umm, no. Grow up. Live your life. Be responsible for yourself. By all means, ask for help if you need it, but don’t blame other’s for your short comings. You’re the only one that can break your life and you’re the only one that can make your life.

bullying, parenting, Politics

I was told that I’m racist

Katrina Russell

So I was recently informed that I am racist. I found this to be a very perplexing statement given that I was told that I was racist specifically because I don’t care about race. Has the world gone mad?

I was born about a decade after The Civil Rights Act. I was raised in a small town. It was prominently white, but there were definitely people of color mixed in. I never really thought about it. I had friends in my building whose parents were from Africa and they had names that we could never have guessed how to spell, but they were just normal to me. I knew them for as long as I could remember. I had friends from all over. It didn’t really matter to me what color you were I was more interested in playing tag or swimming or riding my bike. If you wanted to as well you were my friend. We had kick ball games in the front yard with everyone in the neighborhood. We didn’t break up the teams in black vs white, or boys vs girls, everyone played with everyone.

When I reached my teen years I moved to a suburb outside of Boston that had what was called the METCO Program. This program gave kids from the inner city a chance to go to school in the suburbs for a better education. It turns out I had lots of friends in the programs. I didn’t know that for a good couple of months when I first started at the school. I had never heard of the program before and even when I did hear about it the thought never occurred to me that just because someone was black they MUST be from that program. A friend of mine had a car and we used to go into Boston and visit the friends we had met from our schools. We weren’t their white friends, and they weren’t our black friends.. we were all just friends.

Through out my life I have been friends and/or dated people of many different races, religions, sexuality.. and what have you. I didn’t think of them as my Asian friends, or my gay friends, or my Jewish friends.. they were just friends. I treated all of my friends the same. I have treated all people that I meet the same. I was raised to not judge people by the color of their skin but by the content of their character and apparently… that makes me a racist.

I’m told now that it is not good to treat everyone the same. It is not good to not pay attention to race or sex or any other immutable trait. That I am to ONLY pay attention to such things and that I am to give special attention to those that are different than myself. Now I’m not talking about getting to know about other cultures. That I’ve always done. I’ve asked my friends who I knew spoke another language to teach me some phrases (not just the dirty ones) or write my name. My dad encouraged me to attend different religious events and festivals for different cultures so that I may learn about things that I may be interested in myself.

I remember once as a teenager I volunteered for a City Year service day. I ended up being assigned to a local inner city Boston school that was being cleaned up, and I was asked to watch the kids that were there while their parents did their work. I was so happy I always loved taking care of kids. This school was in the middle of a section of Boston called Mattapan. It’s pretty much all black people. I was playing with the kids.. I still remember some of their names, and I still use it as an example of one of my proudest moments… not because they were black, but because I used my time there to teach one little boy in first grade who didn’t know how to read how to do a word search. He was so proud of himself that when his friend came over to give him the answers he told him that he didn’t need them and that he had learned to do it by himself. I hope that he took that with him. That he learned that everything that he wants to do it within his power and that he can do it all himself.

I remember at lunch all the tween girls were braiding each other’s hair and one of them came over and asked if she could touch mine. I have VERY straight.. Very blonde.. Very silky hair. She had never seen anything like it before. Her friends all chimed in saying that she couldn’t ask that. They said how rude she was. I smiled and told her “of course you can.. you’ll never learn about anything new if you can’t experience it.”. The rest of the girls were so excited and they all wanted to take turns brushing and braiding my hair. I didn’t think it weird that they were interested in learning something new. I found it weird that they had never known a white girl who’s hair they could touch. I’d known plenty of people of color in my life in a small town and we all played with each other’s hair.

In fact this wouldn’t be my last conversation about hair with a black girl. About a decade later I was sitting at work and someone had come in with a perm. A friend of mine, thinking out loud said, “how do you get the curl to stay? how come it doesn’t just wash out?” Again.. confusing to me how you can live in this country.. watch all the same TV commercials and not know about general products. I explained to her that we use chemicals similarly to how she used relaxers for her hair to straighten it. Her mouth dropped open. “HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT RELAXERS?!?!”, as if it were some top secret information “for black eyes only”. I had no idea how I know about it. I just did. It was part of American culture, therefore part oh MY culture. I didn’t think of it as a black thing or a white thing.. it was just a thing.

I have had many conversations like this over the years. I love to read and learn and grow as a person and part of growing is learning about things that don’t revolve around yourself. Things that are important to other people. People just like you who may experience different things. That’s how I was raised. I was raised to not think about race, religion, sexuality, or anything else that may make us different because in the end we’re not. In the end we’re all the same. And, that, I’m told.. is what makes me racist… at least according to my white friends.

Addiction, bullying, Love, parenting, Politics, school shootings

The world is on fire… and what do I tell my son?

Katrina Russell

The world is on fire, or at least that’s how it feels right now I was born in the mid-seventies. The Vietnam War ended a few months prior. By the time I was in grade school Reagan was president, the cold war was coming to an end and my reference to the whole thing was Rocky IV. I had some understanding of the Berlin Wall that was based on an episode of “Benson” and an episode of “Head of the Class”. By my 14th birthday the wall had fallen. All I knew about the Middle East are have vague memories of planes being hijacked by Iran. if I recall correctly, but for the most part things were fine.

My aunt would tell me about the bomb drills they used to do in 50s, as if hiding under their desks was going to protect them from an atomic bomb. I saw movies, TV shows, and eventually learned about Jim Crow laws, separate water fountains, and bussing. We lived in Massachusetts so it was a part of our past good or bad.Growing up I couldn’t imagine that people of color were ever treated that way, never mind in my father’s lifetime. It was all so bizarre. I was friends with everyone. I had classes with everyone. I had cousins of mixed races. I watched the Cosby show on TV (who knew where that would go). Everyone wanted to be Michael Jackson. I don’t remember a lot of race trouble at all.

Being from the mid-late 70s I was also raised on the record/movie “Free to be You and Me” by Marlo Thomas. speaking of Michael Jackson. He had a clip in the movie himself. pre Thriller. This was all about not judging anyone by their sex and letting people just be whatever they wanted to be. Again I knew that women used to not be able to vote. I knew that the 70s had bra burnings and feminism and all these crazy thing, but when I was a kid no one cared if you were a boy or a girl, you better be studying your math homework. When asked what we wanted to be when we grow up no one ever said that we couldn’t. I came from a time of empowerment for everyone. Well gays still had a way to go, but by the time I graduated from high school in the early 90s no one cared about that anymore either. at least not in Boston.

Then right before the turn of the century. Right before “The Year 2000”, when everything was supposed to be wonderful and futuristic, Columbine happened. I remember sitting in my car and hearing about it on the radio. I remember buying a newspaper. yes, they did exist. and reading about the horrifying events and how they unfolded. This was the beginning of the end of my innocence. Two and a half years later September 11th happened and our country was no longer safe.

This is when race started to become a factor again. I don’t mean just the occasional asshole in the after school special, but real racism. People of a certain look were starting to be hated. They were starting to be attacked just walking down the street. It wasn’t even a certain religion at that point. Anyone who looked like they could be from that middle region at all were the enemy. I remember “Harold and Kumar” made a movie about it. Kumar, who is Indian, is automatically assumed to be an Arab and a terrorist. It was done in a comedic way, but it was still a powerful statement.

From there things have just continued to get worse and worse. I’m pretty sure a big reason for this is the internet. Suddenly everything that happened everywhere was on everyone’s screen. Instead of it being a local story about one bad thing happening to one person it was look at how this happens all the time to everyone. Instead of kids being bullied on the bus, they were now having bullies push their way into their homes through electronics. Instead of the local news only talking about big stories that really mattered, suddenly news was 24 hours a day and needed to be more and more sensational to get the attention of the millions of viewers.When a child shot up a school their picture and name were posted everywhere. This created a perfect avenue for those mentally unstable individuals to claim their 15 mins of fame. When a man raped a woman, it wasn’t just that the man was a dirtbag. it was that ALL men are dirtbags. One story would link to other stories with similar scenarios. Now instead of a half a dozen losers in the whole country, it was, “look at all these guys everywhere. All men are rapists. Instead of a couple of racists assholes who caused problems. and to be honest I don’t care which race, religion, or creed it is there is an example of all of them. And because they all link together it’s suddenly happening everwhere

.I first noticed this when I became a mom and everyone was bashing other moms for feeding their kids grapes, leaving them in the car seat to nap, running into the gas station to pay for the pump while leaving a sleeping kid in a comfortable car. suddenly there were stories being forwarded to all the moms with horrible outcomes. Moms were no longer allowed to pee, or shower, or sleep. If they did they mine as well just give their children to kidnappers who want to either sell them to the sex slave industry or murder them. They mine as well suffocate them themselves, because children die all the time by being left in their pack n play while the mom pees by herself. Here are 10 links to similar stories to prove I’m right and you should have DCF called on you.

We had a black president elected into office twice. A lot of the people who voted for him were white. They did not vote for him despite he was black. They didn’t vote for him because he was black. They voted for him because he was a person whose policies they agreed with. After he was elected the country was suddenly racist. I’m not really sure how it happened. except that the people on the right didn’t like him. So therefore they were racist. Anytime he was criticized it wasn’t because they were being stupid or petty. It wasn’t because they didn’t like his policy. It was because they were racist.

The right tried to impeach Clinton. They dragged him and his sex life through the mud. They attacked his daughter, they trotted out victim after victim of his sexual advances. They made fun of him. They made his life Hell. not because they were racist. He was white. But because they were assholes. Once Obama was in office no one was allowed to just be an asshole anymore. They HAD to be racist. It was the only explanation.

We now have to have laws to make people serve some potential clients no matter their religion, while letting other vendors refuse based on their principals. We have religions we’re never supposed to talk bad about, while other’s we’re supposed to blame. We have races that are always the victims and another that is always the villain. And don’t even get me started on the battle of the sexes. and if they even exist.

I grew up in a time when we were taught to not think about what makes us different, and I’m raising my son in a time when he is being taught that because he’s a while, Christian male he’s basically the devil responsible for the oppression of millions even though he still can’t cut his own PB&J sandwich. I thought it crazy my dad had to hide under his desk and my son is being taught ALICE (active shooter) training.

My son is only in 1st grade and he missed half a year of school because of a global pandemic, and now the world is literally on fire. What is he going to learn from all of this? What do I tell him when he asks why he’s so bad because of the body he was born into, because he was so privileged to be raised by a single mom after he lost his father to the opioid epidemic? What do I tell my little boy when the world tells him how wrong he is? I tell him the only thing that I can. The same thing that I told him when his father died. It’s not his fault. Everyone makes their own choices in their own life and I’m going to teach him to make the right ones. To not judge. To not blame. To love everyone equally.

Addiction, Law of Attraction, Love, Mental Health

The Absence of Free Will

Katrina Russell

For those who don’t know there is great debate in the scientific community about whether or not free will is possible. The theory is that time is a relative construct. Therefore everything that has ever happened or ever will happen is happening all at once and time is just how we are experiencing these events. The best way that I have heard it explained was in “Agents of Shield” when Fitz compared it to a book. He said that time was happening all at once but we were experiencing just one page in the book at a time. This was most famously depicted in the “Harry Potter” movies. Especially “The Prisoner of Azkaban”. In this movie Harry knew that he could create his patronus because he already saw himself doing it. Time was laid out and he just had to catch up.

Others in the scientific community think that time is relative based on decisions and that alternate realities are created based on these decisions. Some people use the multiverse theory to explain this. For those fellow geeks out there it was often the plot to “The Flash” TV show. In the beginning of the series Barry often ran back in time to change something and ended up changing everything.. thus Flashpoint is created.

Personally I’m a bit in between. I’m more of a Doctor Who time theorist. I believe that certain things are meant to be and everything else is just happening as it does. I believe certain things are “fixed points in time”. I have noticed that sometimes things happen in my life that had no rhyme or reason but they lead to something life altering. There have been things in my life that I knew would happen one day and didn’t have any idea how.. and they did. I believe we all have these moments and we all see how different our lives and the world would be without them.

Not having any free will is a complicated concept to think about and even more difficult to believe in ones own future one way or the other. When someone can’t fathom having any control over their life it leaves them feeling hopeless and frightened all the time. My son’s father was in this category. He has severe anxiety and depression. He often self-medicated with all kinds of drugs. Whenever I would talk to him about making other decisions. About straightening out his life he would reply with the fact that he had no real control over his life. That if he was MEANT to straighten out that he would, and if he wasn’t he wouldn’t.

This whole theory seemed like a cop-out to me. It felt like he was making excuses for why he didn’t need to sober up. I would remind him that his life was his and if HE made other choices then obviously things would change. No one could make him do drugs. He had to change the behavior himself. He couldn’t handle that answer. He would reply that even if he did change his behavior that it would just be what the universe had done to him anyway. It was like talking to a merry-go-round. His whole perspective that he didn’t have free will left him with no will.

Before I met him he had had a couple attempts at suicide. It always confused me because he had such a fear of dying. I didn’t understand why he would try to kill himself if it was also his biggest fear. Unfortunately I think I figured it out. I think he felt like taking himself out of the equation took away the universe’s control. He was always found by a loved one and brought to the hospital and he didn’t know how to feel about it. I told him that he was alive because he was meant to meet me and we were meant to have our son. That didn’t make him feel any better because it was still something that he felt he hadn’t controlled about his life. Even though our son was a choice we made together, and he loved him very much.

Last August he had a scare. He overdosed while driving. He crashed his car and the police came and revived him. He called me to tell me what happened and I told him how lucky he was. I told him he was both lucky that he didn’t hurt anyone else and that because he was driving people saw the accident and the cops were called and he was able to be revived. Had he been alone in his room no one would have known and I’d have gotten a very different call that day. He seemed to agree.

The next day I got that call. He had overdosed in his room alone. He was dead. Part of me believes he did it to test the theory. If he was meant to not die then he would have been found. He could say that it was proof. That there was no reason for him to have been found and yet he was. Unfortunately he never got that chance. To me he fulfilled his life’s goal because we had our son… his choices after that took him away from our son. That’s all on him.

Addiction, grief, Love, Mental Health, parenting

Celebrating Life Even When It’s Over

Katrina Russell

My son’s father’s birthday was March 8.. it was a really hard day. My son just turned 7 a couple weeks before and now he was to celebrate his Da.. only his Da died almost 7 months ago.

It’s hard to explain death to a small child. It’s so final. It so big. But my son… he knows death. He has lived through the death of too many loved ones at his young age. When I told my son of his father’s death he was shook.. he was sad.. he was mad.. he was… well, he just was. This was his life now. He no longer had his Da. He never would again. He didn’t have his Da to go Trick or Treating with. He didn’t have his Da at Thanksgiving. He didn’t have his Da at Christmas or his own birthday.. but on March 8.. we were celebrating the birth of a man that didn’t get any older.

This was Da’s first birthday since his death day.. which I have no idea how I’m going to deal with.. but I still felt like the day should be observed. I still felt like my son should have the opportunity to celebrate the life that his Da had. No matter how sadly it ended.

One of Da’s favorite places to go was Castle Island. It’s a little beach area in South Boston, MA. It was a place that he remembered as a child and he loved sharing it with our son. We would go there for most special occasions. Last memorial day was our first chance to actually get a tour of the fort that is there. We spent most father’s days there and it held a lot of memories of the two of them together. I thought it would be a wonderful to memorialize him.

My son made a card for his Da and we tied it to a balloon and we attempted to send it off. I know.. horrible for the environment. Not really my priority at the moment. I’m going to be honest. So my little 7 year old stood in the middle of the ocean bridge and sent his balloon up to heaven for his Da… and it sunk. And my brave little boy was sad… but he knew that no matter what his Da loved him and knew how much he loved his Da.. and after all was said and done my 7 year old little boy was stronger than I’ve ever been.

Watch “Saying happy birthday to heaven” on YouTube

Love, Mental Health

I Am Positively NOT Always Happy

Katrina Russell

I have been seeing a lot of posts recently about how positive thinking is a horrible idea and how no one can possibly be happy all the time and it’s made me think… WHAT IN THE HELL ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT?!?!

Positive thinking is NOT about being happy all the time. That is just ridiculous. In fact it’s pretty much the opposite. Positive thinking is about KNOWING that bad stuff happens.. and it happens a lot. and it can be really, really, really bad, but that you’re going to be OK. That even though horrible things happen everyday to everyone and that we can in no way control a lot of the bad things that happen around us that good things happen just the same.

Positive thinking is looking around the world today and seeing everything and everyone in lock down over the Coronavirus and not thinking, “Oh aren’t I so happy that the people are dying and business are closing and no one knows what’s going to happen.. isn’t this great?!”, because that would be psychotic.

Positive thinking is looking around and thinking. “Wow, this is crazy. I can’t believe how bad this is getting, but at least I’m seeing people who are helping others. At least we know that this is going to help stop the spread of the virus and, though many will die and that’s horrible, this will hopefully lessen the amount. And after all is said and done the economy will bounce back and we will be normal again.”

Positive thinking is about not giving up in the face of adversity. It’s about seeing the bad things and holding on to hope…. it’s about wanting better for the future no matter how dire things look today.

Saying that positive thinking is having to always be happy is like saying dieting means you never eat again. It’s completely unhealthy and unrealistic… looking for the bright side or hoping for something better at the end of it all.. that’s what keeps the world spinning. Otherwise we mine as well just all stop living and wait for the next asteroid. There’s always going to be conflict and problems.. but it’s how you plan to deal with them that matter.

grief, Love

My dad died 5 years ago today

Katrina Russell

It was 5 years ago today that we lost my dad. I remember waking up that Saturday morning and seeing his truck outside. He was supposed to have left early that day. He was going “yard sailing” and had to be out the door before  dawn.

walk with papaI was not an early riser. It was probably around 9 am… though the specifics are fuzzy. My 2 year old son had just woken up and I needed his diaper changed. He had climbed up on the changing table himself and I happened to look out the window that was next to the changing table. There was my dad’s truck. In the driveway. Not out driving around looking for treasures.

I felt a slight twinge of panic. My father had severe diabetes and his sugar levels were always wonky. I was hoping that he just chose to stay home because it was raining that day. I went downstairs looking for him and eventually found my way to his bedroom. I called to him multiple times, but he never answered. He never would again. I turned the corner and saw him. It was like something out of a movie. He was clearly gone. His mouth was open.. his eyes were open, but it was clear that he was not behind those eyes.

I ran to him. I checked to see if he was breathing. I shook him. I screamed… but I knew he17923_10151515250461602_1693194054_n was gone. There was no CPR. There was no call to EMS. Nothing was going to bring my father back. The man that had been there for me my entire life was gone. The man who used to hold me when I cried. The man who kissed my boo boos. The man who tucked me in. The man who made my dinners and gave me my tubbies.. and read me bedtime stories. The man who was always there to listen to me babble on during my childhood.. and even worse.. during my teen years. The man who I went to for all of my problems, and the man who was starting to come to me for his. He was gone. I was alone. I was scared, and 5 years later. I still am.

People talk about grief, but until you live through it you will never understand. For weeks I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I cried without even realizing. There is about 6 months of my life that I don’t remember. I carried on. I had to. I had my job. I had my son. I had my life that I had to live. My father died 5 years ago today, and I miss him every bit as much now as I did then.

Addiction, Giving, Healthcare, Homeless, Love, Mental Health, parenting

We’re not alone

Katrina Russell

I was shocked when an article showed up on my Facebook page today. Sesame Street has created a character whose parents are  addicts. They are talking about actually drug addiction and the opiate crisis on frickin’ Sesame Street. I couldn’t believe it. Since losing my son’s father I have been very vocal about addiction and how it has affected me and my family. I have been very clear that keeping this kind of thing “hush hush” doesn’t do anyone any good and that mental health in general needs to be the topic of more conversations… but I had no idea how many little children are going through the same thing my son did.

According to the article I read of a similar name, “We’re not alone – ‘Sesame Street’ tackles addiction crisis “,  5.7 million children under age 11 live in households with a parent with substance use disorder. That number is disgusting. I’m sorry. I wish I could say it any other way, but it is. It is disgusting to know how many kids out there have parents who are struggling with addiction and mental illness and can’t get the help that they need. How many parents have kids that are struggling with addiction and mental illness and can’t get the help that they need.

I say that they can’t get the help that they need because I tried. I called every long term rehabilitation center that I could find in the tri-state area to get my son’s father into a real treatment program. Not just a 2 week or 30 day dry out, but a real 6 months or a year program. Of course he protested at first saying that it would disrupt his life to be gone for so long, but I finally made him realize that it was much more disruptive to keep having relapses.. to not actually fix the problem and only band-aid the symptoms. It would have been a lot less disruptive on his life to take a year to get healthy then to die alone in a “sober house” with his family 3 cities away and his sober house manager swearing he’s fine… he doesn’t notice anything wrong with him.

I made at least 20 phone calls to every long term facility that I could find all saying the same thing. Sure.. he’s more than welcome.. that’ll be $50,000… right.. how many addicts do you know that have over $100 in their pockets. None of them take insurance.. and none of the ones that take insurance do any real treatment.. they just clean up their puke while they detox and then then send them on their way telling them to find some sort of out patient program like NA/AA to help.. yeah.. stay away from other addicts… but go find meetings where all you do is meet other addicts.. great idea.

I’m not saying that NA/AA are bad programs. They just aren’t for everyone. They have a very strong link to God and surrendering to a higher power and trusting in that higher power to help. Only problem.. not everyone believes in God or a higher power. I know Neil didn’t. I know he stayed clean out of shear will power. He told me repeatedly that everything that he did was for me and our son. That he was living for his family and he knew that he had to stay clean in order to have us in his life.

Now I read this article about Sesame Street talking to millions of kids about their parents. Millions of kids whose mommies and daddies have to stay sober using nothing but will power. My son is not the only kid I know whose parent has died from the crisis.. my son is not the only kid I know that needed a monitor to make sure he was safe when his Da was using. I do not live in an urban city. My child goes to private school. We love in a small town. We go to church every week. To look at us we are not who you would assume would have an addict for a loved one. But that’s the point. None of us are… and we all need to start talking about it if we want to save the mommies and daddies of those 5.7 million children. If we want to save the life of just one.

Love, parenting

I don’t want to be smart!

Katrina Russell

“I don’t want to be smart!”

My six year old son yelled this at me last night, and it confused me. He is a smart little boy. He always has been. He loved playing math games as a toddler and reading books is one of his favorite hobbies. Now that he is in first grade his whole mindset has changed. He doesn’t want to be smart.

I didn’t understand. This was something that he was always proud of. He would so something we would consider brilliant.. just normal kid stuff, but we’re his family so everything he did was brilliant and we would commend him on being “so smart”. When he started kindergarten he was having a lot of trouble sitting down and doing his work. It was understandable. He was a 5 year old boy. Sitting was not his specialty.

Now that he is in first grade I talked to him about how this was the year that actual grades started and how his work was important. He always loved coming to work with me so I told him that it was “job” to go to school and do his work. I let him know that he was a smart little boy so if he just did the work his grades would be just fine and he didn’t have to worry about that.. just do the work. I wasn’t trying to put the emphasis on the grades. I was trying to help him understand that it was his “trying” that mattered.

Two weeks before he started first grade his father died. Because of this my sweet little boy has a lot of anger and anxiety. This is completely normal.. but very disruptive. We have decided to turn off all electronics in the house because of this. I only use my phone and computer when he is at school.. or for “important” things (like doctor’s appointments, checking in with teachers or activities.. etc.) This has been an extremely emotional time and we are both looking for as much quality time together, even if it’s just snuggling on the couch reading books, as we can.

At school he has been having some outbursts. He has been boycotting his classwork, and even a test. He has been getting into fights with kids who are “being mean to him”. I know these kids.. they’re not being mean, but he is on high alert because of his high stress and everything is upsetting him.

About a week ago he asked if he could home school. I asked him if he understood what that meant. He said, “yeah.. then I could just stay home all day with you”. I explained that he would still have to do all of the work, but that he wouldn’t have any of his friends there to play with at all.. and that.. if I am honest, I am not the most patient at teaching things like maths… I don’t even understand half his homework already. He agreed home school was not for us.

He had a few good days after that conversation and I was hoping that we had turned a corner. Then yesterday he was held back in the classroom at the end of the day so the guidance councilor could speak with me.  She told me that he had thrown papers at a friend and his teacher.. squealed.. and hid under his desk. I brought him home and asked him about what had transpired.. there was some story about the other kid throwing it first.. it not being his fault.. the usual. He told me that he tried to do his breathing but he was just so mad.

Then he told me, “I wish I wasn’t smart”. I was completely taken aback. I had no idea what he was talking about. He said that he was so tired and so angry all the time. That he didn’t want to do any of his work because of it. That if he wasn’t smart that no one would care if he did his work or not and they would just leave him alone.

I’m not going to lie.. that confused me. I couldn’t see where he got this or why he felt this way. I knew that I had said that he just had to do his work and because he was smart the grades would follow.. but that didn’t mean that he didn’t have to do the work if he wasn’t smart.. but then I thought about my own childhood. My brother was always “the smart one”.  He was in all the extra special classed for “smart” kids, and I always had anything better to do than my homework. So I didn’t, and my dad wasn’t great at checking on me. When the teachers would say to me, “you’re so smart if you just do the work….” I would shut down. I’m not smart. My brother is smart.. you’re just projecting. I didn’t want to be smart.. because I didn’t want to do the work.

We always get the threat from our parents that someday we are going to have kids “just like you”, and then we do. And then we say the same things to our kids that was said to us. So from now on, I’m not going to tell my son how smart he is.. I’m going to tell him how proud I am for his effort. Because let’s be honest.. ability is nothing without fortitude. My son is smart, but he doesn’t know everything. Two weeks before school started he lost his father and his whole understanding of life was changed. I can’t expect him to comprehend everything, but I can encourage him to try.