Thursday, May 18, 2017

Lessons that Hurt

I have this problem of asking too many questions.  You know, sometimes if you ask enough questions, you'll get answers.  And sometimes the answers haunt you.
Last week I accidentally scratched my son.  It looked horrible.  I felt horrible.  I cut off all my nails.  And I just had a bad feeling.
Sure enough, Thursday morning my son told me that a woman had came to the school to talk to him the day before.  Someone had called Child Protective Services.  Someone felt that I actually was a danger to my own children.  That was hurtful enough.
Then I found out more.  When someone asked my son about the situation, he explained.  He was supposed to be cleaning the bathroom - his chore for the week.  His sister needed to use the bathroom.  He wouldn't leave the bathroom.  Mom intervened and made him come sit down.  He sat down with an attitude and said how he wasn't going to clean the bathroom.  I got up to walk over and talk to him.  He took off running.  I followed him.  He was hiding in a corner with his arms over his face.  I reached for his arm to pull him to his feet and that is when I accidentally scratched his face.  After that he put his hands over his face because his face hurt.  I'm sure it did.  Like I said, it looked horrible.  I felt horrible.
We came in to my office.  I cut my nails.  We put ointment on his face.  And THEN we had our talk about how saying "no" he wasn't going to do his chores is not ok.  We talked about how next time when he is cleaning the bathroom, he needs to leave when people need to use that room.  Even in his statement to CPS he said that when he gets in trouble he usually gets his video games taken away or he gets "talked to for hours".
Here's the thing.  My nine year old boy did not know, until the other day, that adults beat up on children.  I never told him that.  Why in the world would I tell him that?  He is an innocent boy and he does not need to know the evils of this world at age nine.  So when he told someone that he was hiding and got slapped.  He did not clarify that he was hiding to avoid a big talk.  And he did not explain that his "slap" was me touching his face firmly.  Why would he clarify this?  He had no idea.  But why wouldn't an adult ask him?  Does an adult really expect that every nine year old understands child abuse and uses the words the way the adult does?  Is this the expectation?  I had to explain to my nine year old boy that his words conjured up an image of a boy terrified of getting beaten and punched by his mother.  I had to tell him that there are adults who hit their children so hard they break bones and kill them.  His face was so somber, he said, "But mom, everyone knows you are kind."
From my conversations with adults now, somehow another word got thrown in there.  But I don't use that word.  I asked my son about it and told me at least three times that he did not say that other word either.  So I don't even know why this situation was made worse.
I was doing better when I thought that maybe this whole thing started with someone that I didn't know well or something.  But no, the truth seems to be that this whole thing is from people that I know.  People that I trusted, people that trusted me.  I am heartbroken.  I am trying so, so hard not to let this bother me.  But how could I not?  Ricky Holland was mentioned in a conversation because "you never know".  I worked in Williamston during the time of Ricky Holland's death.  I helped provide drinks to searchers.  I had a new baby and couldn't help search personally.  But, I followed that case.  That woman was a phsycopath.  She has no heart and she has no soul.  She is evil personified.  And she was brought up in a conversation relative to myself.  She hid her son.  Neighbors found her son going thru their trash.  She moved to hide details of her derangement and abuse of Ricky.  And this was brought up in a conversation having to do with myself.  I am nothing like this woman.  For someone that has met me to even think this is a possibility has had me feeling like I want to throw up constantly.
I shouldn't have had that talk.  But I did and now I know.
I am blessed that the CPS worker, a stranger, can see that this was an accident.  A stranger can see that I love my children and wouldn't hurt them.  People that I know and trusted can't see that though.  I am trying very hard to find the silver lining in all this.  I guess I have a good reminder of why I shouldn't trust people.  I've loosened up over the years.  I was letting this idea of "community" grow on me.  But no longer.  People play games.  And I won't.  I don't pretend to trust people that I don't actually trust. And sometimes I assume that is a two way street.
Don't worry.  I'm not going too far off the deep end.  I know not all people think this of me.  And I know that what others think is not what matters.  The truth matters.
But I hate feeling foolish for trusting people.  I'm re-evaluating some things.  And I'm opening back up the possibility of moving to the mountains some day in my retirement to avoid people and live happily and carefree amongst animal friends.
You nice people, we can still communicate via the internet.  But real interactions have never been my thing much anyway.  I thought I was getting better at them.  Now I think I was fooling myself.
The logical part of me can see, given what my son said, how this happened.  But my heart doesn't quite get it.  Words were twisted.  Explanations were not asked for.  Assumptions were made.  And trust was broken.  That's a bridge that won't be rebuilt.
Tonight I am thankful that this is temporary.  This feeling won't last.  My kids know how much I love them.  My family, God, and the CPS lady know I would never hurt them.  That is what matters.  The rest will be a lesson learned.  I hate these lessons that hurt so much . . I guess that is life though.

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