With your head in the sand, you are unable to open your mouth and speak life to your child. 

My son attended Sunday School at our mega church and made a delightful new friend. The boy was homeschooled, disturbing no one with his obvious tics. I took this child to Chuckie Cheese's and observed his struggle to transition between tasks, distractibility, hyperactivity, and obsessiveness. I tested the waters by casually mentioning that his playmate, my son, had Tourette's Syndrome and that's why he had certain unusual (aka identical) behaviors; think nothing of it. No lights went on, so I decided it just might be time to have a careful chat with his mom. I'm no doctor, and I don't diagnose, but certain symptoms are profoundly evident to the experienced eye. Response? Very little...

The message I couldn't speak to her son: "I see the shame on your face when you turn away to try to hide your tics. You need to understand that you're not crazy. I know you are not doing those things because you want to. There is a spot in your brain that sends errant signals. No big deal. It's just chemistry. That's all it is. It's why you struggle to transition from one task to another, why you perseverate, why you lose the battle to sit still even though you try so hard. If it bothers you so much that we need to explore treatments, just let me know. In the meantime, I want you to know that I understand how hard it is for you, and I am giving you full credit for efforts as well as for your successes. I see your heart, even though in other settings you may endure harsh corrections, know that I am on your side."

I’ve been there. I was convinced that my daughter needed to be home-schooled. She struggled with extreme volatility, excessive obsessive behaviors, sensory issues and incontinence as well as lacking the emotional maturity of her peers by several years. Additionally, although only in the second grade, she was already decoding words on an eleventh grade level cracking jokes with the sophistication of a young adult. She was horribly vulnerable, completely oblivious to the impact her behaviors had on others. She internalized the messages from the scowling faces not in light of her rages, but instead as a reflection of her own lack of worth or like-ability. I knew this, and hated myself for failing. I was about to mainstream her in our neighborhood school. 

What does failure look like for a Type A mother?  Anything that falls short of “the ideal”. The ideal was home-schooling. I had already home-schooled her for half of kindergarten, all of first grade, and now half of second. Meanwhile, I had a new baby, lived in a new town with next to no friends, and could not attend church functions or social events to create them. After all, who can babysit a newborn and a screaming volatile child at the same time? 

I made the right choice. I put her in school. I didn’t do it for her. I did it for my mental health. I did it for my other daughter with whom I continued to homeschool and build relationship for the next 5 years. I did it for my son. I did it for my husband. And it was the hardest thing I had ever done because it wasn’t what was best for her and I loved her just as desperately as I loved all the others. But it was right, and the Idol of Ideal came crashing down.