I’ve lived 72 years, and in that time, I’ve gathered a wealth of life experience, knowledge, and skills. I consider myself fortunate to have known the joy of deep, meaningful relationships, both with those still in my life and those who are now cherished memories. I believe strongly in the healing that can take place during the recovery process from mental illness. I’ve been through that journey myself, so I know, without question, that recovery is possible.
Healing takes time. There have been moments when I’ve stood in awe, not just of my own progress, but of the strength I’ve witnessed in others who fight every day to become whole and happier. Recovery isn’t a one-time event. Anyone who has faced mental illness, alcoholism, or substance abuse will tell you: recovery is a continual journey. And it’s a beautiful one. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel ashamed. Recovery is something to be proud of.
Yes, there will always be sad and painful memories, but give yourself permission to also feel the joy and contentment of the happy ones. That joy will remind you of your best self, who you’ve always been and who you are now. Be aware of the ways you’ve changed. Those changes were necessary. Many memories may still carry pain, but don’t live there. Carry the wisdom they gave you and keep moving forward.
So, let’s roll with the good times.
My youngest son, Jon, was a beautiful baby with soft, silky blonde hair. I can still close my eyes and feel it in my fingers. His eyes were a striking blue before they turned a deep, beautiful brown. He walked at a year old and was full of energy, some might even say hyperactive. I don’t recall if he had a temper early on, but in school, it became more apparent. He was social and loved being around other kids. Every day after school, he’d rush home, change clothes, and head straight outside to play. He played hard, and by early evening, he often had meltdowns.
Eventually, I realized he needed a transition time after school. So I made a new routine: change clothes, have a snack, find a quiet activity to unwind, and then go outside. One afternoon, I heard a loud noise from the living room. I asked him what he was doing. He replied, “You told me to relax! I’m rearranging the furniture!” I laughed and said, “Jon, you can go outside now.” Geesh!
Jon’s energy and personality were vivid and memorable. But he also struggled with frustration and emotional regulation. His feelings were intense, and he didn’t know how to manage them. Sometimes he’d warn, “I’m getting mad! I’m getting mad!” And too often, I’d respond with frustration instead of help. I wish I’d understood then what I know now: he needed help calming down, learning to name his feelings, and talking about them. Sadly, no one had taught me how to do that either when I was growing up.
I carry regrets about how I parented. Some things I still need to forgive myself for. But I’ve also come to understand that many of those struggles were a part of both our growing up. Wisdom often arrives later than we’d like. And looking back, I see now that many of Jon’s behaviors were typical for his age and development.
An important note: Jon and his brother Ray were born just 10 months and 3 weeks apart. That close spacing played a major role in their frequent fights and many other challenges. They were too close developmentally, which added to the stress. Jon began to struggle more in school and with certain social situations. But still—let’s return to the joy.
Jon was funny, intelligent, and incredibly creative. He was always hands-on. What many people don’t understand is just how much intelligence it takes to be mechanically inclined, to work with your hands, to invent and build. You have to be able to see the unseen and create from that vision. So yes—I’m just another mother bragging about her kid. But this kid? I wouldn’t have wanted him to be anybody else.
There were so many joyful memories, too many to list. We did fun things together. We visited family and friends. We were surrounded by love and support. Over time, I’ve learned to see that it was all just life—but we made it meaningful. And now I know just how blessed we really were.
