NO MORE ‘YETS’

Having been brought up in a drug–filled, abusive household, I thought I knew how NOT to be a parent.  Nine years into my using discovered I was pregnant when I miscarried my son’s twin.  Having had a stillborn two years previously (a consequence of using which will always stay with me) pure fear stopped me from using heroin and trusting my pregnancy.  I wasn’t clean and was still very active in the lifestyle.   By the grace of God my son was born healthy, but after a token three weeks’ breastfeeding, I was using again, my only concession being that I smoked my gear and wasn’t putting needles in my arms.  His Dad and I stayed together a further 10 years, our habits grew, we didn’t, our relationship in the last couple of years getting more chaotic, violent and sick.

My son was always there, deprived of his childhood, caretaking his Mum around the company I chose, wondering when I was going to get hurt again or if I was going to go out and just not come back.  But I was a ‘good Mum’ – I never beat him, just battered his feelings.

Finally in December ’02 the authorities stepped in.  I’d left him with his Dad and two using addicts and got myself arrested again.  In court the next morning I asked for help.  By the afternoon my son was dragged screaming from school by two officials.  All I could do was watch, restrained, from the headmistress’ window.  In my rock bottom I found hidden depths.  There were no ‘yets’ left when six months later I got into a 12–step treatment centre in Bournemouth.

Halfway through treatment adoption proceedings begun we were on social worker number 9, part of a cycle of assessments, transfers, then more assessments.  I was unsupported, desperate, and disillusioned.  Still very new and just couldn’t understand, surely I’d done what they’d asked? However, social worker number 357 (who came with interpreter) backed me up and suggested an adjournment.

When six months clean I had just about enough inside to communicate honestly, acknowledge that my son needed to be in a safe place and that though I loved him dearly, I wasn’t quite ready to be a Mum yet.  They believed me and replaced the adoption proceedings with a parallel order and contact then started.  It wasn’t easy having supervised contact for three hours a week in shopping precincts, a third party present, plus the child of an addict reared on mistrust of authority.  Bonding and openness just wasn’t happening.

Finally on our first unsupervised contact, while cuddling on the sofa my son started to laugh and talk like a ten year old child for the first time.  This is a moment that will live in my heart forever.  We now spend every weekend together and he’s moving to Bournemouth with me soon.

Our bond is growing.  There are no more conditions on our unconditional love today and I have faith that everything will be alright.  My son is recovering too – a victim of my addiction all his life and he is still very needy.  I feel that taking him to a meeting may be too much too soon and there is not always an atmosphere of recovery.  So far some good people have helped me out with babysitting.

There’s a wonderful meeting on a Sunday, attended by parents and children. However, as it’s technically not ‘Child Friendly’, we have to put them in our pockets or sit on them every time a non–addict walks by!  Thankfully the Parents & Carers Committee has offered advice and support and we’re now looking to turn this meeting into the first meeting with a crèche in Bournemouth with hopefully more to follow.  My son even wants to help with the smaller children.

It’s all good.  Thank you.

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