Mental Illness & Apathy: He’s not lazy
We are sisters
We are frustrated by our MIAC’s lack of motivation
We push, we pull, we prod
We look for reasons why
We aim for compassion and understanding
We are sisters
As a mother of a mentally ill adult child (MIAC), the frustration is real.
My son is out of the hospital. It’s been months, and still he just sits and smokes or lays in bed.
Why won’t he do something, anything?
We have conversations about things he can do: part-time work, cleaning his room, helping me with dinner.
And still…nothing.
My son claims he wants more from life so we create a plan of action together, but each day there’s another excuse.
“I’m tired. I don’t feel good. I didn’t want to do it today,” he says. “Maybe tomorrow.”
During an annual mental health evaluation, his case manager says he’s doing great.
Wait. Is she seeing the same young man that I am?!
When I questioned the case manager’s assessment, she informed me that it’s normal for the brain to still be healing one to two years after a serious psychotic break.
What?!
Why don’t the doctors talk more realistically about the healing process, and what to expect with a severe mental illness? (Yet another reason parents are left floundering and confused in the face of our mentally ill child’s behavior.)
While this new information helped me understand, intellectually, what was going on with my son’s apathy and inaction, I have a confession…
I lacked compassion until I became seriously ill myself.
Almost two years ago, I was hospitalized with double pneumonia and sepsis. Nine months after that, I had two back surgeries within two weeks.
After months and months of weakness and pain I finally started to heal physically, but I’m still dealing with the trauma and stress of closing my business, being unable to work or qualify for disability, and deciding what my life should look like now.
This experience gave me the perspective I had been missing.
What I learned from my major health crisis:
It takes a long time to heal.
It affects every aspect of your being: physical, emotional, and mental.
When parts of yourself are lost, it takes massive energy to rebuild.
How you identified yourself is gone, so it’s difficult to decide who you are now.
Others don’t understand why you can’t just pick up where you left off.
Even small tasks are draining and may require days of recovery. Full disclosure: It took over a week to write this month’s blog!
Sometimes your brain is too overwhelmed - even reading or TV is too taxing.
You become anxious because you feel you should be capable of doing MORE.
Serious illness causes you to isolate, and it’s depressing to see the world moving on as usual.
Some days you will sleep all day.
I’m still healing, and I continue to learn from this experience. Most recently, I realized I wouldn’t be able to move forward until I acknowledged that my old life was gone.
What helped me ease into a “new normal”:
Slowing down and not pushing myself.
Asking for support.
Recognizing I’ll have good and bad days.
Reconnecting with hobbies and friends.
Letting go of who I used to be.
Realizing I can change my mind if my new life doesn’t fit.
Offering myself grace through this major transition.
Refusing to compare myself to anyone else.
Knowing my worth even on the days I accomplish nothing.
Accepting that my new life will always be a work in progress.
I also moved from a major city in Missouri to a small town in Arkansas for a change of scenery and a slower pace of life, but this isn’t possible for everyone.
Take what’s relevant and apply it to your situation.
My hope is that you can learn from my first-hand experience just a bit of what your mentally ill adult child faces every day.
“What you see is what they’re capable of. Really!”
They may not explain it as clearly, but your child is already dealing with more than their damaged brains can handle.
They are struggling just to make it through the day, while we’re trying to force / motivate / bribe them to do more.
What you see is what they’re capable of. Really!
Some days may be better, but that degree of motivation is unattainable, and unsustainable, long term.
Apathy is a large part of severe mental illness, and no amount of begging, bargaining, cajoling, or threatening will change your MIAC’s diagnosis.
Learning to accept your “new normal” — whatever that looks like — will benefit both you and your mentally ill adult child.
Just for today:
I will choose to stop pushing my child.
I will stop expecting my MIAC to go back to who he used to be.
I will create a “new normal” for both of us.
I will focus on my own health and well-being.