Real-Life Stories: “The abnormal was our normal”
The Normality of Chaos
It feels like an impossible task to condense the experience of raising a child with Conduct Disorder (CD) into a blog post and do it justice at the same time. It’s like when you tell stories to mental health professionals, family, or friends. Their reactions to it often felt underwhelming to me considering the pain of the content I was sharing.
I honestly don’t know if that’s because they just didn’t get it, I wasn’t aptly describing it, or if because we were still functioning reasonably that perhaps they thought it couldn’t be that bad.
This always brings me back to the frog in the pot analogy:
“If a frog is put suddenly into boiling water, it will jump out, but if the frog is put in tepid water which is then brought to a boil slowly, it will not perceive the danger and will be cooked to death.”
The challenges with our son became our “normal” – don’t get me wrong this doesn’t mean it was “easy”; it still caused innumerable damage, but we managed in our own way… to a point.
I still remember after we had managed some periods of “calm” that when things would fall apart again, I felt a strange sense a relief. That’s how warped our reality had become. Calm became unsettling because the abnormal was our normal. It’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived it.
The Nature vs. Nurture Debate
Among the many facets of our story, the nature vs. nurture debate has been a major source of angst. After the diagnosis, I, like many parents, scoured the internet for information. The inconsistencies were staggering, but one of the most difficult aspects was reading about potential “causes” like abuse, neglect, or trauma.
Our son never experienced trauma or abuse of any kind, poverty or poor nutrition weren’t an issue. We certainly weren’t perfect parents (who is?) but I felt like we did ok. We weren’t too harsh or too lax, we were consistent, but most importantly, we were loving and nurturing and did the best we could.
We raised two boys in the same environment with the same parenting strategies, yet they couldn’t be more different. Our eldest (diagnosed with CD) exhibits the signs of psychopathy (lying, conning, shallow affect, lack of empathy, impulsivity, failure to accept responsibility for actions & no remorse, etc.), while our youngest is the complete opposite – highly empathetic, genuinely kind, thoughtful, and affectionate.
Genetics clearly played a role and yet over the years we have been judged and blamed by various people for something I now see as largely out of our control. I’m in a place now where we can never be certain obviously, but I would like to think that the environment we did create may have at least helped our son land on a “tamer” end of the spectrum that is Conduct Disorder.
Even if there were contributing environmental factors though, we were still seeking help. Over the years I’ve read numerous books, and articles, and tried countless different “parenting strategies” not to mention all the counsellors, social workers, psychologists, and psychiatrists that we saw.
Yet despite our proactive approach, and constant efforts to help and support our son we were met with finger-pointing instead of support and compassion. To this day, this infuriates me. Regardless of the cause, parents seeking help for their children should not be blamed or ostracised.
To be clear, the “finger-pointing” wasn’t from everyone, but it occurred enough times to add another layer of pain to an already difficult situation. Thankfully, we eventually did find a psychologist who offered the compassion and emotional support we desperately needed. After years of feeling minimised, shamed, and victim-blamed, words can’t express our immense gratitude for her understanding and expertise.
Grief and Loss
Another facet of our journey that most people don’t seem to fully appreciate is the grief and how many levels there are of it. For me, I experienced grief for:
- The life I dreamed of for my son, the relationship I wanted to have with him, the amazing parts of life that he won’t experience and the challenges he will face.
- The parent I wanted to be, the family I didn’t get to have (having more children felt impossible) and the life I envisioned for myself and my family.
- My own identity – After years of having to fill so many additional roles (mediator, advocate, detective, warden, etc.) I completely lost touch with myself and my personal identity.
- The constant, gnawing anxiety that comes with the ambiguity of the situation. There’s no clear starting point, no end in sight, and no guarantee of respite or calm. Wrapping your head around the idea that this could be your reality for the foreseeable future is incredibly difficult.
The Grief No One Sees
Additionally, there is also what is known as disenfranchised grief (grief that isn’t fully understood or acknowledged by society). I am fortunate that I do have well-meaning & caring family and friends, but at times, we still felt invalidated and utterly alone in our grief.
Let me paint a picture: If our son had a devastating physical illness or injury that would greatly impact the rest of his life, I’m pretty certain we would have received messages of support. Perhaps even people showing up to offer their help, offer respite, or even just drop off a casserole… But it didn’t happen.
Most of the time it was only during a conversation we were already having that people might ask how we were doing, but not really initiate anything themselves or do anything that might lighten the burden for us.
I don’t expect anyone other than other parents of a child with CD to understand this, but I’ve experienced the loss of a close family member, and the level of pain and anguish I felt when he passed away, was similar to what I felt when my son was diagnosed. In some ways, it was worse.
When my father passed away, it was from cancer. While obviously devastating, it was a tragic, yet “normal” part of life, so people did the typical thing of sending messages, flowers, and were supportive. And, it had a finality to it that allowed for processing and moving forward.
But with my son, the diagnosis felt like the last nail in the coffin of a harsh, lifelong reality we had to try and accept. He was still physically around but disconnecting from us more and more as each day passed.
We had to try and wrap our heads around the realisation that a “normal” relationship was likely out of reach, and the likely potential for future estrangement added another layer of pain. On top of all this, the daily abuse (stealing, lying, deceitfulness, manipulation, gaslighting, verbal bashing, intimidation, etc.) caused anxiety, depression, and PTSD symptoms. There seemed to be no end in sight, and the little support we did receive felt like a drop in the ocean.
I’m aware this stems from a lack of awareness, part of which we didn’t help with as it’s exhausting trying to explain a situation to people who just won’t get it anyway unless they have lived it, so you end up keeping much of it to yourself. So, while I do intellectually understand, it doesn’t diminish the hurt we felt (and continue to feel).
Silver Linings
At the time of writing this, my son is almost 18 and based on his history, presentation, the genetic factors, I’ve come to terms that he is highly unlikely to be amongst those fortunate to age out of CD. I can’t picture myself ever not grieving about this, and the anxiety of the uncertainties of the future haunts me daily, but I am also at a place where I do have plenty to be thankful for.
There are always silver linings, even if they’re hard to find. Here are a few of mine:
- Empathy. Words can’t describe how much I value empathy now. Experiencing a lack of it first-hand has made me appreciate its power more than ever.
- My husband and I have faced incredible challenges together, and it’s forged an unbreakable bond between us now. Many relationships (understandably) don’t survive such difficulties, and I’m incredibly grateful for ours.
- I’ve discovered strength and resilience I didn’t know I possessed and as a result, some things that might cause other people immense stress, don’t seem to bother me anymore.
- I have a deeper gratitude for the little things in life. Like my younger son getting up and getting ready for school without it turning into an all-out war, or when he does something kind for me without an agenda.
- This experience has pushed me to learn and grow in profound ways. Not just about my son, but also about myself. It’s fostered open-mindedness, non-judgment, and a deeper capacity for compassion.
Disclaimer: This story is a personal account from a parent. Sharing these experiences is important to us, but remember every family’s journey with Conduct Disorder is unique.
A message from Conduct Disorder Support
While the journey with Conduct Disorder is a challenging one, there is hope. There are resources available, and there is strength to be found in connection with others who understand. You are not alone.
At CDS, we recognise the unique challenges parents of children with Conduct Disorder face. As a platform created by a parent who’s walked that path too, we’ve curated a range of resources to offer you the support, guidance, and community you deserve. Explore how we can help you navigate this journey.
“There is no single answer, but there is support.”
– Sarah, CDS Founder
