Beginning of August, just two weeks after I came back from my holiday, my daughter decided to move out at her dad's place.
Why?
This is the million dollars question.
There are many and compounded answers - like the need for a change (fair enough), exploring autonomy (deep seated need at her age and in her condition), angst of reaching 30 soon that she talks about, escaping lasting poverty, une pulsion de survie (uncontrollable), and probably various people influencing that choice, including psychologists (?).
As I said earlier, the truth is I don't know.
I had to detach & accept, for survival, and despite the high risk of an accident happening, even if things had begun to look better for her lately.
A part of me was: "Isn't it time we finally sit and enjoy the gains, life was so much better for her in 2025 than in 2020?" but I was dealing with a young adult without a minute of life to waste... perhaps...
I consulted her neuropsychiatrist and occupational therapist to ascertain safety; they were not on my side: "she is 28, sound of mind and her life is not in danger".
Really? How about the resuscitation sessions?
I felt totally alone, let down.
Welcome to the world of specialists, none of them getting the full picture, and welcome to Invisible Disabilities World!
It is now end of October, and as far as I am aware - her contacts with me are now very rare - her move has been a success in the sense that no major incident has happened but I would not call it victory towards autonomy yet for sure. For one thing, her dad is not there with her, he lives and work in Townsville with his partner, oblivious. Normally, 2x support workers come and look after her 8am-4pm three times a week.
I had no other choice than keeping going on walking my life path without falling.
The abyss had never been closer.
The following week, I was hit with an emergency situation of my own. I was struck by pain in my stomach area lasting 5 hours. I called the ambulance at 3am on a Sunday, but they took 1h30.
I was totally alone.
What had I done with my life?
I was two weeks away from homelessness again. I had to find a full-time job immediately since the government help would stop in two weeks time, and from then on, I would not be able to pay my bills. I was now facing the prospect of having to sell my house and live who knows where while looking for a cheaper accommodation to buy (again) since I was not qualifying for a rent on my current PT job working for a multinational company caring more about their shareholders than their linguists.
That is family and society's Thank You for caring for others.
NOT ONE PERSON SHOULD EVER HAVE TO DO IT ALONE!
My whole life had been built around holding a family; the whole edifice was taking a final blow.
How did I keep going? For one thing, embracing my new profession helped.
I was able to manage the identity shift. I re-construct my identity as a therapist. This gave me some solace, especially when I could see my clients progress.
I also listened to my course coordinators general advice to turn to what is beautiful in the world to transcend life realities - how do you keep going when you have hard cases one after another. I turned to the arts for solace. Beauty in Arts, Music, Nature is like a connexion between us all. I visited a lot of uplifting free exhibitions, swam a lot, and learned to be happy on my own as I had been when I was 23. I also tried to connect with people deeply in what they had beautiful. I could do that through my work, I found beauty in my patients' resilience. Slowly, I was reaching some balance.
I was also enjoying the freedom I had been longing for such a long time, even though I would have preferred things to be more gradual, and responsibilities shared.
Very very fortunately, despite my advanced age and alopecia,
I have been offered a six-months contract at the agency where I did my placement in Cleveland (40mn drive from my place). As a trauma specialist, it is very well remunerated, so I will be fine. I start paid work with them next week.
This week, I had gallbladder surgery. It all went well, and I was able to pay for it.
A friend came to collect me from the hospital, one brought me a meal and heat packs, and another one came for company two days later; my son moved in with me this week.
I was not realy alone after all.
I am aware that things could have turned for the worse easily, and that yes, luck did play its part. I can only think about the many carers who did not make it through this ruthless individualistic world.
I reported my trip to Europe to January - 10 days - as part of my new contract negociations.
