I was on the inside. And when you are on the inside of a difficult, emotionally demanding and challenging situation, the only thing to do is get through the day. You set your attitude, you decide to be patient and understanding. This is the only thing you can decide and control. The only thing you should be able to decide and control. Your attitude. The first time I worked with a dysfunctional family I lived with them for 8 months. I took care of their 4 girls. Their 4 freckled red haired girls. They were amazing. They were little miracles like all children are. I fell head over heels inlove with them. I was left caring for them when their mother closed the door, shut the world out and drank. That sounds like what I should be writing - that the worst part was the drinking but thats completely and utterly false. She couldn't stand herself, I couldn't stand her, no one who knew her could stand her and that's why she drank. She was mean, manipulative and worse of all - she made her children feel as bad and horrible about themselves as her parents probably made her feel (saying that having met her father). And when she was drunk, she was loving and kind and funny! Did it bring out her true self? Was alcohol her nurturing mother that she never had? I didn't judge, I didn't try to change her or even reach her, I just felt. I felt everything. The guilt she put on me, the blame, the worrying. I was on my tiptoes. 

I started out always thinking of the children. Their happiness. What seemed to be important to them. How to lead, how to follow. I ended up thinking only of the mother. How to handle HER. Thoughts of the children faded. This is the guilt I carry today still. Although it's not heavy, it's like a light reminder to keep my focus on the children. A lesson learned that I refuse to forget. 

Thoughts of what I could do for the children, thoughts of how they were really effected by their parents didn’t show up until I had left. The oldest girl, 9 years old, was always worried about her mother. She would get up early to make her mother breakfast when she was “sick”. She would stroke her hair. She always wanted to be in the room where her mother was sleeping. She was an angel when her mother was drunk but normally I would have my body full of bruises cos she was very violent. The younger girls would seem unbalanced but they were so young they didn’t understand. They felt their mothers distance when she was drinking and the 5year old would have more tantrums when her mother was “sick”. The youngest ones were 2 and 3. Everything was easier when the mother was drunk and distant. That was the true nightmare. 

It was the mother’s secret. She only talked about it when she was drunk. Otherwise it was pretty much ignored in the family but the 9 year old, she knew. And she wanted desperately to fix it for her mother. I believe the most important thing I learnt form them all, was that children who grow up with parents who abuse them in any way, with words, violence or sexually, they don’t stop loving their parents they just start disliking or hating themselves.

It took me 8 months to realize I was incredibly unhappy. I was lost and unbalanced. I was 18. Miserable in my little Irish dream come true. I had been dreaming of Ireland since I was a child. I would leave the house when ever I could, to walk, to sit, to look, to take comfort in the nature. In the streets, in the ocean, in the wind. I would go out in the pouring rain. Ireland is like a poem you cant put into rhyme, only feel. It's dramatic, beautiful and true. I'm still dreaming. And remembering. 

I started calling social services in Sweden and in Ireland to ask about what would happen to the children if I told anyone about it. No one was really helpful. The Irish social service I called only wanted me to give them a name and address but what would happen with the children? The mother already went to AA meetings almost every day. They told me they had bigger cases than alcoholic parents, since the children were not physically abused. So what would change really? I imagined not much so I never dared to say anything. 

A few weeks after I'd left, the mother took an overdose. Some vodka and pills. The new au pair found her on the kitchen floor and probably saved her life calling the ambulance. I thought it might have been a good thing since the social service might be contacted and give the family real help with the children. Instead of unexperienced au pair girls. But no, that didn’t happen.

She couldn't stand herself. She never told me, she may not ever have thought it but it was clear she couldn't stand being her. She failed to figure out how to live her life. It was so hard for her, to live. The girls should be teenagers now and I wonder how they are. We have absolutely no contact. I left them and that was that. The winter storm had me stuck in a hotel in Dublin one day before x-mas and she called me to say that If the flight wouldn't go the next day I should come back, to not be alone on x-mas. I had already left, she could have left me far from her thoughts but she cared. She always cared about everyone, everyone she was mean to, everyone she made feel guilty and bad about themselves. She cared. That was the last I heard from her.

Every time I struggle with a child, every time It takes longer than expected to figure out what he/she needs, I feel guilty. This is some kind of scar I carry from this dysfunctional family experience. Guilty for not being able to do better, to be a better influence, a better teacher. The boys I'm working with now, and the parents, are like a soothing balm I can put on my scar when it's aching. If I feel I haven't been good enough, I can fall asleep thinking about the next day as a new opportunity. The children will smile and be happy to see me and the parents will trust me. That I'm doing the best I can and that whatever I'm figuring out I will get there. They have no doubt. So I feel the love and I try again. I put balm on my scar and I get there.