For those of you that are new here, ever Saturday I post a chapter summary from what I hope will one day become my published memoir. Today’s chapter is a story of two goodbyes, one in a Utah hotel lobby, another after three days in the desert, and everything those months in between taught me about trust, boundaries, and what it means to let go without abandoning hope. Our son’s time in wilderness therapy and residential treatment challenged every part of me: the part that rescues, the part that manages, and the part that is still learning to lead with love even when it hurts.
The day Husband walked away from our oldest son in a Utah hotel lobby, handing him over to wilderness staff, marked the start of the most excruciating and necessary stretch of our parenting experience. Getting him to Wilderness therapy took every ounce of strategy and restraint we had. Those first weeks were brutal, our son fought the program with all he had, and I fought my instinct to rescue him. Slowly, the boundaries held, and connection began to show. Through assignments like the Letter of Impact, Husband and I faced the painful truth of what the last two years had done to our family and began to see our own work more clearly.
When we reunited for our son’s graduation, he was stronger, more capable, and more self-aware than I had ever seen him. Living in his world for three days, sleeping under a tarp, cooking over a fire, and engaging in intense family therapy, showed me just how much he had endured and how much he had grown. Letting him go again, this time to a residential treatment center (RTC), felt different. There was hope now.
The RTC promised structure, connection, and continued growth. The reality was harsher: a rigid level system, inconsistent and sometimes troubling staff practices, and a therapeutic relationship that wavered between support and mistrust. There were moments of deep concern: an adverse reaction to medication, questionable disciplinary practices, and a home visit clouded by misunderstanding, but also signs of my son’s resilience and maturity.
While Husband grieved our son’s absence, I felt a complicated mix of devastation and relief. Self Me surfaced more often, learning when to hold boundaries, when to slow down, and when to listen instead of fix. By the time our son graduated from RTC, we had all been changed. The process had stripped us down, challenged our patterns, and, in its imperfect way, given our son the best chance we could to return home ready to lead his own life.
Wow, I can’t imagine the mix of emotions you must have experienced in each of those moments. Parenting is hard enough, but parenting a child in need of this kind of support is beyond tough. I feel for you and hope your son’s doing well now
Your posting left me wanting more. I was a therapist for a dorm of 8 female teens in Valmora, New Mexico. The mountainous boonies! The most troubled youth state wide came to reside in this cabins styled mountainous setting. The owner was rumoured to chase down runaways on horseback, and the runner knew there were mountain lions about. BUT, I’d love to have had a book authored by you to read before I took this position. I hope your next book is an in-depth telling, with all family members contributing, of your experience at the hands of the system. Such a positive outcome, through trials and tribulations, would also make a great movie. Just saw a review of “Eden” coming out by director Ron Howard. Bravo!!!