Why comfort isn’t a part of the deal.
We watched a television show the other night when one of the characters visited a treatment program facility. It looked amazing — comfortable private rooms, beautiful grounds, daily room service. It was everything you’d hope rehabilitation would be. When we placed our daughter into a long-term rehabilitation program at the age of 14, she shared a room with 4 other girls and ate in a communal dining room. Instead of yoga hours and walks around parks, she had chores, worked on an animal farm, and went to school. I have no doubt places like the above exist; having gone through it, I believe that at least for teenagers, comfort isn’t supposed to be a part of the deal.
Upon entry, we were provided a list of things she could and could not have. It included rigorous uniform elements — grey t-shirts, black pants — which would affectionately become known as greys-and-blacks at our house. A complete prohibition on jewelry, perfumes, photos, and other items also was included. The intent, as was explained to us, was that they needed to be reset. Privileges were earned, and good behavior was recognized through growth and progress.
Based on all the reasons we were even in a treatment program, I was 100% on board. However, a part of me still wanted to make sure she was ‘ok,’ and I wanted to help her be ‘ok’ through things. I had wanted to ensure she would be as comfortable as possible — given the circumstances. At the same time I respected these rules, I still tried to set it up so that she could have plenty of books to read, even though a ‘library’ was available to her and ensured the snacks and drinks she could have were packed ready to go. It wasn’t long before the books were related to the library (or sent back home), and the snacks were locked up.
The chart
The chart we were provided was the best utility we ever received for her time in the program, honestly. It helped us understand what she could have when. It was also a perfect guidepost for gift-giving while she was in the program.
In the beginning, it seemed insanely restrictive. Ranging from what they could do for free time, to exactly what kind of makeup was allowed — this chart gave it to us all.
I learned through this single piece of paper that rigor and restriction could be highly valuable. It set both extraordinarily clear expectations for both the kids and the parents in this situation. It didn’t give the ability to use ‘oh I didn’t realize’ as an excuse. It didn’t allow for ‘well that really wasn’t clear’ in the rules. It also didn’t open the doors for our daughter to try and skirt around the rules of what she could and couldn’t have because we were working off the same rule book.
Given the circumstances didn’t apply. The circumstances existed and couldn’t be changed by that time. Trying to provide comfort and kindness during months of trials only proved the behavior that got her there was ‘ok’ because we wanted the show of our love and understanding to overcome what was going on. During our time in the program, the chart went from a dirty word to a guidepost to our saving grace.
Reward without work encourages a lack of change.
About 4 months into the program, the feeling I was holding onto about wanting to give comfort fell away. We were picking her up for our first long pass — two solid weeks in July, where we had to keep her with us. During this pickup, one of the other admitted young ladies came out of the room with two staff members carrying 3 large black trash bags.
Everything in those three bags was things that she wasn’t supposed to have—shampoos, clothes, hair products, extra stuffed animals, etc. I realized that the young lady in question had already been in the program for nearly two years and was no closer to graduation than our daughter. Her parents, while lovely people, kept sending her things to ensure her comfort.
Seeing a young woman who, in one year from that time, would leave the program because she turned 18, not because she graduated, locked in our understanding of why comfort wasn’t a part of the program these girls were in. While a meaningful and kind gesture, being provided forms of comfort proved to this young woman that she didn’t need to work to succeed and get through this program with all of its life-changing benefits. Instead, though she didn’t have everything she’d want or could have at home, she had enough from time to time to be ‘fine.’ Though staff continued to take it away, her parents continued to send it.
Comfort at home during the program
One of the harder parts of getting through the program was understanding how comfort related to home when she was there.
For the first 9 months of her program, though the option was present to bring her home, we chose not to. We didn’t want the opportunity to exist for her ‘friends’ to reach her, to run away, or something worse. Given this, we always stayed in hotels near her program location, found touristy things to do, eating good meals, etc. Even in those circumstances, though, we had to ensure we weren’t just giving her everything she couldn’t have in the program while she was with us. This included music, gifts she couldn’t bring back with her and even, alone time.
We used the aforementioned chart to give her gifts during holidays and birthdays that she could have and bring back. We didn’t allow things at home she couldn’t have in the program. We asked friends and family to use the chart to guide their decisions, and a means to provide communication — such as written letters.
Just as if there would have been consequences to giving her too much while she was in her program, there would have been consequences to giving her too much when she was home on a pass with us. We didn’t want it to be even harder for her to go back each time after pass, which meant trying to make the experiences as similar as possible.
Providing comfort in new ways
While I understand this story may seem so very specific to a certain circumstance, the reality is it isn’t so far off from what we try to do as humans. Give comfort to relieve pain, even if that comfort may cause more pain in the long run.
Ultimately, the heart desires to want to provide comfort, and in some sense — apologize, for forcing your child or family member to go through the course of a treatment program. We want them to know we love them, even if we’re making them do a hard thing.
What we learned is that there are ways to show that grace and give encouragement in other ways. Sharing a meal without phones at the table, taking a drive, and just talking or listening to (approved) music. Baking something together or painting/reorganizing the room they hope to come home to one day. These things can help them see the reward of their hard work instead of experience consequences resulting from our desire to make up for whatever they’re going through at our hands.
Equally important to our time during the program was our time after the program. It would have been incredibly easy to give her everything she couldn’t have in the program the moment she came home. Fortunately, our program instilled a three-month post-graduation monitoring timeframe where things like social media were restricted. Still, we chose as a family that it would be a while before she got the phone, clothes, toiletries, etc. That instead, she’d have to work for those things through good behavior, good grades, truth-telling, and action.
What we learned during rehab has helped us keep her healthy for nearly three-years post-rehab. We now know how to show comfort and love through action and mindfulness, not just through things. And it has made a world of difference.
