When my son first arrived at Ironwood (whisked out of his bed at 5:00 a.m. and escorted there) he refused to take part in the program, believing that if he held out, there would be no way I would let him spend his 17th birthday (two weeks after his arrival) in such circumstances and I would come and get him. The staff were wonderful with him, sensitive but firm, and they asked me to express to my son through a letter that I would not be coming to “rescue” him. When he was young, he always liked the stories I made up at bedtime about a boy his age named “Ricky” who would find himself facing problems loosely based on my son’s experiences and work his way through to a happy ending. So, maybe to soften the blow, I wrote him a “Ricky story” to let him know that I would not be coming for him and to try to show him what was in it for him if he stayed. The scene was Ricky’s college graduation, with Ricky looking back at his troubled adolescence, being sent to “Goldentree” residential treatment center, little by little pulling himself together, finishing high school, going on to college, and finally graduating and realizing that his mother’s refusal to take him out of Goldentree was actually the best 17th birthday present he could have received. Shortly after realizing I was not going to bring him back home, my son finally settled into the program.
When I wrote that story, I could see that the happy ending was possible—otherwise I would not have sent him to Ironwood—but I truly could not picture the real-life steps that would make it happen. The real future was a worrisome blur. How could the son we sent to Ironwood—the overweight boy who refused to go to school, was almost always high, stole money and credit cards from me, stole liquor from a store, stole my daughter’s prescription drugs, stayed out all night, lied constantly, drank so much that he ended up unresponsive in ER, relapsed almost immediately after a month-long rehab program, ran away to avoid consequences, gave up all hope of a decent future—how could that boy do all the things Ricky decided to do?
I now realize, as his graduation approaches, that the son we sent to Ironwood could not take all those positive steps. But the young man who is there now not only can take them but has already begun to. Ironwood’s intelligent program, compassionate staff, high standards, faithful animals, and guiding hand in the person of founder and director Marion Rodrigue made THE difference in my son’s ability to leave behind the unhappiness he brought with him and come to see himself through new eyes.
Like other parents exploring residential treatment centers, we felt we had run out of options. My son’s school would have been willing to pay for his placement in a residential program, but only at certain schools, most of them in Utah. My husband and I looked into those schools, we hired an educational consultant who recommended more schools, and at each turn, the suggestions we were getting did not feel right. There was some component in each program—sometimes more than one—that we couldn’t get past, so we were reluctantly realizing we might have to take on the considerable expense ourselves rather than accept a program we were not happy with. On the verge of transferring all authority for our child to a stranger, we needed to feel very sure of that stranger, we needed to feel the place was right for him, and we needed to feel that the many trials of getting him there and seeing him through the program had a reasonable chance of paying off.
Nothing felt right until we found Ironwood. I read every word on Ironwood’s Web site, viewed all the pictures, looked at all the student newsletters, read all the parent comments and the school report card, watched all the videos, and this time, at every turn, I was not only satisfied with what I saw, but even cautiously hopeful. I called Marion, asked her all of my questions and was reassured and heartened by her answers, and arranged a visit. The grounds took my breath away with their beauty and serenity; the staff was professional yet warm; and I was amazed that I could actually have a chance to speak to the kids themselves. They were open, clearly thriving, good-humored, and sincerely appreciative of their parents’ decision to enroll them. I asked a group of boys at a lunch table in the farmhouse if any of them had been transported by escort, because I was dreading that part of the process. They smiled and said they all had been, and they now understood why their parents made that choice. The kids gave me the final pieces of reassurance I needed about Ironwood, and a surge of relief began to replace the tortured indecision I had been experiencing.
Although I was very happy with the feel of the place after my visit, I was also drawn to Ironwood because of its program. I liked that it was built on what is known to work in all the areas it addresses, not on gimmicks. For mental health, it provides more therapy by far than most residential treatment centers and uses DBT, whose effectiveness is well documented. The substance abuse program uses respected models of motivation for change and relapse prevention that stress the power and responsibility each person has for recovery. For academics, Ironwood uses a college-prep program in which my son, who failed many classes before, has been getting As and Bs. For physical well being, Ironwood uses nutrition, yoga, and a range of other activities that helped my son—through his own decision and through his own daily choices—lose more than 60 pounds that he thought he would never be able to lose.
Both the formal and informal equine and canine therapy activities are also tried and true. My son immediately bonded with the animals at Ironwood—Breeze, possibly the world’s sweetest and most mellow dog, who slept in bed with my son when he first arrived; Sunshine, the once-trampled (before Ironwood) and now shy pig who gets sunscreen rubbed on her daily to prevent sunburn; and Quattro, the very large horse that my son at 6’1” rides comfortably, to name just a few.
With the understanding and skill of Ezra, his therapist, my son was able to gradually come to terms with issues that had been haunting him much of his life, issues he often blamed for the way he was. He also came to accept and appreciate that Ezra would hold him to the highest standard of behavior and not allow him to make excuses for inappropriate decisions. Both the positive and negative consequences of decisions go into effect at Ironwood with a precision and consistency I could never manage at home. As Ezra says, they are able to “tag team” a kid and provide 24-hour-a-day enforcement, always with an even-handedness and always with understanding. I looked forward to our weekly family therapy session via Skype; I connected well with Ezra myself and felt him to be very tuned in to both my son and me. I also felt that during these sessions I was piecing myself back together after years of a chaotic home life. I saw a chance for me to step up to my best self as a mother and put aside the guilt and doubt that had clouded my judgment in the past.
Parent weekends were also extremely valuable. My son and I had a chance to try out new ways of interacting but also to stumble into old patterns and then talk them through and find a surer footing. I will always remember a deep talk we had on the first parent weekend, sitting by the pond in early fall, and the inspiring feeling of breakthrough we had as we processed other parent weekends as the seasons passed.
I never worried once about my son’s safety at Ironwood or about whether he was treated with respect. And despite his initial resistance, he grew to love being there. Gradually the letters home changed from negotiations (“I’ll go back to rehab and this time really make it work if you come and get me”) to loving, introspective, and moving expressions of a young man facing the toughest challenges of his life, meeting them head on, and coming confidently into his own. Little by little, and almost unbelievably, the future that seemed so blurry and worrisome when I wrote the Ricky story has come into bright, sharp focus.
Ironwood helped me accept that only my son can ultimately choose what path he will take. I no longer feel I have to “get” him to do anything; his future is his choice, and thanks to Marion, Robin (the clinical director), Ezra, and the entire Ironwood staff (and animals) he now has the tools, confidence, and self-esteem, all of which he won through his own admirable efforts, to make good choices. He demonstrated his good choices when he was home for a two-week visit—a regular part of the program that helps students (and families) transition from Ironwood back to life at home. When my son first went to Ironwood, I was afraid of the home visit. I just couldn’t imagine that my son would return there on his own free will. By the time the visit actually happened, I was no longer surprised that he was packed and ready to go back without even a thought of not returning. He is determined to complete the program and claim his proud accomplishment.
On that terrible morning he left, I felt that even if my son hated me the rest of his life, I could not live with myself if I did not do everything in my power to help him while I still could. Far from losing his love, I feel it is actually stronger now than ever, as my own love and respect are for him. I have never made a better decision for my son than to send him to Ironwood, as he himself recently told me, nor have we ever spent money more wisely, even though the cost was a large part of our savings. I don’t have to make up stories now to find a happy ending—I find one in my son every day that he loves himself and looks toward the future with hope. Thank you, Ironwood, for making that possible.
Written by Carol
April 25, 2011
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