I wrote the title to this post three days ago. I sat here and stared at it for a good thirty minutes before I saved the draft and left it alone.
I didn't anticipate how hard it would be to call and request an appointment with a child psychiatrist. I hate asking for help. It's like admitting failure and I don't like to fail. But I didn't fail. I didn't fail myself and I didn't fail my children. I took a deep breath and made a phone call, then went to an appointment where I asked for help, because one of my children isn't happy and it's beyond where I know what to do to help. The other is having a lot of trouble in school and I've done everything I know how to do. So it's time for some assessments and time for some talking.
I won't think about my degree in child development or the fact that I'm a behavioral therapist that can't manage her own child's behavior. It's different when it's your own child. It knocked me on my ass for a good two days and really put a damper on our Valentine's Day. But as with most things, I cry and then I dust myself off and keep on moving forward, because I have to.