Someday she’ll rise from the ashes
This is a true story about a Jamaican couple that migrated in their mid-twenties to the USA, where their three children were born. The youngest child, Destiny, is at the centre of this saga that is being told by her mother.
Fresh out of high school with a 3.96 GPA, Destiny received many university scholarships. She selected one that included boarding on campus, but within three months, she was back home on academic suspension. Her GPA had plummeted to 0.75 because she had become addicted to marijuana and was skipping classes regularly.
Now a young adult,her life has been a topsy-turvy one, leading her into some dark and dangerous places, and pulling the family unhappily along through countless storms.
We ask that even as you pray for Destiny and her family (whose names have been altered), you take careful note of all the methods marijuana users may employ to facilitate their addiction…
_______________________________________________
When we discovered that Destiny had been smoking marijuana, we gave her an ultimatum: if she wanted to remain at home, she would have to agree to rehab, and we would pay for her to return to school. Reluctantly, she agreed and got enrolled in a community college to continue her studies. She wanted to be a veterinarian psychologist, and in short order, was on the Dean’s list.
The air around her was perfumed with lavender oils and warm vanilla sugar.
Destiny’s counselling sessions required that she do urine tests, which she tricked her way through by getting vials of other people’s urine, hiding them in our fridge, and mailing them off when her tests were due.
Weekly, the counsellor was ecstatic at Destiny’s results, and when she unearthed the lie, it was devastating.
The lying, stealing, manipulation, and combative attitude were at an all-time high, and after several heart-wrenching experiences, I had to wake up from my daze—Destiny was no longer welcomed in the house. It was too much. She had to get to rock bottom and figure out what she really wanted. The experts thought I was enabling her.
SOFT ON TOUGH LOVE
Destiny was living with friends and sleeping on their couches; sometimes, in questionable neighbourhoods, and I was becoming more anxious and depressed with each passing day. My health was deteriorating, and life was extremely sad. I missed my daughter. Whenever she called me (and this was quite often), my chest would hurt and I would start hyperventilating. When she was hungry, I had food delivered. I paid for Airbnb and covered transportation costs every time she was kicked out of her friends’ abode. I was fully enabling her. I did not have the heart to see my daughter in need and refuse to help her. My natural instincts commanded me to protect and provide for her, and I was forcing myself to exercise tough love. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do.
BANK SCAMMING
Destiny did not have a job, and she sold all her devices for money. Whatever money she had, she used to buy weed. And here I was paying for food, shelter, and transportation. I had to stop. I implored her to get a job and her own apartment, and be the independent adult that she desired to be. She agreed with me, but soon after, she would call me, rambling about capitalism and numerous conspiracy theories that went way beyond my understanding. It seemed like her brain was battling between strikes of genius and total insanity.
I felt hopeless, like my prayers were not getting to the Source, I questioned if the God I served had abandoned me. I realised that the same brain that my daughter needed to make rational decisions was now altered, for she was convinced that what she was doing made all the sense in the world.
Destiny and I shared a bank account—a student account. I got a notification that someone was using her card for a scam. I immediately made her aware. I went to the bank to remove my name from the account and informed them of the illegal activities. The scammers used her card to get over $12,000 from the bank, and, subsequently, Destiny’s credit was bastardised, and she was officially banned from opening accounts in any financial institution. I thought that would shock her into reality, and she would come home. It did not.
THE BASEMENT BECAME A BUSINESS
She was still not employed and had nowhere to live. The night she called and expressed that she did not want to live anymore, I panicked and called the authorities. She was hospitalised. With her consent, an inpatient rehab facility picked her up the following day, and she was off to rehab. The centre was three hours away, but I visited every week even though it was hard learning that I could literally love my daughter to death if I did not force myself to exercise tough love.
Destiny was loved by the staff and residents and made friends with everyone. After six weeks, it was time for her to come home, and we were so excited. She looked healthy and hydrated.
While in rehab, she had shared that she wanted to explore cosmetology, so her dad renovated our basement into a hair and nail salon in record time. It was equipped with sinks, dryers, swivel chairs, wall art, and a smart TV mounted on the wall. He promised to pay for cosmetology school so she could be certified.
COVID-19 was in full swing, so a source of income and stability were encouraged by the therapists in rehab. A detailed outpatient programme was recommended, and Destiny was home. She looked a bit lost, but we could see that she was attempting to adjust to a weed-free lifestyle.
The outpatient facilities were closed because the spread of Coronavirus was alarming, and somehow, the remote rehab encounters were not favourable to Destiny. She explained how much she missed her college friends, and her dad and I agreed that she could go see them upstate.
MOVING OUT, MOVING IN
Destiny stayed for a longer time than planned, and when she returned, she formally announced that she was moving upstate to Utica to navigate life on her own terms. She reassured us that she was grateful because she was privileged and loved, but she felt stifled living with us; so, she had gotten a job and an apartment.
Her dad hugged her, gave her some money, and bade her goodbye and best wishes. I took her to the train station and waited until the train rolled away. It was gut-wrenching to watch her go, but I knew I had no choice.
Her story in Utica was chaotic. She lost several jobs and moved to several apartments. The family visited her a few times. She was living way below the standards of cleanliness and order that she was accustomed to, and it was jaw-dropping to witness the squalor with which she was comfortable. We helped her clean and decorate. We brought her favourite food and gave her some money to re-establish herself. A month later, she asked permission to return home.
The entire family was now going to therapy and it was suggested that it was safer for her to be home and that we should establish clear boundaries. Destiny asked that we refrain from sarcasm because that hurt her, and her dad and I asked that there would be no evidence of weed in the home. We all agreed to give each other grace and take our time to rebuild trust.
YOU INVITED US TO A TALK-SHOW, DESTINY?!
There have been several encounters with Destiny since she returned home. She brawled with her boyfriend in the house, threatened to fight her sibling, decided that she liked girls, and was hardly home during the time this last storm lasted.
Then she invited me and her sister to a popular talk show to air her disapproval of how we handled confrontations.
The embarrassment I felt was palpable.
We withstood all of this as a family, and we are always cheering for Destiny. We are hopeful that as maturity proceeds, awareness and responsibility will follow.
Destiny is home.
She still smokes.
She gets fired a lot.
The challenges are endless, and she struggles with acceptance, is paranoid, and does not trust easily. She is volatile.
But God knows—she is my Destiny, and I will never give up on her!
I remain steadfast in God’s promises.
“The Lord gave another message to Jeremiah. He said, “Go down to the potter’s shop, and I will speak to you there.” So, I did as he told me and found the potter working at his wheel. But the jar he was making did not turn out as he had hoped, so he crushed it into a lump of clay again and started over.” Jeremiah 18:1-4
