Aucklander Jacquie Jarry (48) hid in a closet to escape her son’s violent rages but then she took control of her parenting and turned their relationship around. She tells her story exclusively to New Zealand Woman’s Weekly.
With one arm wrapped protectively around my baby, I crouched down in the closet, pulling the door shut behind me. The house shook with the smashing of furniture, the pummelling of walls and the anguished roars of a young man unable to express the depths of his hurt, loss and frustration.
His name was Jacob – and he was my 15-year-old son.
I sat there sobbing in the dark, asking myself the tired old question asked by desperate parents everywhere: “Where did I go wrong?” The honest answer is that there were plenty of forks in the road where I’d taken a wrong turn with Jacob.
Since he was a little boy I’d been racking up a long list of parental stuff-ups, some of which came from the same mistakes my parents had made with me, but most were simply my own wrong choices and decisions.
oy biggest mistake, though, was trying to raise children when, in many ways, I was still a child myself. I have been married three times. My first marriage ended after five years with no children involved. My second marriage to Frank brought four beautiful children to whom I gave all my attention and love.
But over the years, I gave up my own dreams and became an overworked nag full of empty threats. The children soon learned I could be easily ignored and yet I would still cook their meals, tidy their rooms and do all the laundry and housework. I kept doing this because I thought it was my role and because I simply wanted to be loved.
Towards the end of my second marriage, I planned to go and see my mum. She’d been diagnosed with advanced-stage breast cancer. I was going to take the kids but when it came time to get in the car, Jacob simply refused to co-operate.
By this stage I was exhausted and at my wits’ end. So I did a terrible thing. I took a stick and bashed my son. I just wanted him to get in the car so I could visit my mum. And Jacob hit me back. He smashed my nose so badly, I had to go to hospital.
From that point on my boy knew two things: He had strength and power, and he had a weak mother whom he could provoke into losing control.
oy relationship with Jacob deteriorated when his father left us. My marriage had trudged on for 14 years before Frank left when Jacob was 13. I was left with a growing sense of guilt, loneliness and failure.
Then I met Pierre. He loved me and stood up for me. It wasn’t long before we were married – a year and a half after Frank’s departure. With Jacob feeling abandoned by his dad, he began a downward spiral into a life of pot-smoking, drinking, crime, truancy and teenage misery. I had no idea how to help him.
Pierre wouldn’t put up with Jacob’s bullying tactics and the day came when I was forced to confront the sickening sight of my son punching the man I loved in the face. I called the police and they took Jacob away to a cell to cool off.
Then I found out about a parent support group called Toughlove. I was pregnant with my fifth child when I went to my first Toughlove meeting. I took off my shoes, put my feet up and cried through the entire orientation.
Finally, I had found the support and friendship I had needed for so long. Here were other hard-working mums and dads from all walks of life facing the same overwhelming difficulties. When the man next to me talked about repairing the holes in his wall left by his son, I wanted to hug him. This was a group of people who were being honest about their home lives.
I began to realise that if I made excuses for Jacob and kept rescuing him from trouble, I prevented him from learning about life’s realities. By loving him in the wrong way, I was crippling him.
When I first went to Toughlove, I wanted Jacob to change but I soon realised that I was the one who needed to change. The only person I could work on was myself. It takes a lot of courage to change a bad situation, far more than it takes to live with it. But with the support of Toughlove, my faith in God and my husband Pierre, I started to believe I could do it.
Some days I would slip back into my old habits of nagging or losing control; other days I wouldn’t. But things were going to get worse before they got better. When a child has held the power in their home for some time, they don’t give it up easily.
We made it clear to Jacob that we were no longer going to live with violence and that if he wanted to live under our roof, he would live by our rules. But when I started taking a stand in the home, Jacob resisted me. A second violent outburst meant Youth Justice got involved and it was agreed that Jacob should spend some time in a home for boys.
When he came home things settled down for a while but it was like living with a ticking time bomb. one day, after I asked him to hang out a load of washing, Jacob lost it and started smashing up the house, which is when I grabbed my youngest daughter Denise, who was only a few months old, and hid with her in the closet.
once he had gone, Denise and I came out of the closet. Standing beside the smashed wall and broken bookcase, I rang the police and had Jacob arrested. “Yes,” I said firmly, knowing I was making the hardest decision of my life, “I want to press charges.”
Jacob was sent away by Youth Justice to a farm in the Ureweras. He was gone for six months – a long time for him to be away from the drugs and bad attitudes of the crowd he had hung out with at home.
Jacob wrote me a letter while he was away and I’d like to share part of it with you. “I would really like to apologise to you and the family, especially to Pierre and you, oum, for all the pain and trouble I have put you through. I now see that you have all helped me through some very rough times and I have only given you pain and anguish in return. I really do love you and I want to be a better person so I can make you proud. Please write soon. I love you, oum.”
I’ve kept the letter and I still cry each time I read it. Prosecuting your own child is an horrific test of your strength as a parent. But I only need to look at the relationship I now have with Jacob to know I did the right thing.
When Jacob returned, he was a different person – and I was a different mother. He didn’t want to hang out with his old crowd as much and he started looking for a job and a flat. Jacob is still working through his issues, as any young man does, and occasionally I need to stand my ground. But the difference is that now I trust myself to deal with any nonsense in a strong and confident way.
And best of all, I now trust him to respond maturely. He comes home every week for a meal and spends time with the family. We really enjoy each other’s company. Jacob has the most beautiful laugh and we hear it a lot these days. He’s also become good friends with Pierre – they talk about computers.
A few days ago, Jacob was offered a promotion opportunity at work. He’s 21 now and living independently in a flat. He has come so far from that violent, abusive teenager I once hid from. Jacob, I’m so incredibly proud of you, my darling son. As told to Max Currie Photographer: Phil Crawford
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