Almost a year ago, I wrote a blog post entitled "Held Hostage by a RX Drug: My Klonopin Nightmare." In it, I talk about my horrific experience with Klonopin, a benzodiazepine (or "benzo") prescribed by my psychiatrist for anxiety. I took the drug--as prescribed--for years. Unfortunately, I also spent years trying to stop taking the drug because my body had grown so dependent on it.
Now for an update.
I'm happy to report that after years of weaning off of Klonopin, I finally stopped taking it entirely on August 7th. I've been Klonopin-free for more than three months, and I couldn't be happier.
The beast is finally out of my system.
Benzos are some of the hardest drugs--prescription or otherwise--to quit. So I'm pretty damn proud of my accomplishment. For a while, it was hard to see a light at the end of the tunnel. Klonopin was my ball and chain. But with the help of an awesome nurse practitioner, who helped me with the weaning process, I was able to break free from the nastiest medication I've ever ingested. (Thanks so much, Kim!)
If your doctor ever wants to prescribe a benzodiazepine for you, please be extremely cautious. These drugs--which include alprazolam (brand name: Xanax), diazepam (Valium), lorazepam (Ativan), triazolam (Halcion), clonazepam (Klonopin), and several others--are not to be taken lightly. Yes, they can be beneficial; but they are seriously strong and can cause some nasty side effects that can really kick your ass.
Lastly, if you're taking a benzo and want to get off of it, never, ever quit "cold turkey." The results can not only be hellish, but dangerous as well. Always wean off of the drug under a medical professional's supervision.
Goodbye, Klonopin. You will not be missed.
"Klonopin is a horrible, dangerous drug." --Singer Stevie Nicks (who struggled with Klonopin addiction)
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
Friday, October 9, 2015
Depression Sucks
(Note: This blog post also appears on The Huffington Post's blog site under the same title: "Depression Sucks.")
Depression sucks.
If I had a dollar for every time I thought that or said it out loud, I'd be sitting on my own private beach somewhere sipping ice cold root beer from a glass with an umbrella in it.
As I've told you before, depression runs in my family. Relatives and siblings have struggled with it. I've struggled with it. My boys have struggled with it.
Right now, my oldest son, whose depression was in remission for a good three years or so, is suffering again. His depression has been almost debilitating for the last couple of months. It's making it difficult for him to get up in the morning, let alone go to work and live any kind of normal life. His confidence and self-esteem are super low. And I'm incredibly worried about him.
My son's been on the same antidepressant (Cymbalta) for a few years, but my wife and I fear that it's just not working anymore. Some people can develop a tolerance to such medications, and when they do, it's like someone flips a switch. Goodbye, happiness...welcome back, depression.
Yesterday, my wife called the University of Michigan Depression Center, an esteemed facility in Ann Arbor, Michigan, that offers some of the most respected assessment and treatment options in the country. Their website offered a ray of hope when we perused it prior to calling about having our son evaluated there.
Unfortunately, getting quality treatment for depression seems to be just as challenging as getting treatment for addiction. The person my wife talked to told her that they weren't seeing any new patients until next year, and that appointments couldn't be scheduled until November. Hardly the kind of thing you want to hear when you have a loved one battling a mental illness that makes you wonder about their well-being. Oh, one more thing: Unless the patient's primary care physician is in the University of Michigan--our son's isn't--you can only meet with the Depression Center people once. And nothing can be done about medications in that one meeting.
Really? So much for the Depression Center idea.
And here's a thought: Getting help for a mental illness shouldn't be akin to winning a damn lottery.
Thankfully, I reached out to some people I know and got a recommendation for a top-notch psychiatrist. (Based at--ironically--the University of Michigan.) So today we wanted to call and get things in motion so our son could see this new doctor. But one thing prevented us from doing so: Our son wouldn't get on the phone and talk to the doctor's office. You see, along with depression, he's also frequently paralyzed by anxiety, which makes talking on the phone agonizing for him.
My wife and I talked to our son for a long time today. He was at our house, and we did our best to comfort him and tell him that we understand he has an illness. We also told him that he had to be the one to seek out help. That no matter how much we wanted him to get help, he was the only one who could actually do it. (Damn, depression and addiction are so similar, aren't they?)
I hope my son's anxiety will ease up a bit so he'll be able to call the doctor's office later today. Or at least early next week. With the way he's feeling, I don't think we can afford a lengthy delay. If for some reason he can't call the doctor, I'm not sure what my wife and I will do, because our hands are kind of tied.
The fact that I'm having trouble getting help for my own son isn't lost on me. Believe me, I think about it often. I'm allegedly some sort of plainclothes "expert" at helping people who are struggling with addiction or mental illness, but when faced with my own family crisis, I have to sit back and twiddle my thumbs while I wait for my son to take action.
What is wrong with that picture?
Of course, I do realize that even as a parent there's only so much I can do. (My mom actually reiterated that to me this morning, bless her heart.) Parenting isn't easy, and when you're dealing with a child who's combatting mental illness, it's exponentially tougher. The one thing we absolutely must remember is that depression is an illness.
When my son left our house a little while ago, he hugged me and, in tears, said, "I'm sorry." I told him he didn't have to apologize. "You're not a bad person," I told him. "You have an illness. If you had cancer or diabetes, you wouldn't be apologizing for it. So don't apologize because you have depression. But if you had cancer or diabetes, you would do everything you could to get it treated. So you have to do the same for your depression."
I'm hoping what I said got through to him.
I'm hoping he makes that phone call soon.
I'm hoping he can return to being happy.
Today, it's all about hope.
"Gravity and sadness yank us down, and hope gives us a nudge to help one another get back up or to sit with the fallen on the ground, in the abyss, in solidarity." --Anne Lamott
Depression sucks.
If I had a dollar for every time I thought that or said it out loud, I'd be sitting on my own private beach somewhere sipping ice cold root beer from a glass with an umbrella in it.
As I've told you before, depression runs in my family. Relatives and siblings have struggled with it. I've struggled with it. My boys have struggled with it.
Right now, my oldest son, whose depression was in remission for a good three years or so, is suffering again. His depression has been almost debilitating for the last couple of months. It's making it difficult for him to get up in the morning, let alone go to work and live any kind of normal life. His confidence and self-esteem are super low. And I'm incredibly worried about him.
My son's been on the same antidepressant (Cymbalta) for a few years, but my wife and I fear that it's just not working anymore. Some people can develop a tolerance to such medications, and when they do, it's like someone flips a switch. Goodbye, happiness...welcome back, depression.
Yesterday, my wife called the University of Michigan Depression Center, an esteemed facility in Ann Arbor, Michigan, that offers some of the most respected assessment and treatment options in the country. Their website offered a ray of hope when we perused it prior to calling about having our son evaluated there.
Unfortunately, getting quality treatment for depression seems to be just as challenging as getting treatment for addiction. The person my wife talked to told her that they weren't seeing any new patients until next year, and that appointments couldn't be scheduled until November. Hardly the kind of thing you want to hear when you have a loved one battling a mental illness that makes you wonder about their well-being. Oh, one more thing: Unless the patient's primary care physician is in the University of Michigan--our son's isn't--you can only meet with the Depression Center people once. And nothing can be done about medications in that one meeting.
Really? So much for the Depression Center idea.
And here's a thought: Getting help for a mental illness shouldn't be akin to winning a damn lottery.
Thankfully, I reached out to some people I know and got a recommendation for a top-notch psychiatrist. (Based at--ironically--the University of Michigan.) So today we wanted to call and get things in motion so our son could see this new doctor. But one thing prevented us from doing so: Our son wouldn't get on the phone and talk to the doctor's office. You see, along with depression, he's also frequently paralyzed by anxiety, which makes talking on the phone agonizing for him.
My wife and I talked to our son for a long time today. He was at our house, and we did our best to comfort him and tell him that we understand he has an illness. We also told him that he had to be the one to seek out help. That no matter how much we wanted him to get help, he was the only one who could actually do it. (Damn, depression and addiction are so similar, aren't they?)
I hope my son's anxiety will ease up a bit so he'll be able to call the doctor's office later today. Or at least early next week. With the way he's feeling, I don't think we can afford a lengthy delay. If for some reason he can't call the doctor, I'm not sure what my wife and I will do, because our hands are kind of tied.
The fact that I'm having trouble getting help for my own son isn't lost on me. Believe me, I think about it often. I'm allegedly some sort of plainclothes "expert" at helping people who are struggling with addiction or mental illness, but when faced with my own family crisis, I have to sit back and twiddle my thumbs while I wait for my son to take action.
What is wrong with that picture?
Of course, I do realize that even as a parent there's only so much I can do. (My mom actually reiterated that to me this morning, bless her heart.) Parenting isn't easy, and when you're dealing with a child who's combatting mental illness, it's exponentially tougher. The one thing we absolutely must remember is that depression is an illness.
When my son left our house a little while ago, he hugged me and, in tears, said, "I'm sorry." I told him he didn't have to apologize. "You're not a bad person," I told him. "You have an illness. If you had cancer or diabetes, you wouldn't be apologizing for it. So don't apologize because you have depression. But if you had cancer or diabetes, you would do everything you could to get it treated. So you have to do the same for your depression."
I'm hoping what I said got through to him.
I'm hoping he makes that phone call soon.
I'm hoping he can return to being happy.
Today, it's all about hope.
"Gravity and sadness yank us down, and hope gives us a nudge to help one another get back up or to sit with the fallen on the ground, in the abyss, in solidarity." --Anne Lamott
Monday, September 7, 2015
I'm Not as Strong as I Sometimes Appear
I haven't put much thought into this post. So if what I'm writing ends up sounding like some kind of stream of consciousness rambling, I apologize.
One thing I've heard a lot from people over the last couple/few years is how strong I am. How I've gone through difficult things in my life but have handled it so well.
Here's a secret: I'm not as strong as I sometimes appear. In fact, I'm really not that strong at all.
I've been going through some tough times of late. I haven't written about them because I just don't want to. But over the last several weeks I've come to view myself as something of a hypocrite, because I can't seem to practice what I preach.
I write blogs that tell people how they should act. Live in the moment. Don't let the small stuff bother you. Practice self-care. But recently I've done anything but those things. Instead, I've let the shit going on in my world get the best of me.
Yesterday, while my wife was out of town, I honestly thought I was going to have a breakdown. I confess: I served my younger son his dinner with tears rolling down my cheeks.
Today? More of the same: stress, anxiety, fear, and lots of self-loathing.
I'm kind of a mess.
Maybe it's some kind of reaction to my being completely off of Klonopin now. (It's been a little less than a week.) I've also reduced the dosage of my anti-depressant--with my doctor's permission--so maybe my body and brain are adjusting to that, too. I'll give it another week or so and see how things are going then.
But the main point of this post is to come clean and let you know that I'm not this pillar of strength with a big shield that allows me to repel all the troubles and negative feelings that come my way. Not even close. I'm just as vulnerable as anybody else; at times, maybe even more so. I still carry around a lot of baggage, and sometimes the weight of that baggage puts a tremendous strain on me.
I know that it's okay to hurt. I know that it's okay to cry. I know that this, too, shall pass. But that doesn't make it any easier.
Namaste.
"If you have a body, you are entitled to the full range of feelings. It comes with the package." --Anne Lamott
One thing I've heard a lot from people over the last couple/few years is how strong I am. How I've gone through difficult things in my life but have handled it so well.
Here's a secret: I'm not as strong as I sometimes appear. In fact, I'm really not that strong at all.
I've been going through some tough times of late. I haven't written about them because I just don't want to. But over the last several weeks I've come to view myself as something of a hypocrite, because I can't seem to practice what I preach.
I write blogs that tell people how they should act. Live in the moment. Don't let the small stuff bother you. Practice self-care. But recently I've done anything but those things. Instead, I've let the shit going on in my world get the best of me.
Yesterday, while my wife was out of town, I honestly thought I was going to have a breakdown. I confess: I served my younger son his dinner with tears rolling down my cheeks.
Today? More of the same: stress, anxiety, fear, and lots of self-loathing.
I'm kind of a mess.
Maybe it's some kind of reaction to my being completely off of Klonopin now. (It's been a little less than a week.) I've also reduced the dosage of my anti-depressant--with my doctor's permission--so maybe my body and brain are adjusting to that, too. I'll give it another week or so and see how things are going then.
But the main point of this post is to come clean and let you know that I'm not this pillar of strength with a big shield that allows me to repel all the troubles and negative feelings that come my way. Not even close. I'm just as vulnerable as anybody else; at times, maybe even more so. I still carry around a lot of baggage, and sometimes the weight of that baggage puts a tremendous strain on me.
I know that it's okay to hurt. I know that it's okay to cry. I know that this, too, shall pass. But that doesn't make it any easier.
Namaste.
"If you have a body, you are entitled to the full range of feelings. It comes with the package." --Anne Lamott
Thursday, April 16, 2015
The Semicolon Project
I posted the above photo on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter this morning. Afterwards, I had a number of people ask me what the photo was all about. Why on earth did I have a semicolon drawn on my wrist???
The answer is simple. The semicolon on my wrist is in response to a request from The Semicolon Project. On their Facebook page, The Semicolon Project posted this photo:
A semicolon represents a sentence the author could've ended, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life.
Wow. That's powerful stuff.
--------------------------
In January of 2006, my son attempted suicide. It was during a manic episode he had while being weaned off of one anti-depressant and onto another. He intentionally overdosed on anti-depressants and aspirin. For what it's worth, despite its mild-mannered reputation, aspirin can be fatal when taken in large quantities. Fortunately, one of the things our son had going for him was that the aspirin he took was of the enteric-coated variety, which slows down the dissolving and absorption of the aspirin. This may have actually saved his life.
My wife was the one who found our son in the attic at about 1:30 a.m. He was crying and explained what he had done. When my wife woke me up and told me what had happened, it was like I was having the worst nightmare ever. A hurried trip to the emergency room ensued, and doctors pumped our son's stomach. After being given a clean bill of physical health, our son took an ambulance ride to a psychiatric hospital, where he would stay for a few days (mandatory for a teenager after a suicide attempt).
Physically, our son was okay. Mentally, he was not.
My son's severe depression and anxiety preceded his addiction, which is very common among people with substance abuse disorders. He began self-medicating in order to feel "normal." He simply wanted to make the negative feelings he was experiencing go away.
That night in January of 2006 was the beginning of a long and tumultuous period, not just for my son but for our entire family. It would be July of 2012 before things finally settled down and a sense of normalcy returned to our world. As I type this, my son is 2 years, 9 months, and 2 weeks clean and sober. And you know what else? His depression is under control and he's happy.
Mental illness can come out of nowhere and kick you in the ass. But no matter how bad you feel, suicide is not the answer; instead, it's a permanent solution to a short-term problem.
If you are experiencing depression or some other form of mental illness, please seek help. Please, please, please find a professional to talk to. Or, if you're too scared to do that, at the very least find a friend to talk to. The important thing is to talk. Let somebody know how you are feeling. They can assist you in getting the help you need. Believe it or not, you can feel better again.
Remember: The author is you and the sentence is your life. Make use of that semicolon and keep that sentence going. You are so worth it.
Peace.
P.S. I invite all of you to draw a semicolon on your wrist, to remind you of the struggles many people are dealing with. Even if it's not April 16th anymore when you read this, put a semicolon on your wrist for one day. And feel free to share a photo of that semicolon with me on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
The Greatest High School on Earth
(Note: A version of this blog post appears on The Huffington Post's blog site as "How a Change in Schools Transformed My ADHD Son's Educational Path.")
This post has absolutely nothing to do with my older son and his addiction/recovery. But it has everything to do with my younger son and an amazing place that I now routinely refer to as "The Greatest High School on Earth." A place that has been a huge part of my family's overall recovery.
When my wife and I walked into the Leelanau School's academic building on March 21st to get our schedule for parent-teacher conferences, they handed us a pack of graduation announcements. My first thoughts were, "Graduation announcements? Are you kidding me??" I felt like I was dreaming. But I wasn't. This was really happening. And I got a bit choked up.
Our relationship with the Leelanau School, a strength-based experiential high school for boys and girls who simply learn differently--especially those with dyslexia, ADD, ADHD, and similar learning differences--began in August of 2012. It was the summer between our son's sophomore and junior years, and my wife and I were looking for an alternative learning environment for him.
Our son has ADHD and anxiety, and had spent 9th and 10th grade at our local public high school. While this high school is consistently rated as one of the best high schools in the United States, it was not a good fit for our child and his circumstances. Even with an Individualized Education Program (IEP) in place, school was pretty much a disaster for him. The school would give our son "accommodations"--extra time to take tests, the ability to turn homework in late, etc. But he was still being taught in mainstream classrooms, often times with 30 or more kids. He did not get the individualized attention he needed. As our son so eloquently put it one day, "What difference does it make if I get extra time to take tests if I don't know what I'm doing?"
My wife and I decided we did not want to send our son back to the same high school. We knew he was capable of performing so much better academically. Sure, the local school is known for high test scores and having students go on to prestigious colleges and universities. But if you aren't a "normal" learner, none of that matters. In fact, if you're not a normal learner you tend to get lost in the shuffle and--I hate to say it--kind of forgotten. Not only were our son's grades suffering, but the whole experience was making him more anxious. It was incredibly frustrating for all of us.
Enter the Leelanau School in Glen Arbor, Michigan. Just before our son's junior year was to begin, we arranged to visit the school and made the five-and-a-half-hour drive from our home in metro Detroit to the school's beautiful campus on Lake Michigan in Leelanau County. In addition to meeting with the director of admissions and the director of personal growth and development, we were given a tour of the campus by a super friendly alum.
We learned that the school's strengths lie in their dedicated faculty and small, supportive boarding school environment. Their mission? "To support the discovery of individual potential through academic, physical, and personal development of students who learn differently."
We also saw some cool things. Like dogs. Not just a couple of dogs. Lots of dogs. And not just dogs roaming around outside the school buildings, but dogs roaming around inside the school buildings. It turns out that lots of the school's faculty and administrators have dogs, and they are free to make themselves at home at the school. The therapeutic qualities of animals is something the school believes in.
They also believe in sustainability, which is why they have their own greenhouse and chickens, to grow produce and get eggs for use in cafeteria meals. Lastly--but certainly not least--the campus is astonishingly beautiful. I mean jaw-dropping beautiful. It sits on acres and acres of heavily wooded land with the Crystal River running right through the middle of it. It also has its own private Lake Michigan beach. Truly an idyllic setting snuggled up against the "Most Beautiful Place in America."
While we were driving back home after our visit, our son stated so eloquently: "I think this school could change my life."
And change his life it has.
Our son has gone from feeling "lost" in school to feeling welcome. From getting poor grades to getting excellent grades. And from not wanting to go to school to absolutely loving it. He has blossomed into an excellent student, developed lifelong friendships with fellow students from around the world, and done things he never would've done in public school, like performing in plays; playing music and singing in front of crowds; writing songs; performing slam poetry for his senior project; and even dying his hair blue at one point.
He has done these things because he feels comfortable in his environment; an environment where all the students like and support each other and where teachers and administrators give the individualized attention students like our son need. It's more like a large family than a school. The staff members recognize that kids have different learning styles and work extremely hard to maximize every students' potential. They don't just teach the kids; they help them grow and mature as individuals, develop life skills and independence, and prepare for the next chapter in their lives.
Speaking of that next chapter, our son found out a week or so ago that he was accepted to Aquinas College in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I can't begin to tell you how proud my wife and I are of him. I can also honestly say that this never would've happened if it weren't for the Leelanau School. They've taken a once-struggling student with lots of potential, tapped into that potential, and shaped him into a "different" kid...all while letting him keep the unique qualities and personality traits that make him who he is.
So when I refer to the Leelanau School as "The Greatest High School on Earth," I absolutely mean it. The impact it has had on our son's life is immeasurable. Two years ago, I couldn't even imagine him being in the position he's in today. But whaddya know. It's really happening. And come June 7th, when I'm sitting in the audience watching my son and the 20 or so other members of the Leelanau School's Class of 2014 graduate, I guarantee that I will be crying like a baby. And the tears rolling down my cheeks will be filled with pride, joy, and undying gratitude.
One caveat: The Leelanau School is not cheap. In fact, it's quite expensive. They do, however, offer substantial financial aid to those families that need it. Even with that assistance, though, my wife and I still had to ask family members for help. Heck, we even asked friends and complete strangers for help via a GoFundMe campaign. That wasn't easy to do, and we kind of agonized over the decision before a "whatever it takes" mentality kicked in. We've also scrimped and saved quite a bit over the last two years to come up with the balance of the tuition and money to pay for extras like field trips, weekly allowances, etc. But looking back, every penny we saved and all the solicitations for donations we made were so worth it. The Leelanau School is the best educational experience we've ever had. My wife and I both wish we could go back to our high school years and spend them there.
If you want more information on the Leelanau School, I urge you to visit their website or give them a call at 231.334.5800 or 800.533.5262. If you'd like to make a donation to the school to help future students get the education they need, you can visit the school's online donation page. Note that the Leelanau school is a private, non-profit school, so all donations are fully tax-deductible.
UPDATE: My son graduated from the Leelanau School on June 7, 2014. He is now a freshman at Aquinas College in Grand Rapids, Michigan.
"We must meet our students exactly where they are with exactly the brains they have right now. We must use all the tools we have available to us and not expect them to fit into a mold or all behave exactly the same." --Dr. Gene R. Carter
This post has absolutely nothing to do with my older son and his addiction/recovery. But it has everything to do with my younger son and an amazing place that I now routinely refer to as "The Greatest High School on Earth." A place that has been a huge part of my family's overall recovery.
When my wife and I walked into the Leelanau School's academic building on March 21st to get our schedule for parent-teacher conferences, they handed us a pack of graduation announcements. My first thoughts were, "Graduation announcements? Are you kidding me??" I felt like I was dreaming. But I wasn't. This was really happening. And I got a bit choked up.
Our relationship with the Leelanau School, a strength-based experiential high school for boys and girls who simply learn differently--especially those with dyslexia, ADD, ADHD, and similar learning differences--began in August of 2012. It was the summer between our son's sophomore and junior years, and my wife and I were looking for an alternative learning environment for him.
Our son has ADHD and anxiety, and had spent 9th and 10th grade at our local public high school. While this high school is consistently rated as one of the best high schools in the United States, it was not a good fit for our child and his circumstances. Even with an Individualized Education Program (IEP) in place, school was pretty much a disaster for him. The school would give our son "accommodations"--extra time to take tests, the ability to turn homework in late, etc. But he was still being taught in mainstream classrooms, often times with 30 or more kids. He did not get the individualized attention he needed. As our son so eloquently put it one day, "What difference does it make if I get extra time to take tests if I don't know what I'm doing?"
My wife and I decided we did not want to send our son back to the same high school. We knew he was capable of performing so much better academically. Sure, the local school is known for high test scores and having students go on to prestigious colleges and universities. But if you aren't a "normal" learner, none of that matters. In fact, if you're not a normal learner you tend to get lost in the shuffle and--I hate to say it--kind of forgotten. Not only were our son's grades suffering, but the whole experience was making him more anxious. It was incredibly frustrating for all of us.
Enter the Leelanau School in Glen Arbor, Michigan. Just before our son's junior year was to begin, we arranged to visit the school and made the five-and-a-half-hour drive from our home in metro Detroit to the school's beautiful campus on Lake Michigan in Leelanau County. In addition to meeting with the director of admissions and the director of personal growth and development, we were given a tour of the campus by a super friendly alum.
We learned that the school's strengths lie in their dedicated faculty and small, supportive boarding school environment. Their mission? "To support the discovery of individual potential through academic, physical, and personal development of students who learn differently."
We also saw some cool things. Like dogs. Not just a couple of dogs. Lots of dogs. And not just dogs roaming around outside the school buildings, but dogs roaming around inside the school buildings. It turns out that lots of the school's faculty and administrators have dogs, and they are free to make themselves at home at the school. The therapeutic qualities of animals is something the school believes in.
They also believe in sustainability, which is why they have their own greenhouse and chickens, to grow produce and get eggs for use in cafeteria meals. Lastly--but certainly not least--the campus is astonishingly beautiful. I mean jaw-dropping beautiful. It sits on acres and acres of heavily wooded land with the Crystal River running right through the middle of it. It also has its own private Lake Michigan beach. Truly an idyllic setting snuggled up against the "Most Beautiful Place in America."
While we were driving back home after our visit, our son stated so eloquently: "I think this school could change my life."
And change his life it has.
Our son has gone from feeling "lost" in school to feeling welcome. From getting poor grades to getting excellent grades. And from not wanting to go to school to absolutely loving it. He has blossomed into an excellent student, developed lifelong friendships with fellow students from around the world, and done things he never would've done in public school, like performing in plays; playing music and singing in front of crowds; writing songs; performing slam poetry for his senior project; and even dying his hair blue at one point.
He has done these things because he feels comfortable in his environment; an environment where all the students like and support each other and where teachers and administrators give the individualized attention students like our son need. It's more like a large family than a school. The staff members recognize that kids have different learning styles and work extremely hard to maximize every students' potential. They don't just teach the kids; they help them grow and mature as individuals, develop life skills and independence, and prepare for the next chapter in their lives.
Speaking of that next chapter, our son found out a week or so ago that he was accepted to Aquinas College in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I can't begin to tell you how proud my wife and I are of him. I can also honestly say that this never would've happened if it weren't for the Leelanau School. They've taken a once-struggling student with lots of potential, tapped into that potential, and shaped him into a "different" kid...all while letting him keep the unique qualities and personality traits that make him who he is.
So when I refer to the Leelanau School as "The Greatest High School on Earth," I absolutely mean it. The impact it has had on our son's life is immeasurable. Two years ago, I couldn't even imagine him being in the position he's in today. But whaddya know. It's really happening. And come June 7th, when I'm sitting in the audience watching my son and the 20 or so other members of the Leelanau School's Class of 2014 graduate, I guarantee that I will be crying like a baby. And the tears rolling down my cheeks will be filled with pride, joy, and undying gratitude.
One caveat: The Leelanau School is not cheap. In fact, it's quite expensive. They do, however, offer substantial financial aid to those families that need it. Even with that assistance, though, my wife and I still had to ask family members for help. Heck, we even asked friends and complete strangers for help via a GoFundMe campaign. That wasn't easy to do, and we kind of agonized over the decision before a "whatever it takes" mentality kicked in. We've also scrimped and saved quite a bit over the last two years to come up with the balance of the tuition and money to pay for extras like field trips, weekly allowances, etc. But looking back, every penny we saved and all the solicitations for donations we made were so worth it. The Leelanau School is the best educational experience we've ever had. My wife and I both wish we could go back to our high school years and spend them there.
If you want more information on the Leelanau School, I urge you to visit their website or give them a call at 231.334.5800 or 800.533.5262. If you'd like to make a donation to the school to help future students get the education they need, you can visit the school's online donation page. Note that the Leelanau school is a private, non-profit school, so all donations are fully tax-deductible.
UPDATE: My son graduated from the Leelanau School on June 7, 2014. He is now a freshman at Aquinas College in Grand Rapids, Michigan.
"We must meet our students exactly where they are with exactly the brains they have right now. We must use all the tools we have available to us and not expect them to fit into a mold or all behave exactly the same." --Dr. Gene R. Carter
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| Sunset at the Leelanau School on April 5, 2014. Looking out at Lake Michigan and SleepingBear Point. (Photo Copyright © 2014 by Robert Karner.Used with permission. All rights reserved.) |
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