I did not mind all the sacrifices but stealing my joy as a mother is beyond cruel
I will be deleting this thread, because the topic is meant to be a howl from the wind in the middle of the night, and because communication itself must also be sacrificed.
Giving up alcohol for nine months so that your little brain would not be harmed was a piece a cake.
Carrying you around on my back for most of three years, all around town, was exhausting — a lot of fun. Reading to you for hours every night until you were eight or nine years old was a joy, even the entire Series of Unfortunate Events which you insisted on having me read to you when you were five, which we both loved.
Many people encourage parents when the kids are young. “Oh, that’s so good for him!” you hear. The reading, the games, the walks. Surely you are doing the right things. You listen to the teachers, you read the parenting books. You scale back your career — “I could have had a bigger career, but what matters to me more is the kid.”
Precious things got sacrificed too. I gave up a lot of time with my beloved sister, because she lived in another state, and you had school and activities and there was never enough time. I gave up a book club that was comprised of a few good friends. I put up with thousands of changes that are necessary to keep peace in the family, whether or not I fully believed they were the right thing to do. Moms and dads sacrifice a lot to keep peace in the family. Moms and dads don’t always agree on the right way to do stuff, so you compromise and sacrifice and the only guiding light that helps you solve disagreements is “what’s best for the kid.”
In middle school, I stayed up late many nights trying to help you with homework and occasionally almost all night helping you with a project. Helping you with the science fair. And in one of those irrational slaps in the face that you get from a certain kind of boy, I sacrificed the science fair itself, which I had so much wanted to go to because I knew it was the only such memory i would ever have, watching you present at the science fair, because you’re my only child, and I loved science fairs when I was growing up. So that would have been such a special memory for me. But you really really didn’t want me to come in so I sat in the car and waited, and cried. You came out eventually, and I hid my tears and put on a happy face, because I didn’t want to ruin your positive experience, but you were already angry when you arrived, because I was parked too close to the front, or some other unexpected complaint.
Now, I’m prepared for an early retirement in another place, where a peaceful house is waiting on the lake I can rest outside of this cold climate. Two extra years here, for your sake. I’m carrying a mortgage that’s more than I can handle so that you could go to a school that was supposed to be good for you.you didn’t end up staying there, but that’s another story.
But now, you’re on the cusp of adulthood, and you seem to want me to sacrifice my sanity, my self-respect, and worst of all, 17 years of my most meaningful memories and the simple dreams that any mother has. Your anger and hostility overwhelms me, your sarcasm frightens me, your demands infuriate me, your recklessness worries me, your threats and your coldness break my heart. In the last four months, minor frictions have exploded into major chasms and bewildering behavior.
Who can I talk to? If it were up to you I would hold it inside till I explode. I talk to my friend when you’re out of earshot, but no one comes to the rescue. I’m too old to be a damsel in distress, I guess. Rescues can’t be made, escapes are closed. I’m not strong enough to withstand your behaviors. I’m getting old, tired, forgetful, in pain. I tell a friend, “I feel like a gazelle in a small boat with a lion”. Sort of like Life of Pi. Am I a “loser” because I didn’t fight harder for a bigger career? You say so. And in every argument, when I push back, you push harder. I am a willow, not cut out for parenting. Not like this.
Everywhere I look, I see reminders of those sweet early years — the car commercial with the pregnant couple, the framed art from middle school on my wall, the young family playing outside. I ran across the books that said it all: A Series of Unfortunate Events. I scream at friends on the phone. My heart has.broken into 17 pieces, who can put them together again? Next weekend is “Mother’s Day”. It is a cruel joke, and it would be best if it passes without comment.
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Some will need time to reflect.
Many have experienced profound sacrifice and loss.
Take good care. 
I’m afraid he will kill me if he sees it... 
What you just wrote could have been a letter from me to my daughter.
I feel your pain and anguish. It’s gut wrenching.
I nod my head as I read your post. Motherhood will rip your heart heart out, throw it on the floor, and stomp on it. I am glad to see that you are getting ready to move and retire. I hope you will find a new book club, poor a glass of wine, and experience peace. Time to focus on yourself again. You will never have to prepare another science fair project. You will be welcome to go to the science fair and the kids will tell you about their projects. Spend time with old friends and work to make new ones. Try new things. You need a different kind of engagement with this child. Don’t go out of your way to be cold or ignore them. Wait for them to come back to you. In the mean time, do not engage when your child is being mean or sarcastic. Above all, think about you. Mother’s Day? Buy yourself a present and go eat at that little place you never get to go because your child does’t like it.
I send many hugs your way.
but we live to fail one another because of expectations. Children have to separate from their parents; how it happens is different in every family.
Mother's Day used to be about losing a child to war -- different color flowers signify sex, I believe. Buy yourself a corsage and know that you lost your baby in the "war." Your child will be back in a different way, as an adult.
Start planning and executing plans that satisfy you now. Go see your sister; don't make plans around your child, she is ready to fly. You gave her roots, she has wings, it's time to let go.
Your words are beautiful and yet painful to read. Being a mom is the hardest work I’ve ever done. Mother’s Day for me is a bittersweet day. My husband and son have birthdays that sometimes fall on that day so Mother’s Day goes by with no fanfare and I’ve gotten used to it. This year will be no exception. However, we that have been in the trenches of motherhood know the sacrifices we have made. We’re not perfect but we’ve loved as perfectly as we were able. I’m sorry these days are hard - and they’ll surely pass - but that doesn’t diminish what this feels like now. Peace to you lostnfound.
Your son is at the age when his main drive is to be independent, no matter how capable or incapable he is of being truly independent.
Here's my story of my son at that age: The summer before his senior year in high school (age 17) he was picked up on possession of marijuana. He cheated his way through a diversion program, got fired from two jobs, and was not fun to be around. Then in the spring of his senior year things deteriorated to the point where he moved out for six weeks, and we didn't know for sure where he was staying, although we correctly guessed which friend he'd gone to stay with. I was terrified he'd stop going to school and flunk out at the very end of his senior year -- he'd already been accepted into college and had even been given a small academic scholarship which I feared would go away of the school found out about what was going on. Then he called me up, asked if he could return home. We said yes, but he was going to have to abide by some rules.
That summer wasn't too bad. He got two jobs, quit one because he didn't like it, but basically worked all summer. Then we drove him to his college, went through the parent orientation and waved goodbye to him on the steps of his dorm. A month later when we returned for the Parent Weekend he was completely changed (or was from our perspective) and we all had a terrific time.
I was genuinely amazed at how quickly things got better, and I asked him about that more than once. He said that he basically wasn't that kind of kid, meaning the one who couldn't get along at home and moved out. He also said that he was very glad he got his partying and wild behavior out of his system in high school, because he kept on observing kids who'd been well behaved all through high school and now were cutting loose. And a lot of them wound up flunking out.
What I want to tell you, as others have already, that we know how tough this is. We understand how you feel battered and bruised and just want this nightmare to end. It will. And hopefully it will end as well as many of the stories that have been posted here.
Hang in there. Do your best to ignore Mother's Day. It will be hard, I know. But I think from what you've said that your son is basically a decent human being. He's 17. He can't help being this age.
Even though it might seem hard: yes, you made mistakes. We all do. Someone can read your OP and righteously say: here's where you went wrong. But no. You didn't go wrong. You made mistakes. We all do. Am I repeating myself?
All any of us can ever do is do our best. It's all we have. We are ourselves the products of imperfect parenting. I gather you have been a single mom, which probably feeds into your guilt and anxiety. Pffft! Don't ever let anyone make you feel bad or less a mom because you were a single mom.
When I was 14 years old my mother worked up the amazing courage to leave her abusive alcoholic husband and drive the five kids still at home (oldest brother was off in the army by then) and move us from northern New York State to Tucson, Arizona to start a new life. It was not until many years later when I had two small children and was inside a pretty good marriage that I fully understood how much courage that must have taken. And even before that understanding, I always knew that she had done the very best thing for us. So I grew up partially in a single parent home, and I can tell you it was quite good. Yeah, it wasn't perfect, but no family or home ever is. All any of us can ever do is the best we can.
I truly feel for you, because while the specifics of your circumstances are different from mine, I get it. I've been there, pretty much. I want to hold out the hope that it will get better. Hang in there.
And here's something else. Don't forget yourself. You are at a point where you need to start pulling back in, returning to yourself, doing things that matter to you. Maybe pursuing a better career can happen. Maybe not. But as he leaves home please, please focus on you.