Frayed

The other day, I was out hiking at the nature preserve, and I took a picture of a pretty blue dragonfly which had settled, momentarily, on a branch.  When I got home and could look closer at the photo, I could see that the dragonfly's wings were a little frayed and tattered. I can verify, however, that although the wings weren't perfect, the dragonfly was still able to fly just fine.

I can relate to this dragonfly. I also have days where my wings are feeling a little tattered and frayed.  Sometimes I have the urge to jump in the car and drive until I get to a beach where I will move into a cottage on the dunes. I envision spending my days sketching, writing bad poetry and drinking artisanal coffee while listening to the surf until I either run out of money or the authorities finally find my hideout.  I'm a responsible person and I'd feel guilty if I actually did this; also, I'd probably miss nagging my family after a week or so.  That doesn't mean I'm not tempted.

A friend recently sent me a blog post written by another special needs parent about accepting our other family members (specifically, the special needs one) the way they are.  It was a good article and I enjoyed reading it.  I think I've reached a point of acceptance in my own special needs parenting journey, but that doesn't mean that I'm still not frustrated or angry at times.  Part of acceptance means also accepting that it's okay not to feel angelic and competent 100% of the time, and that it's completely fine to have the occasional (or not so occasional) panic attack about the future, whether that's tomorrow or four years from now.  While we're working on being accepting of others, we can also give ourselves a little acceptance.

If I were talking to a mom new to the special needs journey, or actually any mother- "typical" kids can come with their own sets of challenges- and she wanted some advice, I'd tell her this: sometimes you will get so angry or frustrated about something that you will want to scream until you lose your voice, and that is perfectly normal.  Sometimes nothing will do except sitting in your car in a parking lot and having a good scream, or hiking out into the woods and letting loose on some poor, unsuspecting tree. 

Side note: If you do hike into the woods, make sure there's no one else around.  The last thing you'd want is for some other hiker to think that you're being attacked by a bear, or that you saw a snake, and have them call the rescue squad.  "Oh, no", you'd have to tell them, "I'm totally fine.  I just came out here to scream.  You can leave now".  It could be a little awkward.  Also, after you're done screaming at the tree, give it a hug.   You can never hug too many trees.

When my kids were younger, and the diagnosis was a new thing, people would ask me "how are you doing?"  95% of the time, there was only one socially acceptable answer to that question: "We're doing really well!" However, inside, I was screaming, "Everything sucks! we got kicked out of a restaurant last night because he threw French fries at another diner, our toilet is clogged, the check engine light is on, the dog barfed on the carpet seven times, my other kid keeps forgetting to turn in her homework,  and I stay awake all night wondering what will become of us!"

Once or twice, I actually did give that answer, and the other person stood there, blinked, and said, "Oh my. Well.  I hope you have a better day tomorrow! I'll be praying for you!".  I felt like there was some extremely high bar that I had to meet, and when I wasn't meeting it, I needed to keep that information to myself.  If you're lucky, you find the people who can handle the real answer. Eventually you realize that it's okay to feel frayed and tattered, and it's okay to be frustrated and tired and angry and unsure of yourself.  I'm still working on this myself.

None of us can be perfect. Eventually, most of us get a little tattered and frayed around the wings, but that's okay.  We can still fly.