It has taken quite some time for me to work through the issue I last wrote about. I never actually talked to my daughter about it.
That day, when we saw each other face to face, the first thing she said was, "I realized that I sent you a message that wasn't clear. I figured out that I am trying to tell people what to do and what to say, and I can't do that."
I thanked her, internally grateful that she realized this on her own. She wasn't expecting my response, which was:
I am still processing what you said to me, and I am not ready to talk about it.
This was the truth. I had not yet resolved how to explain my feelings, which she can't relate to. I was still trying to decide whether to tell her anything at all. She had a visible, physical reaction to my words. I could see the wheels turning in her head, as she tried to figure out what she was supposed to do with this information. It didn't take her long to just drop the topic and move on to whatever was next on her list of things to do.
Ultimately, I decided that it would be healthier for me to just let it go. My visceral response melded into a frustration that I will never have the same joys of parenthood that "normal" (as defined by our society) parents have. Each one of us has our own set of difficulties and challenges when it comes to raising a family. Over time, I have navigated away from Facebook to avoid all the posts that I see about people's successes. It is so hard to stay positive supporting others in their successes when I and my husband have spent so long just treading water. I don't mean in our marriage - we support each other in this gig we've been given. We generally agree on how to keep the boat afloat, and it has been taking on water for a long time. Unlike most parents of young adults, we won't be empty nesters any time soon. Neither are we eligible for governmental support. We are stuck between a rock and a hard place, and the sun only shines here when the earth is at the right angle.
Many years ago, Kirkman and Scott penned a Baby Blues comic about how parents often feel like martyrs. The punchline was "No martyr-ing while I'm martyr-ing!" I have never forgotten it. It was utter truth and helps me stay grounded when I am feeling overwhelmed.
So I keep breathing deeply. I walk. I care for my little flower garden that lives in pots on the deck. I count my blessings, of which there are many. I remind myself that this is the road less travelled. I tell myself that I do make a difference. If my children had been born to parents less patient, less willing to understand their chemical and neurological make-up, who knows what might have happened to them? I will keep giving them the opportunity to become their best selves, on their own journey, doing life their own way. But I will also make sure I spend time alone, because I can't help them if I don't also care for myself. I need to stay around as long as I can. The tightrope is thin, but so far, I am balancing.
That day, when we saw each other face to face, the first thing she said was, "I realized that I sent you a message that wasn't clear. I figured out that I am trying to tell people what to do and what to say, and I can't do that."
I thanked her, internally grateful that she realized this on her own. She wasn't expecting my response, which was:
I am still processing what you said to me, and I am not ready to talk about it.
This was the truth. I had not yet resolved how to explain my feelings, which she can't relate to. I was still trying to decide whether to tell her anything at all. She had a visible, physical reaction to my words. I could see the wheels turning in her head, as she tried to figure out what she was supposed to do with this information. It didn't take her long to just drop the topic and move on to whatever was next on her list of things to do.
Ultimately, I decided that it would be healthier for me to just let it go. My visceral response melded into a frustration that I will never have the same joys of parenthood that "normal" (as defined by our society) parents have. Each one of us has our own set of difficulties and challenges when it comes to raising a family. Over time, I have navigated away from Facebook to avoid all the posts that I see about people's successes. It is so hard to stay positive supporting others in their successes when I and my husband have spent so long just treading water. I don't mean in our marriage - we support each other in this gig we've been given. We generally agree on how to keep the boat afloat, and it has been taking on water for a long time. Unlike most parents of young adults, we won't be empty nesters any time soon. Neither are we eligible for governmental support. We are stuck between a rock and a hard place, and the sun only shines here when the earth is at the right angle.
Many years ago, Kirkman and Scott penned a Baby Blues comic about how parents often feel like martyrs. The punchline was "No martyr-ing while I'm martyr-ing!" I have never forgotten it. It was utter truth and helps me stay grounded when I am feeling overwhelmed.
So I keep breathing deeply. I walk. I care for my little flower garden that lives in pots on the deck. I count my blessings, of which there are many. I remind myself that this is the road less travelled. I tell myself that I do make a difference. If my children had been born to parents less patient, less willing to understand their chemical and neurological make-up, who knows what might have happened to them? I will keep giving them the opportunity to become their best selves, on their own journey, doing life their own way. But I will also make sure I spend time alone, because I can't help them if I don't also care for myself. I need to stay around as long as I can. The tightrope is thin, but so far, I am balancing.