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Being a Mom is Tough…Period!
“The world is full of women blindsided by the unceasing demands of motherhood, still flabbergasted by how a job can be terrific and torturous.” Anna Quindlen
Last week, I shared my heart about the struggles, heartache, misunderstandings, and even envy that can come with being the caregiver of an autistic child. While, I don’t regret sharing my raw emotions, my feelings, my hurts, my struggles (as this is the reason I blog), I do realize I missed one extremely important point…
Being a mom is tough…period!
Just as there is not an instruction manual on how to raise a child with special needs, there also is not one on how to raise any child. Women all over the world prepare for childbirth, for each stage of development, for doctor’s appointments, and well-baby check-ups. Whether we are reading What to Expect the First Year or Aspergers and Your Child, it’s all the same. We are all flabbergasted.
Because in all those books, the ones that tell us how to feed, when our child should crawl, walk, talk, how to help the child who doesn’t crawl, walk, or talk; there is nothing that tells us how the same child who can evoke so many feelings of love, can at the same time torture us beyond belief.
How that as much as we think we know how to change a diaper, burp a baby, or warm a bottle, you are never prepared for the temper tantrums, meltdowns, and bad attitudes that can come from the same child who hasn’t gotten his or her way.
Flabbergasted. Not just mom’s of those with special needs. But, all moms.
Because being a mom is tough…period.
We all have children who have told us how much they hate us. Who have threatened to run away. Who may embarrass us in public. Who are 7 going on 37. Who come home with bad grades. Who come him in tears.
Those moments when we love them beyond belief, even when they have left us feeling tortured.
Tortured by our emotions. Tortured by embarrassment. Tortured by failure, and completely flabbergasted.
Every single one of us.
Because being a mom is tough…period!
Regardless of who our children are, what limitations they have, or their ages, every single one of us wants to desperately get this mom gig right. We want everyone to think we have it all together, when really much of the time our kids leave us flabbergasted and confused. Make us feel like one big, fat failure of a mother.
When our daughter yells that she hates us, we wonder where she could have ever gotten those words.
When our children’s grades dip, and we have to hire a tutor because this “new” math just doesn’t make sense to you.
When you thought you provided all the tools to equip your kids to make wise choices, and they still made all the wrong ones.
When these wrong choices leave you feeling defeated, disappointed, and crucified in a cloud of judgment.
When you are speechless and utterly useless because you have no clue how to handle those tears. No clue how to answer the questions. No clue how to handle and embrace the tough circumstances.
All of us. Every single one.
Because being a mom…any mom, is tough!
“Through all the pushes and pulls, stresses and strains, and triumphs and failures are perspectives.” Lysa Terkeurst
And, in the midst of my pushes, pulls, stresses, strains, triumphs, and failures, that is exactly what I got-perspective. One that reminded me, none of us have this mom gig all together, perfect, or completely “right.” All of us are trying to do this mom thing as best we can, with no instruction manual, often with little sleep, some times with a lot of caffeine, and yes, even unsolicited advice, judgment, and a dose of envy.
While we may not have the same struggles, we all still have them.
While we may not all have children who can’t go down a slide, or go to the grocery store, we have children who struggle with something.
While we all may have some nicely written instruction manual on our shelves at home, we are still flabbergasted, confused, and tortured.
We all want to do this parenting thing right. We all have worries and inadequacies we are trying to hide. We all have parenting moments we are not proud of, have been embarrassed, and even kids who may want to run away.
We all have a tough job.
Every single one…period!
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The Wails of the Lonely
The Lord hears his people when they call to him for help. He rescues them from all their troubles. Psalm 34:17
I recently had a conversation with a fellow mom about the chaos that often comes with motherhood. As we stood together talking, and as the conversation moved forward I began to share some of the struggles I have at home with our “monster,” I noticed the blank stare, the one that usually comes when someone doesn’t understand.
She just doesn’t get it.
Unfortunately, it’s a phrase I repeat to myself often. One, I am sure many parents of children with special needs also say to themselves on occasion.
After an afternoon spent enduring the wails and screams of a child who can’t tell you why he is screaming. After being slapped in the face, kicked in the shin. After having wrestled a kid on the bedroom floor to keep him from doing the same to himself. After carefully planning every detail of the day, so the same kid’s routine is not disrupted. After searching high and low for the EXACT same yogurt in the EXACT same package.
After confiding in those with “neurotypical” children. After enduring the blank stare, and the empty smiles. After the “Oh, but he’s so cute. He’s so sweet. He’s such a good student,” I repeat to myself-“They really just don’t get it.”
And, it…for lack of a better word…sucks.
It’s lonely.
It’s dark here some days.
It’s exhausting. Emotionally draining.
And…it sucks.
And, while I hate to admit it. I also envy you. I envy the fact that you don’t get it.
See, I would love to be able to enjoy a trip to the grocery store with my children. At times, I even feel guilty for leaving them at home, even though I know it was my attempt to rid myself of embarrassment of having one scream if we veered off the schedule, went over our two store limit, or if the store did not have his beloved Gogurt.
I want nothing more than to make a date at the park with a fellow Mommy. Sitting and chatting on the bench, while their children frolic without a care. I secretly envy that time as I stand here gently urging my five-year old to please stop screaming and come down the slide.
Envy when another mom can handle an angry child without having to endure a blood-curdling wail or slap in the face.
Resentment after the,” But, he’s so cute. He’s so smart. He doesn’t look autistic” (And, yes, we have heard that one!). Resentment when those blood-curdling screams accompany empty stares, empty “It’ll be OK’s,” and my subsequent response: “They just don’t get it.”
O. God, listen to my cry! Hear my prayer! From the ends of the earth, I cry to you for help when my heart is overwhelmed. Psalm 61:1-2
But, He gets it. In fact, He gave this child to me. One I didn’t think I had the patience or strength to handle. One who has helped me prove otherwise. One who will help me work on my envy and resentment.
He gets it. He gets our “monster.” He gets what we go through at home. And, while it sucks, He is never going to leave us lonely.
And, He isn’t going to let me endure this walk through the many valleys of autism with resentment, anger, and envy.
Watch over your heart with all diligence-for from it flow the springs of life. Proverbs 4:23
I can’t help the inability of others to understand what we go through. I can’t help the blank stares, the well-meaning, but empty words. The missed play dates. The not so relaxing days at the park. The grocery store meltdowns.
These things will remain a part of the journey God has given us.
However, I can help the way I see my circumstances.
I can help the way I view those of others as well. The way I react to them. I can realize that we all have circumstances we would love to change, and let go of the envy that resides in my heart.
I can lean on God when I feel alone, exhausted, and emotionally drained.
The one who is always there. The one who struggles through the tantrums, the routines, the heartaches, the triumphs with us.
The one who hears the wails of the lonely.
The one who truly gets it.
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Handing out Hearts
But I, the Lord, search all hearts and examine secret motives. Jeremiah 17:10
Love. That one word is important to most everyone. We all want to love, to be loved, to be shown love. And, oh…the pure bliss of hearing those three little words-I love you.
But, sometimes those words don’t come. Those three little words are not always easy to say, and my little monster continues to show me with his inability to use his own words-that love is not a word at all.
Love can be as simple as being handed a small pink Starburst.
See, my little monster is not the greatest with words. Well, actually, he is great with them, but only when it comes to sharks, Legos, or what is playing on Animal Planet. The words that require an expression of feeling or emotion don’t come so easy to him. No, sometimes when emotions take over he grunts, he screams. Other times he speaks in food. Sometimes it is making dinner, because some way, some how this calms his overstimulated brain. Sometimes its simply handing over one of his pink Starbursts.
“The pinks are my favorite. They taste like hearts.”
A heartfelt expression of love. A simple Starburst.
One that tastes like hearts.
A heart that my monster handed me.
A simple pink piece of candy that made me wonder, do I pass out hearts, or do I use empty words I really don’t mean?
Do I speak love to others, but fail to show it?
Do I say the word, yet keep hatred hidden in my heart?
Do I speak about my love for God, and then shun my neighbors?
If I could speak all the languages of earth and angels, but did not love others, I would only be a noisy gong or clanging symbol. 1 Corinthians 13:1
I can speak or write the most eloquent of words if I wanted. Tell someone with the words from my mouth how much they are valued and loved, but if I don’t show this love, if my heart is still bitter, and full of hatred, anger, and unforgiveness…well, then all my “love” language is useless.
And the thing is…I can’t hide behind pretty words. God knows my heart. He knows if my words are deceitful. He knows if I am doing good deeds out of pure love for others, or because I want the glory and recognition the world provides. He knows when I have spoken kindly to a neighbor or friend, then turned my cheek only to say or feel something different.
He hears our words. He knows our hearts. And he knows when our words are just noise, and not spoken out of love at all.
He knows when our hearts taste nothing like the small pink piece of candy handed to me by a five year old, and more like the bitter lemon candies no one really likes.
Prophecy and speaking in unknown languages and special knowledge will become useless. But love will last forever. 1 Corinthians 13:8
A little boy, one who knows all the words but can’t always use them, reminds me of this over and over.
Where words fail to express love, our actions will.
Where words are often full of deceit and void of meaning, our hearts will reveal the truth.
So, in honor of a little monster who often can’t speak, but who most certainly feels, leave the words to the poets. To the noisy gongs. To the clanging symbols. Instead, let your actions speak. Let them come from your heart. Let them resemble a pink Starburst given by the hand of a small child.
Let them leave a “taste like hearts.”
Sweet, true, and full of love.
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Rejoicing Before Leaving the Parking Lot
This is the day the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it. Psalm 118:24
It is the beginning of yet another packed day. A trip to Kings Dominion awaits. One that has me excited but at the same time a bit anxious.
Why? Because the monster is coming along. And this monster has already melted onto the floor. And we haven’t even left the parking lot.
And just a few days after sharing a lap and calming the fears of a child that was not my own, I find myself on the floor of our church nursery. In the dark. With a small child in my lap. Calming the fears. The frazzled nerves. The tears of a boy who will not tell me what is wrong. Whose grunts and screams are for God knows what. Who is the reason I dreaded this trip in the beginning.
The crowds. The lines. The noise. A day without a schedule.
And we haven’t even left the parking lot.
Stop being angry! Turn from your rage! Do not lose your temper. Psalm 37:8
I am reminded once again of that dirty sock that represented the call to be present. To love. To be patient.
So, as I sat with my monster on the floor. Wrestling with flailing arms and legs. Struggling with his unknown emotions. And struggling with mine. I decided to once again be present. To love. To be patient, but I knew I could not do it alone.
But in my distress I cried out to the Lord; yes, I prayed to my God for help. He heard me from his sanctuary; my cry to him reached his ears. Psalm 18:6
So, before we left that parking lot, I cried to the Lord for help.
Lord, help me. Help me to understand this child. Help me to be present. Not where I want him to be, but where he is right now. Give me patience when he has none. Show me how to love my monster when he is screaming, kicking, and showing me anything but love. Help me to be present today. To love. To be patient.
To be patient with the monster who hates the crowd. To be present if a temper tantrum brings him to his knees in the middle of Snoopy Land. To love the kid who will be navigating the day without a schedule. To teach this mommy, and this monster the gift of enjoying a day without one. To rejoice in this day you have made,and to be glad.
Rejoice in patience. Rejoice in love, and be present for the moments beyond the parking lot like these.
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More than a Dirty Sock
“Anyone who welcomes a little child like this on my behalf is welcoming me.” Matthew 18:5
“And, the first Camp Hall of Fame Award goes to Pastor January!”
I had survived my first church camp experience. I was also exhausted, was losing patience, and really wanted to get on the bus and head back home. Clearly, I could not be entered into any Hall of Fame.
“Pastor January, come accept your Dirty Sock Award.”
Sure, gladly! I’ll be honored. But wait a minute…you were not joking. Um, this really is a dirty sock!
But, is that all? Is it more than just a dirty sock?
This dirty sock could represent all the other dirty socks I picked up this week. Socks that were scattered in the rooms and halls. Socks that were worn by 13 7 to 9 year old girls. The ones left in bathrooms. The ones left by pools. This sock could represent all the dirty undergarments I picked up. The many trips back and forth for forgotten items, missing flip-flops, missing towels. It could represent all the “Oh no, I lost my water bottles.” The “Pastor January, I left my sunscreens.” The lack of sleep. The cold showers. The chaos that is kids camp.
And, well…it could just represent a dirty sock.
One that I realized was so important to me, that I went back to pull it from the trash.
This sock actually represents more than the sleepless nights, unfollowed directions, or misplaced water bottles. Instead, it will represent love, patience, and the joy of being completely intentional with my time.
This dirty sock represents the time I got to spend loving on kids that were not my own. Some I had never met before this week. Some I may never see again. Many who had never been to camp. Many more who had never spent more than a night away from home. This sock represents the fifth time I had to sing “Silent Night,” and “You Are My Sunshine.” The few nights I had to wake up to rub the head and back of a homesick child. The bloody noses I doctored. The tears I wiped away. The laps that held many kids that were bigger than me.
This sock represents loving the hurting, soothing the broken, and calming the scared. Putting my own needs aside just to be there for a child.
A sock that represents lessons on patience, and Lord, how I needed it. Patience when things didn’t go as planned. Patience to wait on a child for the tenth time, even when we are late…again! Patience when the same child has spilled her juice…again! Patience when 13 tired little girls get cranky, whiny, and mean.
This dirty sock represents putting down the phone and simply “being” for a while. It represents unplugging all my electronics, silencing my cell phone, and plugging in to being a kid again. Letting kids splash you at the pool even though you know your hair may turn green. Enlisting yourself as a partner in a water race, even though you don’t have a bathing suit on, simply so a child isn’t left out. Or paddling twenty times in circles around a small fishing lake in a paddle boat covered in blue dye with a child who wants to steer while you do all the paddling. It’s getting sprayed in the butt with a water bottle, being drenched with a bucket of ice cold water, and being completely OK with it. Because you know it makes these kids happy.
Because you know it makes God happy. Because you know that this “being,” the love, the patience shown to a child represents Him. The one who loves these children as you do.
It represents being there. With no agenda. With no inhibitions. Without checking phone messages, emails, or texts.
This sock represents the desire despite the sleepless nights, the cold showers, or spider bites, to do it all over again.
To wipe tears. To band-aid blisters. To walk back to the pool for the tenth time to locate a small pair of dirty socks.
It represents what I want to bring home to my own kids. The gift of love, patience, and time.
Without an agenda. Without inhibitions. Without the constant chime of a cell phone.
Getting dirty in the front yard. Wiping more tears. Getting sprayed in the butt with a water bottle. Taking time to be there. Present with them. Engaged with them. Focused on them. Loving them. All while I patiently pick their dirty socks up off the floor.
Loving every minute of it. Of these children, this time, and this gift God has given me.
Knowing that this gift is more than just a dirty sock.
About Me
I am January! Wife, mother, meemaw, pastor, and mental health provider who makes it through the day with my coffee, my journal, and my God. A simple human, navigating life through the messy and sometimes chaotic. All focused on Him.
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Grace 'n Grounds 