I’m fortunate to have some truly wonderful friends. They’re generous, supportive, and somehow manage to overlook the countless times I’ve left their texts hanging. They bring me homemade meals, pour me tea, and occasionally offer a glass of wine. They are the thin line between my sanity and a complete meltdown.
But here’s the catch: they have no clue what it’s like to raise a child with special needs.
Lately, I’ve noticed my youngest son displaying some neurological differences that go beyond just dyslexia and processing delays. My days have turned into a whirlwind of heightened anxiety, meltdowns, manic episodes, and bouts of depression. As he faces these challenges, I find myself grappling with the harsh reality that my vision of a “normal” motherhood experience is slipping away.
For years, I’ve convinced myself that no matter how tough things were with my oldest, my youngest would provide that typical motherhood experience. I pictured a child who would seamlessly fit in, socialize effortlessly, and enjoy food without anxiety. I longed for moments where he would revel in the company of friends, cherishing every joyful second. But as time progresses, it’s becoming increasingly clear that this is simply not the case. I find myself mourning the motherhood I once envisioned.
I recognize how selfish this may sound. It feels wrong to lament my version of “normal” when my sweet son is battling his own daily struggles. I know that the concept of normal is a myth, especially when it comes to differing brain functions. Yet, I can’t help but feel a pang of envy when I see my friends’ children thriving on social media. After a night out with the girls, I often return home, feeling a twinge of bitterness knowing their kids are peacefully asleep while mine is still awake, grappling with anxiety and disruption from my brief absence.
The loneliness I experience grows deeper as I listen to other moms share tales of their children—discussing everything from school challenges to crushes, hobbies, sports, and birthday parties. As my children age, the differences become more pronounced, and I find myself feeling increasingly isolated. Both of my kids are facing challenges, and it’s hard to escape the weight of that reality.
On my worst days, my heart feels shattered, leaving me gasping for air. Even on the better days, that heaviness lingers. The distinction between my good and bad days lies in how I cope with the inherent loneliness that comes with my circumstances. When I’m at my lowest, I fixate on the differences and the unfairness of it all, desperate to find solutions. But on my better days, I draw strength from the knowledge that I’m not alone. Many of us share similar stories, feelings, and prayers.
Navigating motherhood with special needs children can be profoundly lonely, but it’s also incredibly rewarding. It teaches me to celebrate every little victory, as they all matter. It connects me with other moms, many of whom I may never meet in person, yet we share an understanding through our online interactions.
Motherhood can bring out the worst in me, but it also reveals the best. I believe this is true for all mothers. We have more in common than we think, and this shared experience combats my loneliness—because when our children hurt, we all feel that pain. We all dream of a brighter future for our little ones, we all hope, and we all struggle. We sometimes feel like giving up, but we love fiercely.
Special needs or not, a mother’s love is universal. I’m grateful to walk this path alongside so many incredible women.
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Summary:
This piece reflects on the unique challenges and isolation faced by mothers raising children with special needs. It explores the author’s feelings of loneliness when comparing her experience to that of her friends, the emotional weight of her children’s struggles, and the bittersweet nature of motherhood. Despite the challenges, she finds solace in shared experiences with other moms and the importance of celebrating small victories.