I am fortunate to have wonderful friends. Truly, they are generous and uplifting. They understand when I go silent for a while, offering me meals, sharing tea, and even pouring me a glass of wine. Their support is the thin line between me losing my sanity entirely and merely feeling overwhelmed.
However, the reality is that they do not fully grasp the complexities of raising a child with special needs. Recently, it has become evident that my youngest son faces neurological challenges that extend beyond dyslexia and processing delays. My days are often clouded by his heightened anxiety, meltdowns, and fluctuating moods.
As I navigate these struggles, I find myself holding on tightly to the hope of experiencing a “normal” version of motherhood. For years, I reassured myself that even with my oldest son’s difficulties, I would still have the opportunity to enjoy motherhood through my youngest. I envisioned a child who would easily socialize, eat without fear, and revel in the joy of friendship.
Sadly, that vision seems increasingly out of reach. I find myself grieving the motherhood I once dreamed of. I understand it can come across as self-centered. It feels wrong to express my frustrations when my sweet son is grappling with his own battles. I know that “normal” is subjective and elusive, yet I can’t help but feel a pang of envy when I see my friends’ children thriving on social media.
After each night out with the girls, I return home feeling a twinge of bitterness, knowing their children are peacefully asleep while mine are still awake, struggling with anxiety and disrupted routines due to my absence. The loneliness deepens when I hear other mothers discussing their kids — their experiences, challenges, interests, and milestones. As my children grow older, the differences become more pronounced, and so does my solitude.
Both of my children are facing significant difficulties right now. On particularly tough days, my heart feels shattered, making it hard to breathe. Even on the brighter days, that feeling persists, albeit slightly dulled. The main difference between my best and worst days lies in how I respond to the loneliness that accompanies my situation.
At my lowest, I dwell on the disparities, focusing on the perceived unfairness and the ways I might “fix” our circumstances. Conversely, on my better days, I draw strength from the support of others. I remind myself that, despite the isolation, I am not alone; many of us share similar experiences and emotions, united in our hopes and struggles.
While motherhood to children with special needs can often feel isolating, it is also a source of inspiration and significance. Each small victory becomes a cause for celebration, and I find connections with other mothers online, even if we never meet face-to-face. Motherhood can bring out my worst traits, but it also highlights my best. This duality is something many moms can relate to — we share more similarities than differences.
In the end, we all experience heartache when our children suffer. We all yearn for a bright future for them and sometimes feel like giving up. Yet we love fiercely. Whether our children have special needs or not, we all share the identity of a mother. I am thankful to be in such incredible company.
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