by Jennifer Dyer
Motherhood/parenthood isn’t for wimps. Can I get an Amen?
Sadly, I am a wimp. There I said it… Ugh.
Parenting Rachel with all the issues produced by autism and apraxia has been more challenging that I ever imagined possible. Plus, the style I need to adapt with her often goes against my natural personality leanings to nurture and keep the peace.
This week I had a “poor me” MOMent. I was so stressed. And angry. And tired. And overwhelmed. And defeated. When her therapist asked me if I had bought her some high top shoes to start trying to teach Rachel to keep her shoes on, I broke down and cried. I didn’t want to do it.
At first, I said it was because I didn’t think they would be cute enough. Then I said I hadn’t found any I liked. Then I didn’t know what size to buy her (I had actually tried), then it was the money, and on and on. But come on… Really?
No, the truth was I knew it was going to be another battle. Another long, drawn out screaming fit of doom with me biting the inside of my cheek so I don’t go off the deep end. I knew that the battle would be much harder for me than for Rachel, and I would be the one left scarred. Again.
So, I prayed. I thought over the matter. I was honest with myself about the excuses and the reality. And I came to some conclusions.
- First, one battle at a time is enough for me.
- Two, even though this kind of confrontation is tough, distateful even, to me, I have to do it for Rachel’s own good. In Brenda’s words, “We have to pop some of her bubbles. Rachel has been catered to and that is not setting her up for success in the real world. She has potential and I want to see her reach it.”
What I had to ask myself is, Am I willing to go the distance, to sacrifice my own self and desires and energy in order to accomplish what is best for Rachel?
Yes. Gulp. At least, on my good days.
So, in the words of Brenda, it’s time to put on my big girl pants. And keep them on.
And as soon as we are finished with the shoe battle, we are going to fight the battle of pants with Rachel, as in getting her to keep her pants on.
Cover me, friends, ’cause I’m going into battle.