Sometimes I smile because I figure if I can at least pretend that everything is okay, then maybe I can trick myself into feeling better. The thing about being someone that people think is "strong" is that sometimes you don't actually feel all that strong at all, you are strictly operating on habit and muscle memory. You start to expect that things are going to be hard, à la "The Road Less Traveled". You get used to day-to-day challenges that would topple most people. So instead of falling apart, you find little happy things to cling to. Like Max going into the bathroom all on his own tonight and trying to go poop in the toilet (not completely successful, but still a really, really big deal). You smile as you look over the summer schedule knowing that you have booked your respite worker for the next two months. And you look outside yourself by visiting a friend who needs someone to listen as she works through her own pain and sadness. Most of all, you remember that tomorrow is another day, and another chance to do it all again with fresh eyes. And you order some Jenga replacement blocks so that you at least have a fighting chance.
Monday, July 04, 2011
mental health monday: gravity.
I took this picture this afternoon. After I found out that a very important person to me, who is a key part of our support network, is sick. After I walked up the stairs of Max's daycare, hearing him screaming, only to find him laying on the carpet, tears streaming down his face. It was his first day at daycare today. His teacher looked somewhat dismayed, but did a good job holding it together in front of me. I then took him to the clinic where he receives his IBI therapy, which moved to a new location over the weekend. Max was not happy and looked at me as if to say "Really, Mom? More change?". I drove home with a heavy heart, feeling as if my life is one of those Jenga towers and someone upstairs thinks it's terrifically funny to randomly pull out pieces to see if I'll be able to keep from falling over, or at the very least, if they can wipe the smile off my face.
Sometimes I smile because I figure if I can at least pretend that everything is okay, then maybe I can trick myself into feeling better. The thing about being someone that people think is "strong" is that sometimes you don't actually feel all that strong at all, you are strictly operating on habit and muscle memory. You start to expect that things are going to be hard, à la "The Road Less Traveled". You get used to day-to-day challenges that would topple most people. So instead of falling apart, you find little happy things to cling to. Like Max going into the bathroom all on his own tonight and trying to go poop in the toilet (not completely successful, but still a really, really big deal). You smile as you look over the summer schedule knowing that you have booked your respite worker for the next two months. And you look outside yourself by visiting a friend who needs someone to listen as she works through her own pain and sadness. Most of all, you remember that tomorrow is another day, and another chance to do it all again with fresh eyes. And you order some Jenga replacement blocks so that you at least have a fighting chance.
Sometimes I smile because I figure if I can at least pretend that everything is okay, then maybe I can trick myself into feeling better. The thing about being someone that people think is "strong" is that sometimes you don't actually feel all that strong at all, you are strictly operating on habit and muscle memory. You start to expect that things are going to be hard, à la "The Road Less Traveled". You get used to day-to-day challenges that would topple most people. So instead of falling apart, you find little happy things to cling to. Like Max going into the bathroom all on his own tonight and trying to go poop in the toilet (not completely successful, but still a really, really big deal). You smile as you look over the summer schedule knowing that you have booked your respite worker for the next two months. And you look outside yourself by visiting a friend who needs someone to listen as she works through her own pain and sadness. Most of all, you remember that tomorrow is another day, and another chance to do it all again with fresh eyes. And you order some Jenga replacement blocks so that you at least have a fighting chance.
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