Have You Ever Stood up in a Rowboat?

      Have you ever stood up in a rowboat?  I have.   I used to go fishing years ago in a little pond nearby.  I found I could cast my line farther if I stood up in the rowboat.   It takes a lot of balance.   I had to bend slightly at the knees, clench my muscles tightly, and when casting the line, I had to account for the momentum of the forward motion to know just how much weight and pressure to shift the opposite way.   If I didn't do all that correctly, one of two things would happen: either the line wouldn't go but a few feet from me, making the cast ineffective, or I could fall out of the boat into the water.  But like anything, the more I did it, the easier it became.   I had many failed casts, but tending to be overly cautious, I never did fall into the water.  As a matter of fact, I mastered the skill well enough to angle my casts so that I could land the hook and bait under the overgrowth near the edge of the pond where the water stays cooler, so the fish bite better.   I enjoy fishing.  But I didn't know that years later, I would stand in another kind of rowboat....

     When raising a special needs child, I find myself standing in a rowboat.   Over time, like when I was fishing, I have learned how to keep my balance fairly well.   That is not to say that sometimes storms don't come along, rocking the boat.   There are days when my cast falls short, or I fall in the water.   But unlike fishing, I can't row back to the shore and get out, where my proverbial lawn chair is located on solid ground.  Instead, I must find ways to regain my balance.   And like anything, the more I work at it, the easier it gets. I am learning to move with the water.

     For 2 years we had no idea why our daughter Addyson wasn't developing "normally." We knew her development was delayed, but nobody had any answers for us until after her 2nd birthday.   In May of 2012, we got a diagnosis.   It was such a RELIEF!  But over time, I have analyzed that "relief."   It is human nature to name things.  We are terrified of the unknown, the darkness, what we can't see or understand.  In many instances, when we give something a name, we feel "better."  We move from fear to relief, calm, peace, anger, denial, acceptance--an assortment of other emotions that are available to us, but we the fear and terror of the unknown can subside.   However, there is bigger questions after "what is the problem; what is it called?"  Is a diagnosis, a name for the problem, a place to start defying the odds, a place miracles happen, our faith can overcome all, or is it/does it become a self-fulfilling prophesy? Where is the balance between daring to have unshakable hope and setting oneself up for the crash when we learn our hopes are unrealistic? 

    In the vast sea of sanity,  there is a large body of gray water to be through which one must navigate carefully: maintaining hope in the face of challenges and hardship so one has a reason to get out of bed every morning, and at the same time, reining in that hope so that one does not have expectations that are unrealistic.... A line cast in the water that falls short can be reeled back in and recast, but when a person actually falls in, the sudden rush of cold water shocks the body, rendering one paralyzed for a moment as reality seeps in.   Where is the line between optimistic hope that keeps you moving forward and accepting reality without letting it drag you into the doldrums of depression? I don't know.   I have not found an exact answer.   But I do know two things that help me keep my balance most of the time:

1. Keep the faith.   I rely on my faith in Jesus Christ to stay hopeful. There are many stories in the Bible where Jesus heals people, raises folks from dead.   He is the ultimate Healer.   Will He heal my child?   I don't know.  I pray for it every day.   I pray for her health, her well-being, and healing. But I have reached a point, most days, where I end that prayer with "Lord, Your will be done."   Now, some days, I need to recast--saying those words with more conviction, and then there are days when I fall into the water--shaking my fist and yelling at Him, WHY haven't you fixed her??!  But most days, I pray and take comfort and live with confidence in His will being done, accepting the profound realization that I need more fixing than Addy will ever need.

2. Keep an open mind.  Even though Addy received a diagnosis almost 5 years ago,  I have continued to research, learn and listen to anything and everything that might help her.  I do not live in passive complacency that the list of signs, symptoms, and usual treatment options are all that there is.  There is always more!   One of the most limiting things we do to ourselves is live in the assumption that what we know currently is all there is to know--that what doctors know is all there is to know.  Those are intellectual fallacies. But this too, is a balancing act.   Sometimes my cast falls short--I begin to tell myself that I know enough or I must have read everything-and I need to recast, pushing myself to expand, learn and grow.  And then there are other moments where I crash overboard, falling yet again into the water--I read and question obsessively, fixated on making my child "normal."  But most days, I am able to continue exploring all kinds of avenues of healing, reading regularly and maintaining an open mind when I meet people with healing experiences foreign to anything I have ever heard of.  And I listen.  I observe. I ask questions. As a result, we have found some wonderful healing options for Addy that are not the "norm."

     So my lawn chair remains on the shore as I learn to balance while standing in my rowboat.  There are days when I long be sitting in it, secure and safe, on solid ground.  But I also know that sitting in the chair would stunt my spiritual and emotional growth. Fishing from my lawn chair in that one spot, while comfortable and relaxed,  limits my ability catch fish to only the small area that can be reached from the chair. Moving around in my rowboat is harder, but it gives my options to fish the entire pond.

--The Lawn Chair Mom

   

What is a "Lawn Chair" Mom?

Why this Blog?

After much deliberation and remaining inconclusive and uncomfortable about the wisdom of this decision, I have decided to create this blog so I can share my personal, emotional, and spiritual warfare in coming to terms with having a child with special needs, as well as lessons learned and insights gleaned from my continuing journey of parenting.  

There are many blogs, books, and publications in general about parenting.  But every perspective is different.   So I am throwing my proverbial "two cents" out into the world.  My perspective is informed by being a "regular" mom, a step-mom, and a mom to a child with special needs.  I am all three.  Adding to my role as a mom, I have been teaching high school English for 18 years and counting. 

I do not pretend to know anyone else's journey or experience. But I suspect, that perhaps, some of the thoughts, feelings, emotions, and prayers I am going to share just might resonate with other parents.  And if any of the tales I tell can help even one person feel less alone, better understood, or forgive themselves, then it is worth the time. Here goes.... 

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Post #1

Parenting.   It is the most profound violations of expectations I have ever experienced. Simply put, parenting is hard, harder than I thought.  I assumed I knew before I had my first child that parenting is “work,” but I was completely unprepared for the severity and depth to which that is the case.

     I wanted to be a "lawn chair" parent.   I am not one, and I am learning to be alright with that...


What is a "Lawn Chair" parent?   
     One of our dear family friends, Wade, told me once that “expectations are premeditated resentments.”   I am not sure if he coined that phrase or if he read it somewhere, but that aptly describes my early years of parenting.  I waited my whole life to be a mom.  I have always wanted kids. I had an expectation of parenting that was specific and prescribed.  I had a vision of our lives as parents and as a family.   I consciously called it “the Lawn Chair” parents.  I loved my children as infants, yes, but face it, infancy was exhausting and stressful.   I spent time during each of my children’s infancy, partial enjoying it, and partial waiting for them to be older and things to “get easier.”   In my mind, we will have “made it” as parents when we can sit in lawn chairs, sip cold beers and watch our children play.  I was holding on to that image, that idea, that relief, that once my children could use the potty, dress and feed themselves, and run after other children to play, I could sit in my lawn chair.  I wouldn’t be so tired.  I could rest. I could participate in adult conversation. I could breath. For several years, I clung to this this idea just to make it through the day. It was the “truth” of family life that I thought I was seeing at parties, BBQs, and holiday gatherings throughout my life.

     There is a long list of realities about parenting that do not fit my initial vision, and if you are a seasoned parent, my vision of the “lawn-chair” parent has you either laughing at me or crying for me.  Don’t feel badly; I have done both.

Parenting gets easier as your children get older.

      This is only one of many falsehoods that I believed within the context of being a Lawn Chair parent.  There are many reasons why this is faulty thinking, and those reasons differ depending on the parent(s) and child(ren).      

     

     I think it is safe to say that for most parents, parenting does NOT get easier as our children get older, the challenges just change shape.  This reality thundered down on me when my daughter Addyson was born.  Addyson has a genetic mutation that results in cognitive impairment and global developmental delays.  My two older children, who are developmentally “normal” (whatever that means) are challenging at times, but for the most part, their independence progressed according to medical and social norms.   Addyson did not.  Everything about her required more care, less sleep, higher demands, and for several years, to me, it seemed hopeless.   Her lack of “normal progress” had me spiraling downward emotionally in long mental lists of “she would never…, I would never…, we would never….”   I spent some years in spiritual crisis, faithless and hopeless.   And my Lawn Chair remained elusive.  It was collecting rain water and dust.  I wasn’t able to sit in it.  This was not what parenting was supposed to be.  What about the dreams I had for her?  What about the future?  What about my dreams?  What about the time Jimmy and I should have when the kids are grown and gone? Will I always be this tired?!  Will I ever get a break?! These questions ran through my mind at all times of day and night. And as a result, faith and happiness rapidly decreased as my anxiety steadily increased. The Outcome = Hot. Mess. 

     I am happy to say, there IS a bright future for me, for Addy, and for YOU, no matter what challenges we might be facing.  But I also think it is normal at times to:

• Feel frustrated that parenting is harder than we imagined. 
• To have moments where while we love our children, we don't like them very much.
• To feel at times like we are not good parents, 
• Have days when we focus more on what our children won't/don't/can't do than what they will/can do, and 
• Experience pockets of general inadequacy as a parent.   

     These thoughts and feelings are normal (I hope), and we should never let the guilt we might feel in these moments add to our already overwhelmed states of mind.   

    Out of the many lessons I learned through the first 4 years of Addy's life, the one I want to share here is this: when I focused on my wants, my desires, my needs, I was miserable. When I changed my focus to what God wants, His directives, His promises, I could feel joy. Clearly, this is easier said than done.  It takes practice, diligence, and dedication in many areas.  To anyone of mature faith, the concept may seem basic and mundane. But sometimes there is significant difference between head knowledge and heart knowledge.  I knew in my head I should trust God; I should have faith; I should follow His word.  But I didn't understand that deep in my heart.  I didn't know that moments of joy are by CHOICE, not by chance.  We all have moments in our lives when we are miserable.  These moments come and go in length and severity. And what I had to learn to do, in order to get out of my "dark place," was to ask myself, am I thinking about my discomfort in my personal circumstances, or am I thinking about what God wants me to do with my circumstances? I often have to stop and assess for whose agenda am I investing my time and energy--His or mine?  When it's mine, unaligned with His, it equates to:  unsettled, anxious, miserable. 

    I say all that to say this:  I still have bad days.  I still grumble and complain from time to time like the next person.   But, I also see and feel joy a lot!  I see a bright future for my daughter and our whole family.   I feel relieved to know that while my Lawn Chair may be covered in dust or holding rain water in the seat, that sometimes, I do get to clean it off and sit down!  It is not in the way that I thought, under the terms I imagined or envisioned.  But I am learning to be joyful during the times that, instead of sitting, I have to remain standing.  

Thanks for reading!

Hugs, 

The Lawn Chair Mom