holding it together while falling apart. the helpless hurt of watching your child suffering.
There is a distinct kind of pain that comes from watching your child suffer. It’s relentless, brutal and unforgiving. The kind of pain that rips you apart from the inside out. And sometimes, there is not a damn thing you can do about it.
The last few weeks have been hard for me and my kids. Physically, emotionally, and mentally hard. And when you are a single parent, it feels like that pain doubles down. Not only because you are hurting for them, but because you are trying to carry the full weight of it for them. There is no one else to tap in when you need a break. Or to squeeze your hand when the doctor gives you bad news. Or help talk down your teenager who is terrified that their dreams may be crushed. Or to sit with you while you listen to why your child feels anxious, depressed, or overwhelmed. Just you, your own fears, and that insidious sense of helplessness that comes from not being able to “kiss it and make it all better”.
And telling your kids that everything is going to be alright is especially hard when sometimes you are questioning it yourself.
when a band-aid doesn’t do it
I never thought I would look back on the long, colicky nights or the toddler meltdowns and think “those were the days”, but here I am. At least I felt like I could do something to help those situations. Hold my screaming baby, address the reason for my two year old’s tantrum, but now the problems are bigger, the pain is bigger and the solutions are not so simple. A popsicle or a nap can’t fix a scary diagnosis or a sense of not belonging or anxiety or a broken heart. We can’t just put a band-aid on it and make it all better.
And no matter how much you would be willing to cut off your own limb and give it to them if it would help, it just doesn’t work that way. You don’t get to trade places with them or take on their pain. All you can do is sit with them through the storm. And no matter how much shelter you try to provide, it never feels like enough.
alone
And then there is the alone part. The silence in the house when your child is suffering seems even louder when you are a single parent. There is no one to hold you up at the end of the night and say “we will get through this together”. No one there looking back at you with the same fear in their eyes. No one to validate that you are doing the best you can. It feels exhausting, unfair and honestly, terrifying.
Even writing this post feels terrifying. Like by admitting these things aloud, I am not being strong enough for my kids. Because somehow, we have convinced ourselves, that vulnerability is weakness and that acknowledging our own fear is selfish.
But the truth is that staying strong doesn’t always look the way that we think it should. It doesn’t mean hiding your tears from everyone or always saying “I’m good” when people ask how you are. It can look like puffy eyes, shaky hands and a short attention span. Strength looks like putting one foot in front of the other even when you just want to stand still. Strength looks like telling a friend that you are not ok. Strength looks like showing up no matter how scared, tired, or frustrated you are. Even when you know you can’t “fix it”.
And while you may not be able to take the pain away from your kids, you can be there for them to help shoulder it. To show up. To make sure that they never have to feel like they are alone. While you might feel powerless to take away the hurt, there is power in you being present.
And that matters.
surviving
Let’s face it, life can be really hard. And unfair. And scary. So what can you do when you are simply trying to survive?
Find your people. Don’t try to do it alone. If it is a professional, a friend, family, a neighbor. People want to help. Let them. There are other people out there who get it. I swear. Find them and treasure them. I have said in many times, I don’t know if I would have made it this far without my “people”.
Cry, scream and then cry again. Let it out. It does suck. It is scary. And it’s ok to feel it. All of it.
Stop pretending. Your kids know this is hard. They feel it too. They are scared too. They don’t need you to pretend everything is fine or act perfect. They need you to be real. They need to know that even when things get tough or you don’t have all the answers, you will face it together. They need to see that it is ok to be vulnerable and scared and that you will always be a “safe” place for them to feel those feelings.
Process it. Do what you need to do to take care of yourself. That is exactly why I am writing this blog post. Writing is my therapy. Maybe yours is working out or taking a bike ride or meeting up with friends. You need to take care of you too.
And keep reminding yourself that you will survive this. Even if it doesn’t seem like it now.
final thoughts
One day (maybe not as soon as you or I would like), we will look back on these days and be proud of the strength we mustered to get through them. Even when we didn’t feel strong. And you know what, our kids will look back and remember too. They will remember when they were hurting, we were there. When they were scared, we were there. And when things got tough, we were there.
And that my friend is what strength looks like.
