I have grandiose thoughts of being some sort of inspiration to mothers. Mothers who are raising ‘high need’ children. Emotionally disturbed children. Mentally challenged children. Behaviorally inept children.
I can’t inspire while I sit in the waiting room of a residential treatment facility. The guilt running through my veins as my daughter bounces in her seat. The resentment boiling in my chest as my husband sits hunched over with tears in his eyes clutching his stomach.
I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to meet these people. I don’t want to talk to them, get to know them or tell them our story. I want to go home.
I want to run away. I want to be alone with my family. I want my family healthy. I want my daughter healthy. I want my husband healthy. Then we can be happy.
The catch … I don’t know how to make them healthy. I can care for their physical needs like a boss. I can hug them and talk with them and attempt to ‘just be’ with them. Yet all those efforts are lost between my heart and theirs. Until there comes a time when there is nothing left to give. No reason to keep trying.
There are still 3 little girls sitting by the side, waiting for their mom to notice them. To care for them. To connect with them. There is where I find my inspiration. My reason to keep trying. And try I will.