The Dark Side

As a mother of a child with special needs, there are some things you just don’t say out loud.

Because these things… these thoughts that occasionally loop on repeat over and over again in your head, well, they’re dark. They’re depressing. Sometimes, they’re downright scary.

But these forbidden thoughts, these heartbreaking, gut-wrenching, soul-crushing thoughts that you’re often made to feel bad for having, they’re part of your reality. Part of your life. Part of the life that you didn’t choose.

And if you dare speak of these dark, depressing, scary things, you instantly feel the need to justify your feelings. You know what I mean…“I love my kid, but this sucks sometimes. But like I said, I love my kid. You know I love him. I wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world. I love him just the way he is.”

First of all, OF COURSE YOU DO. There is absolutely ZERO need to prove your unconditional love for your children, especially for your special one.

And yet, you can’t shake the idea that someone is judging you for feeling your feelings.

Feelings that are natural.

Human.

REAL.

And that’s when the guilt sets in. You know things could always be worse. You know that there are bigger burdens that you could be carrying. There are so many mothers who would give anything just to hold their babies in their arms again.

So instead of allowing yourself to speak about those feelings that you’re entitled to feel, you simply don’t. You choke it down. Suffer in silence. Go numb. All because it’s just too much to bear…the darkness. Guilt. Even shame.

I’ve dreaded this day for a long time. The day when it’s official that my child is on a different path. Not that this is new information but this is the moment when everyone else realizes it too.

This is not how I imagined this day would be when I first held his tiny little body in my arms. I imagined it as a bittersweet day. One chapter closing, and a new one beginning. I imagined that there would be sadness, mourning the “loss” of my baby boy, while overcome with pride at the little boy he’d become.

Today should have been his first real leap into full-blown independence.

Today should have been his first day of kindergarten.

A day of excitement and anxiety and tears (from the both of us, I’m sure). A day when he’d let go of my hand and walk head on into a whole new world. A world that doesn’t revolve around me. Around us. And as heartbreaking as the thought of that is, I’d have had peace knowing that I’d done my absolute best to prepare him for this brand new world.

But that is not the case. Because as lovely as kindergarten can be, he simply is not ready. He isn’t ready to venture out into this new world of reading, writing and center time.

Because we are still at the beginning, or so it seems. Learning how to communicate needs and wants in ways that do not include self harm. Learning how to transition from Point A to Point B without an hour long meltdown, all because I took a different route on our way home.

And we haven’t even started on potty training yet.

We have come a long way, that goes without saying. Not so long ago, he wouldn’t respond to his name being called. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. Some days, he wouldn’t even acknowledge my existence.

And while I know he will continue to learn, grow and overcome obstacles bigger than anyone could imagine, and while I know that I will continue to swell with pride over every milestone reached, no matter the size, days like today still make me sad.

I forget how beautiful a blessing it is that he gets to take his time growing up and in turn, I get to keep him a little bit longer. It’s days like today that make me forget all of that and instead wonder about the what-if’s, the could-have-been’s, the should-have-been’s.

I don’t like allowing myself to go there, but sometimes I can’t help it. Sometimes, as much as I have accepted that our path is different, be it both challenging and beautiful, sometimes, I still find myself here…eyeballs deep in these dark, depressing thoughts…and that’s ok.

Tomorrow, I’ll find a way to pull myself back out of this dark hole.

But today, I’m giving myself grace…grace to feel what and how I feel without guilt or shame or whatever. Grace to simply be human and mourn the life I’d imagined for my sweet, beautiful, blue eyed baby boy, who I really wouldn’t change and do love more than anything in the world, just the way he is.

Written by, Lena Townsend

My name is Lena Townsend. I’m a wife, mom, and nurse in Tuscaloosa, AL. I have four amazing kiddos, including a five year old son, named Charlie, who is nonverbal with severe autism. Most days, I am the definition of a “Hot Mess Express”.

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Finding Cooper’s Voice is a safe, humorous, caring and honest place where you can celebrate the unique challenges of parenting a special needs child. Because you’re never alone in the struggles you face. And once you find your people, your allies, your village….all the challenges and struggles will seem just a little bit easier. Welcome to our journey. You can also follow us on Facebook, subscribe for exclusive videos, and subscribe to our newsletter.