scribblechic

Recently I began a humbling exercise in trust, reaching out for and accepting help as I navigate new experiences parenting a child with special needs. One question remains unanswered among new discussions: Have I joined a support group?

Denial says, I don’t need help. I can do this. Our problems are manageable. We will be okay. I’m okay. 

Fear whispers, What if this problem is bigger than me? What if walking inside the problem I become lost to an identity that swallows me whole and leaves less of myself.

Some of my apprehension stems from waiting room induced anxiety. The air often feels stifling, consumed with sadness or anger until I cannot breathe fresh air void of projected pain. I hesitate to give voice to my own doubts and fears, afraid they will suffocate others with their weight.

Instead, I endeavor to gift myself private moments of peace. I have returned to my treadmill; chasing answers and running from uncertainty. Writing, releasing thoughts for safekeeping when they are too burdensome to carry with me in the cramped spaces of my mind. Reading, stepping outside my thoughts and temporarily escaping into another’s. Small acts of self kindness; these are my support systems, lending me strength and serenity.

Tagged: Strength