scribblechic

A week ago I felt saddled by an inconvenient accumulation of, presumed, bad luck. My husband was distraught over an intentional harm that informed fissures in a familial and professional relationship that could no longer be bridged by hope. My son was struggling with the space of independence in his school day, creating new anxiety. My daughter was showing signs she had returned too soon to the frivolous busyness of her routines after a brief bout of strep only to succumb to a new bug that would sweep the coming week’s schedule into messy disarray.

For a moment, caught in the chaos of those I care for, my perspective was tinted in self. A common denominator to each individual, I wrestled with a responsibility to heal each harm; good intentions clouding my judgement with an assumption of “I”. Even my best efforts to heal were hollow as I hurried from victim to champion, saving everyone from an experience of growth in a reckless misappropriation of care.

It was only when my daughter’s unexceptionally, average virus demanded stillness that I could see the goodness in each uncomfortable experience. When my days were stripped of distractions and routine, instead bound by more immediate, simple acts of care, my gauge for need and measure of strength were informed by a different expectation of well-being. While my daughter healed in quiet restfulness, my efforts to tend to others were bound by practical limitations; anchoring hope in something outside the span of my control.

My husband’s hand had been forced to commit to change, but the decisions he faced were longstanding. The new trajectory of his days created greater availability for possibilities that had otherwise been detained in a dateless, someday soon. Our calendar for change had become tangible, dreams more attainable. The unpleasant circumstances that had been an uncomfortable catalyst simultaneously allowed us to look more honestly at those who had created the harm allowing us to create a guard against further injury through a more genuine scope of honesty; seeing those we love with a balance of truth.

As my husband navigated personal and professional change, I looked more closely at markers of concern for my son’s ability. When we, parents and educators, aligned need and effort, support and independence, it became clear the places we had overlooked room for care and undervalued ability. In speaking directly to my son’s teachers I was overwhelmed with the positive words that eclipsed the generic language of numbers. The same numbers that might have been cause for concern became reason to believe. Moving more independently in a new space and without specific support, I saw a child treading water successfully with confidence in self and care for others.

Misfortune was too easily defined by expectations and assumptions crafted by projected measurements of success and contentment. In reality, my daughter is healing with an exercise in care, my husband is growing into a new identity of self that challenges old roles, and my son is learning to thrive more independently. I am honoring my family’s individual measures of growth by mapping a new space of self that informs a quieter message of confidence and care for those I love. Embracing new challenges and redefining luck.

The first keystrokes today are a blind search, easing into the undercurrents of my thoughts. Sifting through pieces of our family’s days, beneath the distractions, gathering the details of our story into a place of remembrance. This past week my fingers and thoughts have felt clunky and awkward, directionless. My mind and heart have been weighted by worries for those I love most.

We are standing in a place of transition and the growing pains that accompany discovery have made me more sensitive to our collective vulnerability. My husband’s brow is creased with worries and his eyes bright with hope for career changes that hint at a promise of greater possibility. My daughter is on the edge of academic accomplishment, her efforts often mismeasured by irrelevant gauges. My son is slowly assuming greater responsibility in advocating for his needs academically and socially; reaching out into the uncomfortable intersection of awareness and need uncertain how his requests for assistance will be met by those individuals, friends and teachers, who are central to his success at school.

Even as I try to neatly summarize this moment, grasping tightly to the possibility nestled within uncertainty, I am aware these new experiences carry the emotional charge of daily disappointments stacked against the light at the end of the tunnel. I see my husband moving through joyless workday routines to provide for us, our evenings as a family a small reprieve from the disappointment of his days. My daughter struggling to master reading and math skills discouraged by the ease with which her peers seem to exercise knowledge she demonstrates more slowly, swallowing her own disappointment beside those who flaunt the ease of the task at hand. My son seeking friendship and trying to please others by following social rules that are often contradictory in their logic; too often tangled in another’s joke, hurt and yet determined to remain a part of his peers’ play.

In the weeks ahead my husband will learn if a new career opportunity will provide greater stability and inspiration, while he goes through the motions of life as is. Our daughter will make slow steps towards progress, her potential greater than her classroom demonstrations, frustration accompanying her dedication. Our son will sit beside teachers and support staff helping to outline the education plan that will inform other’s of his daily needs, speaking for himself while other’s speak of him.

Individually, and together, we must believe in our capacities to create our own destinies while navigating the challenges that exaggerate our fear. As a wife and mother I will be in the background lending encouragement and love while holding my breath, my heart and nerves stretched to encompass the fears and anticipation that accompany uncertainty. In quieter moments I will tap away at my computer keys to mark our path, capturing fragmented moments alone with my thoughts.