Surrendering to a shitty parenting day
Permission to write it off; tomorrow is a new day
Some weeks this column is well considered and editorially planned with the journalistic effort on which I like to pride myself. Some weeks, however, it’s a get-it-off-my-chest rant and a half, the kind where I feel my fingers could generate electricity from the ferocity of my typing. No structure, just turning myself upside down, giving myself a shake and allowing whatever’s inside to come spilling out. This week, reader, it’s the latter.
A few weeks ago I wrote about the glimmers of progress we’ve been observing with our son and, thankfully, those signs are still there and improving all the time. This morning I dried my hair, did my skincare and did a full face of makeup while my son lay on my bed in the next room, watching cartoons on my laptop. He called out for me once or twice. I’ve long been conditioned to wince at the sound of ‘MAAAAM!’, waiting for the panic as he realises I’m not beside him, but all he said each time was ‘I love you.’ A little confirmation that even though he cannot see me, we are connected. This kind of experience is a literal balm to our weary souls. The idea that maybe, this deep-seated anxiety that has punctuated his days for reasons we might never understand, could eventually loosen its grip on his experience (and by extension, ours).
These are the wins - small though they may seem - and they’re where I have to redirect my attention all the time. The thing is, my mind has become so used to living in a place of worry - wondering if something else is wrong, or was missed, underneath all of the anxiety - it’s not sure how else to function. And so, when we have bad moments, and days that are total write-offs (today is one of those), or even the kinds of experiences that are common to all parents, not just those of highly sensitive children, my worry goes to town.