parenting

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 2 Comments
Daily writing prompt
Have you ever broken a bone?
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Yes, my right leg when I was a year old. How it happened is shrouded in mystery because, as with all my early childhood, no one openly talks about it. What my mother dripped into conversation over the years is that I slipped from her arms at the bottom of the stairs. I asked my oldest sister about it once, when I was about 11 years old and staying with her (which I hated; she didn’t want me there). She is 14 years older than me. In answer to my question, she said ‘What are you thinking about that for?’ making a clear point that I should not be thinking or talking about it. I took the hint and never mentioned it again.

I don’t believe that there is any sinister explanation for my broken leg. Rather, the secrecy around it is typical of the atmosphere I absorbed into my very being as a child, knowing that there were ‘things’ that were hinted at, dropped into the conversation, but I wasn’t allowed to ask about. Another example is when my mother asked my father to move out (after years of not wanting me to speak to him, despite us all living in the same house). My mother was complaining about him to me, something she always did (and continued to do until his death), so I wasn’t taking much notice as I hated it when she did that anyway, and she suddenly muttered under her breath ‘getting a divorce.’ I said ‘No!’ and she simply said ‘Yes, I can’t take anymore.’ And that was that. A few days later my father told me that my mother had asked him to move out. He asked me whether I wanted him to go. All I could say was ‘I don’t mind.’ Truly awful words. But such was the fear of speaking my truth in that household. Indeed, the fear of speaking.

I accept now that my mother was locked in so much pain and resentment towards my father, as well as suffering from mental illness, that she didn’t have the capacity to consider my feelings or let it occur to her that I had any at all. She dealt with things the way she has always done: packing them into boxes in her mind and carrying on. But she let them spill over when it suited her; mutterings under her breath, flashes of anger, comments like ‘the worst mistake of my life’ knowing I would see and hear them but, being the well behaved child I was, wouldn’t say a word. I suspect it was her way of reaching out, as strange as that sounds. She needed my companionship, wanted to express herself in the only way she knew how. She had no concept of my fear. And I was remarkably good at hiding it, being strong, moulding myself into the listening ear.

Returning to my broken leg, I’ll never know the truth, but I suspect she was at the top of the stairs when she dropped me and I tumbled down. These things happen. I don’t blame her for that. What I wish is that she could simply say ‘Oh yes, I dropped you, it was terrifying, you just fell.’ We could talk openly about it. But my guess is that she, too, was afraid. It was yet another thing she had to force away in the depths of her mind, lest it reflected badly on her. Mum has chronically low self esteem, the outcome of her own childhood. It so often is. The irony is that if she could have come out of her shell and dealt with her own pain, we’d have both been okay. But isn’t that the epitome of the human journey?

I know this post paints my mother in a terrible light. She is actually a very sensitive, caring, intelligent woman, and we get on well now, within reason (she still doesn’t do emotions). Her mental illness has passed. Her physical health is not good. I have healed a lot of my emotional pain. I have found acceptance. We relate as adults. We never talk about the past. Maybe in that way we will remain as we always were. But we talk more openly and freely about our lives now, today, and I can be thankful for that.

A personal awakening journey

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 7 Comments

Echkart Tolle explained how his spiritual awakening to his true nature beyond the mind occurred when his mental suffering became intolerable. He was severely depressed, suicidal, in total despair unable to see a way out and until he uttered the words ‘Who is this ‘I’ that I cannot live with?’ Then he paused, reflecting on the profound meaning of his words. He had discovered the inner witness that some may call the soul, who lies beyond the mind, aware of every experience, thought and emotion, yet untouched by it all. This realisation changed Tolle’s life. He woke up from the dream of identifying with his mental state and went on to (eventually) write several books and become a spiritual teacher. As far as I know he has never fallen back into unconsciousness.

His dramatic awakening is unusual in its completeness; a clear boundary between ‘before’ and ‘after.’ For most people it doesn’t work like that. The path to becoming more conscious tends to follow a rugged trajectory of peaks and troughs, consisting of periods of heightened awareness before falling back into the grip of identifying with one’s conditioned self and then, at some point, emerges the realisation of being lost in the dream of mind. Ideally, the conscious periods will lengthen and the tendency to get lost will lessen over time. However, sometimes the unconscious periods intensify as the conditioned self/ego senses it is losing its hold and will hang on to whatever it can to save itself. Eventually, for those destined to awaken in this lifetime, the ego can no longer resist the force of the soul’s desire to know itself, and it begins to dissolve. Far from being a wonderful process, it is often completely horrible. This is what is known as the ‘dark night of the soul’

My own journey has definitely followed the latter trajectory. Looking back, my awakening journey probably first started when I walked away from my marriage with an narcissist, struggling with a relapse of my physical health condition, and a profoundly disabled child in tow. Until that point I was living out my life in a state of trauma as the result of my childhood and becoming seriously unwell at university. I had improved, gone to work and had a baby, only to fall very ill again. I was sensitive, empathetic, but highly insecure and lacking in self esteem, so it was not surprising I found myself attracted to my ex’s highly magnetic stage personality. After several years of mental cruelty, I finally realised that I was worth more. I don’t know how I found the courage to leave under the circumstances, but the little girl inside me had not lost her connection to the Divine despite everything. She reminded me that I was strong and would be okay, like she had been.

And so my journey really started. I sought therapy, tried alternative treatments, focused on my life with my son. Of course it was far from easy. In many ways my life actually worsened. Like Tolle, I fell into a bad depression. I remember sitting on my back doorstep, staring at the horse chestnut tree in my then-garden, tears slipping down my face, not even having the energy to wipe them away. Someone knocked at the door wanting access to the drain in my garden, can’t remember why, but I just remember the desperation I felt for them to see me, notice my pain, take away the desperate loneliness in my heart. The overriding theme of my life and particularly at that time was loneliness. I had lost my spiritual connection. I was barely surviving. My son’s behaviour was so challenging that it took everything I had. I had little support from family and no compassion or understanding from my ex. I had carers to help with my son, and emotional support from a therapist, but I still felt very alone.

A few years later, when my son was 9, I started reading a lot of spiritual books and meditating intensely. I had dipped in and out of this over the years, but not with any serious intent. This really kickstarted the next stage of my journey. It is hard to explain exactly what happened, but I ‘opened up.’ I suddenly felt more connected to spirit than I ever had before. My dreams became more intense, often containing Christian or Buddhist imagery. I saw and felt things during meditation – lights, sensations. I no longer felt alone. This was a relief because my life was spiralling further out of control. I ended up in hospital with my illness and my son’s dad started to have our son more. It took a few more years and a court case before my son went to his dad’s full time but at that point I could finally breathe. I could find myself.

My journey has been one of coming home to myself. I realise now that there was no other way things could have gone. I could not have ‘awoken’ IN the situation I was in, but THROUGH it. I was lost in the grip of trying so hard to do the impossible – be a superhuman parent to a challenging child, while I was sick. I made a difficult decision, had to overcome a lot of hatred thrown in my direction, in order to realise that who I am goes beyond the roles that I play. I began to realise that there is something within me – in all of us – that is stronger and more real than anything in this life. Moreover, I understood the true meaning of Love: I loved my son deeply; I disliked his behaviour a lot of the time, but I loved him, and I wanted him to be where he would be cared for and safe. To love him meant making sure of that, even though many people could not understand. Also, Love meant recognising my own limits and trusting my intuition, not society’s view on what I should or shouldn’t be doing.

My spiritual journey continues. Last year was particularly tough with my son. I notice when I’m lost in thoughts about being a bad mother or even just wishing things were different. I’m only human. Spiritual perfectionism is definitely a thing, but the key is to notice – notice what’s happening, notice the resistance to what is. Tolle talks about acceptance because it’s the only thing we can do but it’s often the hardest thing to do because part of us wants to fight against what we don’t want, instinctively so. I believe I have gone through my ‘dark night of the soul’ because so much has been stripped away, yet what is real remains: the connection to my soul or to the Divine, whichever way you want to look at it, which has always existed. I may not have had an ‘eureka’ moment but in my own way I understand what Tolle was experiencing with ‘Who is this ‘I’?’ Who, indeed? All I know is that I am on my way home.

A dream of waking up: A blooded fish finger, white hand grenade

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 3 Comments

Early this morning I had a fascinating dream. It was in two parts. First, I was cooking a fish finger for my son’s dinner. On examination it wasn’t cooked properly as the centre of the finger was brimming with blood. I told my son that it wasn’t ready and needed to go in the oven longer. My son went ballistic, picked up the keyboard attached to my laptop and threw it down a flight of stairs. As I picked it up I thought to myself ‘This is PTSD from parenting.’

The second part of the dream was very different. I was in some kind of building and there was a sense of urgency. Someone told me that I had to come this way. A flight of stairs was ahead of me. Instead of walking up, I forced myself to elevate higher and higher, until I reached the top. A balcony was in front of me, hundreds of people gathered below. I held a white coloured grenade in my hand. As I threw it into the crowd, one person looked up and saw me. I found myself at the bottom of the stairs again. I thought to myself ‘there will be an explosion and I’m going to wake up and find myself in it.’

At this point I woke up, thankfully to the silence of my bedroom.

I believe this dream is significant but I haven’t yet figured out exactly how. While the two parts are different, there are obvious parallels and themes. In the first, my son throws something (a laptop) DOWN the stairs; in the second I throw something (a grenade) after going UP the stairs. In both, there is a massive disturbance, but in the first I am not in control, whereas in the second I am the cause.

The fish is also very interesting. Fish in dreams tend to symbolise the unconscious, the giver of life, since they live in the ocean from which we came. As such fish can also symbolise the true self, or the Christ. If I consider the latter, the blood takes on even greater significance. It symbolises my wounded self. The dream mentions PTSD, the effect of coping for many years with my son’s tendency to throw items and furniture with little or no warning, exactly as portrayed here, and the screaming at all hours of the day and night, sometimes the violence. My son could be absolutely lovely, but he was unpredictable, and sadly my ill health suffered further. Here, I am serving up a well intentioned but wounded self to my son. Unsurprisingly, he rejected it. Maybe, too, this is about me ‘pointing the finger’ akas assigning blame to the situation and seeing myself as a victim of it. A bloodied finger is a particularly gruesome image, since our fingers are an essential part of our anatomy; we need them to communicate, hold, throw.

And then we have part two, when I seemingly decide to bomb an entire room. Seen on one level, it could be about anger and revenge, but I don’t FEEL it’s that. Instead, there is a sense of higher purpose and understanding. I am elevating to a new level. I can see chaos already below but there is something I have to do. The grenade has its own meaning. It is white, the colour of purity and spirit. As I throw it, someone below sees me and understands what I’m doing. Part of my personality is awake. I am then back downstairs, knowing more chaos will ensue and I will come to be in the midst of it, but who I am in THAT moment – the spiritual self, the soul – is detached yet deeply involved, separate yet witnessing everything. Other aspects of my personality need a stronger wake up call. That’s what the grenade is about.

I don’t know if the second part of the dream explains the first. Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. But I feel, deep down, that they are saying all of it makes sense. I have felt more at peace around my son and the way he is for a little while but I know from past experience that my unconscious will roam around to find exactly what is still festering there and make me very aware of it. And of course, it is a process; the pain probably won’t ever go away completely, but as with any life experience, we can awaken through it.

The quest for happiness and finding peace

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Yesterday I was reading one of my journals from 2008, in which I wrote:

“Everything is like an endless struggle -wanting happiness but never really getting there “

I believed that happiness was waiting for me ‘out there’ in some distant place or state of being. It made complete sense given the fact I was caring for my severely disabled and very challenging 7 year old son while being extremely unwell myself. The situation was unbearable. While social services had thrown all the help they could at us, I was barely surviving. I wanted my life – as I knew it – to be over. Whilst I did go into some very dark places, I had enough presence of mind to know that I didn’t actually want to die. I didn’t want to leave my child. I wanted to be happy, I just didn’t know what it was or where to find it.

I didn’t realise then that happiness does not exist in some other place or even necessarily in the present moment because – if we’re honest – many people’s present moments are absolutely horrible. And while they may help, quite often no amount of shifting perceptions or affirmations or prayers change the realities that some people are unfortunate enough to have to endure. I tried all of them. I thought if I was spiritual enough my situation would improve: I’d recover, my son’s behaviour would become manageable, and I’d finally be happy. What I now realise is that it was never really happiness I was after in the first place; it was inner peace.

Happiness is a temporary state that usually depends on external circumstances. Inner peace goes deeper. It’s our true state, existing beyond shifting thoughts and emotions and circumstances. If the self was a lake, happiness and other temporary emotions would be the ripples that come and go, subject to disturbances such as stones and twigs and boats, whilst inner peace is its depth.

When we go deeper, we realise that the present moment truly is the holy grail because it is only when we stop and pay attention to the now that we tune into the stillness of the lake that exists within us. We are no longer being thrown around at the complete mercy of what life throws at us. Whilst outer circumstances may be dreadful and cause immense pain and apparently endless suffering, we know that the strength and magnificence that lies within us is truly endless.

Moreover, when we connect to the stillness within, we access our Divine truth. We don’t see our thoughts and perceptions as the ultimate reality because we have experienced a greater reality. We will have the wisdom to know whether we can and should change the situation we are in, or whether to walk away, or there is nothing to be done but tap into the Divine power of acceptance.

This is far from easy. In my case, it took me seven more years before I reached rock bottom and realised what Divine wisdom was asking of me. It went so against the grain of what I, my ex, and indeed society, thought a mother should be. I was brought to my knees and you know what the saying goes – if life brings you to your knees, pray. Well I was so angry at God that I neglected my spiritual path for quite a few years. I didn’t understand why I was so ill, why I had a child with such difficulties, why my life had to be so hard. I still feel the pain. I had to make a very tough decision that affected me and those around me for many years. I felt immense guilt for a long time but it was the only decision I could have made.

I’m not in the terrible situation I was back then; in fact my outer life is quite peaceful all in all, only my thoughts and emotions cause disturbance. I am not always happy but I understand that happiness was never something to gain; it is something we experience at times, if we are fortunate. Being in touch with our natural state can inform our thoughts, emotions, and experiences for the better, but sometimes circumstances just hurt. In such times I remember the calm lake that is my true Divine nature and know that whatever disturbs me in life, I am safe. I connect deeply with my inner self, and I am at peace.

Just the way it was

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Today was evidence that I’m in a very different place to how I was two weeks ago.

My son was in an awful mood when I visited. He was shouty, agitated and upset. No one ever knows why as there’s no obvious reason and of course he can’t tell us, so we put it down to one of those days. But he did appreciate my presence, or at least my bag of goodies. He grabbed the Easter egg, immediately tore the wrapper off and chomped down hard on the top, then proceeded to leave the egg for the time being and shred the box, which is one of his favourite activities of late.

I watched him, knowing he was being exactly who he is, and it was okay. I had no expectations of anything different. I didn’t experience any pain or sadness or longing whatsoever. It was just the way it was.

Soon after this his agitation grew so he disappeared into the toilet, which is his ‘safe place’ when he’s feeling overwhelmed. After ten minutes in there he came out yelling the word ‘shopping’ over and over, indicating that he wanted to go for a walk. I told the carers this was fine and that even though my taxi wasn’t picking me up for another half an hour, I was happy to just sit and wait if they wanted to go. I couldn’t go with them as I couldn’t walk very far. I hugged my son goodbye and told him I’d be back after Easter.

I sat in the lounge on my own waiting for difficult emotions to appear, but they didn’t. I felt okay with everything. I didn’t need to attach any reaction to any of it. I realised that I didn’t need anything from the situation. I didn’t need anything from my son in that moment. I just wanted to be there for him, give him his Easter egg, and I had done that.

I decided to see if I could get a taxi home any earlier. I was fine with waiting but the taxi arrived five minutes later. Small blessings seem so big when you don’t mind what happens.

A day in my life of feeling fine, that everything pans out in the way it’s going to, and I don’t need to take it personally at all, or hope or feel the need for anything different. I’ve done my bit and that is enough.

Remembering my connections

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I asked the cards what I most need to know today, particularly in relation to parenting. The spread is as follows:

Card 1: 2 of Wands

Card 2: 5 of Wands

Card 3: The Hierophant

Card 4: King of Swords

Add-on (end of pile): 10 of Cups

As a beginner of tarot it took a bit of time for me to read this spread as it seems a bit of a mixed bag, perhaps representing my mixed emotions at present! But this is what I came up with:

The 2 of Wands is about balance and harmony. It requires me to take a step back and view the bigger picture and reminds me that I am capable of that and have done this many times in my life, whether to do with my son or any other issue.

Then…5 of Wands is the challenge card. It is interesting that both this card and the Hierophant are fives. I am feeling challenged just now, particularly in relation to parenting but also in terms of my spiritual path more generally. This card is saying be mindful of my internal battle and adapt to the challenges and changes in my life. Find the harmony amongst the adversity.

The Hierophant is an interesting card to pop up. Not only is it also a five, it suggests the need for guidance from trusted sources and old traditions. From this, I’m wondering if it points to my personal history and ancestry, perhaps even reminding me that I am inseparable from and thus always connected to my soul family regardless of the challenges that face me in this life.

Finally, the King of Swords represents clarity, intellect and logic. He has reached a point on his path where he can deal with complex issues with ease. Maybe he represents that part of me who has sought to understand my journey and reach a point of acceptance. He is saying….you’ve got this, you’re strong, you’ve walked the path of your difficult thoughts and emotions and you’re okay with them. He may also be saying…don’t neglect compassion in the face of logic. Don’t live in your head at the expense of your heart.

The add-on card made me smile. The 10 of Cups is all about family…feeling contented, joyful and happy within a family setting. It’s all about appreciating our loved ones and feeling in alignment in relationships. How apt that this card carries the theme of family! It reminds me that I do have those things, not in the way I hoped, but I can feel content and happy nonetheless with the people I do have in my life and in my role as a mother. This spread may be pointing to my need to deal with the turbulent feelings around motherhood, take a step back, remind myself of my connections and soul family, and draw upon my resources in dealing with my life thus far. I am always at peace and connected, deep within.

It’s okay not to be okay

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 2 Comments

http://cliparts.co/sad-person

Someone said this to me very recently in relation to their own process but it stayed with me and today it feels most apt in my own life.

It is Mother’s Day in the UK and it’s always a hard day for me for my only child (now adult in age) has severe autism and has no concept of the day at all. There’s no one to acknowledge I’m a mother apart from myself.

This morning I got up and felt determined to think positively about it. I decided that I didn’t need any such acknowledgement because I’m in touch with my spiritual self and that’s more important than any role or identity on this plane.

But you know what? Those thoughts didn’t feel good. And I realised the reason they didn’t is that I’m not being true to my authentic self. What use is spirituality if it doesn’t encompass everything that makes us human and shine the light of compassion upon all those aspects of our being? I was caught in the trap of trying to find a way out of my own feelings. True healing and growth doesn’t work like that. To transcend our pain and grief we must accept they are there and go deeply into them, not even with the intention to get past them, but to feel them deeply and truly because they are real.

Spirituality is about being real. And the reality is sometimes we are not okay, and that is okay.

Today hurts. It feels terrible that I have a child who, as much as I love him deeply, is not able to recognise that today is Mother’s Day and say ‘I love you Mum’. I know he does love me in his own unique way, but nonetheless it’s painful that he is the way he is and that life turned out the way it did for us both. I feel awful that I didn’t have any more children, albeit it has been the right decision based on my life situation. I even feel guilty that I’m wishing for acknowledgement from others rather than letting it be enough to know deep in my heart that I’m a mother and did what I could for my son. I guess, deep down, it is not enough because everyone wants to feel love from others. Everyone wants to feel valued and appreciated. That is what this day is about after all.

I know I’ll be fine. I know these feelings will pass and I have the strength in my being to sit with them and value them for what they are. I don’t intend to get stuck (which is another trap) but simply acknowledge, this is how I feel today, and move on with hopefully greater compassion for myself and all mothers or would-be-mothers who, for whatever their unique reason, are having a hard time of it today.

Lots of love to you all.

A dream of my son

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 11 Comments

Many years ago when my son was 9 years old I had a dream that I have never forgotten. He was talking to someone about me and told them his mother was beautiful and still a teenager. (My son has been more or less non verbal since birth.) I was so excited (within the dream) about this that I started telling a group of people that my son had actually talked to me! I told them ‘it was real, it wasn’t a dream, I’d know if it was a dream’ Then a powerful wind started to blow me off my chair and I held onto a person next to me as the energy swept me almost completely into the air. At this point I woke up to the sensation of energy pouring down my head and arms like water. I had been attuned to reiki a couple of years earlier and believed that was what it was.

I’ve had many amazing dreams in my life but this one really stands out. I’ve never had one like it before or since. My son has never talked and most likely never will, beyond a few words. I’ve grieved a true connection with him my entire life. Around the time when he was 9 years old, I was profoundly depressed, so some may say the dream was wish fulfilment, something I desperately wanted so I concocted in my mind in the form of a dream. But I knew it wasn’t. There was something sublime about it, reinforced by Divine energy surrounding me both in the dream and on waking. I think it was showing me that this life has a purpose, as painful as the situation is.

I wasn’t a teenager when I had my son, never mind when he was 9! But I think the dream meant that developmentally I was still learning, still growing, still evolving. I was a soul on a journey and I was nowhere near maturity, but I was developing in my own time and way. It’s interesting that my dream refers to the notion of dreams and reality – what are they? I remember feeling so strange in the dream as the energy began to lift me up, as if it none of it was real – but what? Did I mean my dream reality or the waking world? Is there even a distinction? I said ‘I don’t feel real’ right before I re-joined the world of the awake – did I simply know I was dreaming, or did it point to something more profound: that none of this is real but the expression of Divine energy? Even my son talking in the dream may not have been real but another expression of the energy manifesting in a form I wished to see, needed to see. In that sense, maybe it actually was wish-fulfilment, but for a deeper purpose; to enable me to remember what life really is and connect with it, allow myself to immerse in it, know myself as it.

As I look about me, I am often filled with such intense grief that I have not had the opportunity to connect with my child in the way I always wished, and now, at age 43 with a chronic illness, the odds are that I never will. It is easy for another to say ‘make the best of life as it is’ but far harder to do, especially when I have craved connection all my life. In some respects I don’t even want another child, I don’t have the energy for it anymore, but I wish life had been different. Sometimes this wish consumes me. I will never be a grandmother, nor get to share memories with my son, look at photographs. Little things like that hurt massively.

It is a complicated grief because my son hasn’t left this Earth, he is very much alive. Yet I still feel the loss of him immensely. I feel the loss of everything we didn’t have and never will. I miss what could have been. What does one even do with this? It’s not something that goes away. So I remember the dream that brought me some level of comfort. Hearing him talk within it is something I can never forget. I am so grateful for that. And he acknowledged me; he said I was beautiful. That touches my heart. I doubt I will have another dream like it but I pray it stays with me and I will understand it’s true meaning for my life.

Between acceptance and resistance

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 1 Comment

Acceptance seems like the holy grail of spirituality and I understand why; it’s opposite is resistance, and as we all know, what is the point resisting something we can’t change? It’s only going to make us suffer.

I’m not even sure it has to be one or the other, black or white. Maybe there are shades of grey whereby I’m not accepting or resisting but stuck in some limbo state in between the two.

Only that, too, equals suffering.

Today I had to go down to the local government office to sort out a financial mess on my son’s behalf. I was told my son needed to accompany me so they could see him for themselves and verify that he lacks capacity to handle his own affairs. Due to his level of need, two male carers had to escort him, so we were quite a group heading into the building. I knew my son wouldn’t cope for very long and he didn’t; he became agitated and vocal, catching the attention of everyone else in the room, until the carers took him out for a walk while I spoke to a representative. I’m relieved that he at least didn’t lay on the floor which is what happened elsewhere in public last week, and he didn’t hit anyone, which is always a massive concern when he has a meltdown. No small blessings there.

The stress of the very short visit – in total, it probably took around half an hour, most of it on my own as my son had already been taken out by the carers – left me feeling so weighed down and hopeless. It reminds me of my desperation as a young mother trying to control my son who, as a six year old, ran riot around a restaurant gabbing food off people’s plates. Those times have gone. I don’t have to – and I simply couldn’t – manage him on my own anymore, but the same stress, the same heartbreak, remains.

I wonder if anyone who does not have a severely disabled son can even imagine what it is like. Children play up, especially when they’re young, but in time you can reason with them and loosen that all-consuming hold on them as they start to grow and value their independence. I have never lost that hold on my son. He is all consuming. He is unpredictable. He is terrifying. You never know what he is going to do. The only real way I have learnt to cope is detach myself. Not in the sense I won’t do all I can for him because I will always do that – but emotionally draw back, because otherwise the pain is too much to bear.

Maybe this is what I mean about being in limbo – not quite accepting, not quite resisting. This is my life and I cannot say I accept it. I often think about how it could have been. I grieve for the child I never had and never will have now. I grieve for the child – now adult – that I do have. I can’t imagine a day where that grief stops. I long for simple conversations with my son, Facebook comments, texts – the kind of stuff most parents take for granted. I long to see my son grow up and become independent – drive a car, go to university, get married. He will never do any of those things. He doesn’t have any concept of those things. I’m the one who wants them. I’m the one who feels the loss.

Am I resisting? If so, who wouldn’t? I don’t know, there are much better parents out there than me who devote their lives 24/7 to their disabled kids because they feel that depth of unconditional love and it’s second nature. I’ve never been that person. I’ve been ill all my adult life with chronic illnesses that nearly destroyed me. I simply never had the capacity to give my son that much of myself. I did the best I could. I still don’t know if it was enough but I know it was all I had.

I guess I’m only hurting myself by constantly thinking ‘what if’? But it’s impossible to stop. Maybe my acceptance lies there, in accepting this is where I am and how I feel and that life is so plain hard because I didn’t ask for this. I don’t have to be all saintly and spiritual about it if I don’t want to be. I don’t have to pretend. I can say to God that I wish things were different. I can feel God’s love for me and for my son and remember that Jesus was crucified in the flesh and in our own unique ways so are all of us in living a human life.

Anyone who copes with similar and has found a way to cherish their relationship with their child and their life as it is, I truly admire you. I journey on.

Silver linings

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 2 Comments

It’s been a very painful few weeks but I am very grateful for the silver linings that have emerged as a result of my son’s hospitalisation. Whilst it’s been very far from ideal, my son has been calmer than he has in a while, a combination of the right medication plus 24/7 carers who he responds well to and a room and bathroom of his own (albeit off a busy ward). I am also grateful for all the professionals who have worked so hard to find a better solution for my lovely boy while not dehumanising him for the difficulties he has that led to being in hospital in the first place. He has a new placement in the autumn but it’s still a building site, so we have to wait. In the meantime he has a temporary arrangement in his previous home with the support of 24/7 carers. He should be discharged early next week.

Other relatives sadly chose not to visit, which meant me going every other day to do his washing and bring him food (he was not eating any of the hospital food). I wish others had shown their presence to my son, but I am grateful for the opportunity to really be a mother to him for the first time in many years, probably since my health forced me to give him to his father full time. My visits were positive. We bonded for the first time in a few years. He was pleased to see me and at one point lay his legs across my lap. I can’t put in words how much this all means. It has helped heal my fragile heart from all the pain of parenting, the loss and struggle of bringing him up, the feelings of disconnection that arose from only seeing him once a week and having to get past the obstacles of his dad and grandmother who often made it hard for me to visit. Moreover, it was a relief after the pain of visiting him in the assisted living accommodation where he wanted me to leave as soon as I arrived. Now I know this wasn’t personal but a reaction to his frustration and pain at living in an environment which felt out of control and that he couldn’t cope with.

I am so grateful to God/the Divine for all these silver linings in such an awful situation. I just hope and pray that my son’s discharge goes well and he thrives during the temporary placement and when he goes to the new one in the autumn.