You know, I have some truly incredible friends. They are kind, uplifting, and somehow manage to overlook all the times I forget to respond to their messages. They whip up delicious meals, pour me cups of tea, and occasionally offer me a much-needed glass of wine. They keep me from completely losing my marbles, and for that, I’m eternally grateful.
But here’s the kicker: despite their love and support, they really don’t grasp what it’s like to raise a child with special needs.
Lately, it’s become painfully clear that my youngest son is facing neurological challenges that extend beyond dyslexia and processing delays. My days are often clouded by his anxiety, meltdowns, manic episodes, and bouts of depression. As I navigate these turbulent waters, I realize I’ve been clinging to the hope of having a “normal” motherhood experience. For years, I told myself that no matter how challenging things became with my oldest son, my youngest would offer me the chance to experience motherhood like my friends do.
I imagined a child who would fit in effortlessly, socialize without worry, eat meals without anxiety, and joyfully engage with friends. But slowly, that dream feels like it’s slipping away, and I find myself mourning the motherhood I envisioned.
I know this may sound a bit self-centered. It feels selfish to lament my experience when my wonderful son is grappling with so much just to make it through the day. I understand that “normal” is a myth, as elusive as it is unrealistic. Yet, I can’t help but feel that pang of envy when I see my friends’ children thriving on social media.
After a girls’ night out, I often leave with a twinge of bitterness. While their kids are peacefully asleep, mine are still wide awake, restless and anxious due to my brief absence. The loneliness hits hard when I listen to other moms discuss their kids — their challenges, milestones, crushes, hobbies, and birthday parties. As my children grow, our differences become more pronounced, and so does my sense of isolation.
Both of my boys are facing significant struggles right now, and it’s a constant source of pain. On my toughest days, my heart feels shattered, and I can barely catch my breath. On the better days? Well, my heart is still heavy, just with a different layer of resilience. The only distinction between the two is how I cope with the loneliness that accompanies these circumstances.
On the darker days, I fixate on everything that’s unfair and the things I wish I could “fix.” On the brighter days, I draw strength from the community around me. I remind myself that I’m not alone; many of us share similar stories and feelings.
Mothering children with special needs can indeed be a lonely journey, but it’s also a profoundly inspiring one. It’s work that matters, allowing me to celebrate every small victory because each one is significant. The connections I forge with other moms, even if we’ve never met in person, are invaluable.
Motherhood has a way of revealing both my worst and best qualities. I believe this is true for all of us; we are more alike than we often realize. And therein lies the antidote to my loneliness — we all feel pain when our children hurt. We share dreams for their futures, we hope, we struggle, and yes, we sometimes feel like giving up. But through it all, we love fiercely.
Being a mom is universal, regardless of the challenges we face. I’m thankful to be surrounded by such understanding company.
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Summary:
Motherhood, particularly when raising children with special needs, can be an isolating experience. While support from friends is invaluable, the unique challenges faced can create a sense of loneliness. However, many mothers share similar struggles, and connecting with others provides strength and inspiration. Celebrating small victories and recognizing our shared experiences can help alleviate the feelings of isolation.