Amazing Parents

Sometimes it\’s AMAZING. Sometimes it\’s just A MAZE.

A Stone in the Ocean

Sometimes I look out at this big, scary world and I am almost frozen solid with sadness. Before my son came to me, I had no idea how much pain was in the universe. As naive as I was, I just didn’t know. But now I can see it. All of it. The overwhelming sea of humanity existing together in synchronized pain.

I see the starving babies whose bellies are swollen, in countries with rich, fat kings. I have seen how war rips arms and legs from parents who are then unable to provide for their children. And other children left with no parents at all. I can hear the incessant cries of babies born drug exposed to young mothers in the ghetto who just don’t know how to feel anything real inside of their bodies, least of all a baby.

It’s not me being dramatic. This stuff is real and is happening every minute around the globe right now. And it hurts me. It hurts me deeply. I can feel it pulling on me from somewhere, like a string that tugs on me from everywhere, the other end connected to that ocean — the overwhelming, turbulent, angry sea of suffering.

There are things I do to ease my discomfort, to quiet the never-ending thoughts. Somethings are proactive and others are just soothing. I do them because I have to. I just have to. One thing I have to do is reach out for support. It took me a long, long time to find a place to turn to. At first I tried my spouse, but his pain was so deep that he wasn’t able to help me. I tried my relatives, but they seemed too far removed. I talked to friends that I already had, but what I had to say was too much for them and they all slowly wandered away. So I searched harder. I looked further. And I found you.

This past weekend I went to the desert and I sat in the hot, dry sun. All around me I felt the incessant chatter of mothers whose babies are hurting and struggling to find out who they are in this world. I could close my eyes and almost feel the synchronized pain of these mothers trying to parent their children with attachment challenges. An almost unidentifiable pain. Something maybe without any words. Just a feeling inside my stomach, buried deep, deep down inside me of a memory that still makes me sick. Was it my mother or my husband or my boy? Maybe inside me they are all the same. Sometimes I honestly do not know.

What I do know is that what we all need here is some hope. Even just a little. I turned to my soft friend, with her voice from somewhere I think I’ve been before, and I told her that we just needed some hope. And almost in a panic, she whispered, “Yes, but that is like throwing a stone into the ocean”. And she is right. The level of pain that these mothers live with is extreme. But you know, even stones add up to mountains over time.

For me, in that desert, I found what I was looking for. I found what I needed. I needed some hope. I needed to be heard and to feel like my experience mattered to someone. And that’s how I was made to feel. Like I mattered. That my needs were real and absolutely accepted on every level.

So to all those woman, screaming and laughing in synchrony in that big, loud room, on a mat, on the floor: thank you. That is where a little nugget of hope came to me through unconditional love and support. So to all of you, thank you, for not only throwing a stone into my great big ocean, but for being the stone itself.

Press on! I am doing that now.


April 16, 2008 - Posted by | A New Paradigm, Soap Box, Support Groups

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