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Looking back over my twenties, I laugh at the problems I considered to be challenging at the time. In my thirties, I encountered a little something called parenting, where the challenges are significant and sometimes overwhelming.
I experienced the regular mummy growing pains with my first child; the sleepless nights and worries like, “Is he eating enough? Is he growing enough? Am I mom enough?”
When our second child was born, those challenges paled in comparison. Our daughter was diagnosed with a rare genetic disorder that turned everything I had learned about raising a child on its ear.
Tiptoeing into my forties, I focused all of my energy on her. Consumed by her needs, I stopped taking care of me. My treadmill collected dust. I worried way too much. I stopped entertaining and being social and I avoided many of the activities I use to enjoy. I wasn’t eating or sleeping well. I gained a few pounds and felt generally crappy.
This tunnel vision and disregard for my own health took a toll. I wasn’t doing my daughter or myself any good by being this lesser version of me. I want my daughter to look at me and think, “My mom is beautiful and strong. She loves me, and she loves herself, too. She’s unstoppable, and so am I.”
It was time to bring back the real version of me. I began exercising and casually entertaining again. I tried to balance my legitimate concerns for my daughter with purposeful action. I started writing about family life—raising my kids, one with disabilities. This gave me a voice, and I soon discovered a community of parents who could relate.
I’m in my fifties now. Not quite a “senior” but I’m dang close to getting the drugstore discount. I’ve learned at lot, but I’m far from perfect. There are still days when I feel myself being pulled back down into that place; when a medical procedure for my daughter looms, or work, or life stress, or general overthinking robs me of sleep and makes it difficult to function. That’s when I turn to humour and friendship to calm my racing heart. The support and encouragement I receive from other parents is a life preserver.
And this is partly why I share our life with you. I try to be an honest and imperfect role model—not only by sharing the positive stories, but by divulging the tricky bits, the unexpected challenges, the embarrassing moments and mistakes, and the unnerving parts of parenting a typical and atypical kid.
