It will get better.
You will not be in these moments of intense need forever.
I get it. It feels like these loooooong days will never end. It feels like holidays will forever and always be shitshows. It feels like you will forever be dishing up food, wiping mouths, wrangling children into seats, telling them to speak quieter, refereeing who gets to talk and when.
It will get better.
Right now you are hypervigilant of “the look” and you see it from strangers in the grocery aisle, hay wagons filled with merry-makers at the Christmas tree farm, family members across the table at Thanksgiving dinner. Right now you live in a state of constant anticipation, waiting for the event that will flip your child over the edge, attempting to time things just right to avoid a meltdown, wondering how long you’ll be able to stay at this year’s family gathering before you have to leave with a screaming child kicking and hitting you as you guide her through the door.
It will get better.
You’re exhausted. You don’t get enough sleep. You don’t get enough quiet. You don’t get enough time with friends. You don’t get enough time with you partner. You don’t get enough time with just yourself.
It will get better.
Guilt floods you as you threaten to cancel Christmas for the 5th year in a row. Guilt floods you as you wish the time away and just want your kids to be old enough that you can pee without an audience. Guilt floods you as you try one more parenting strategy that just isn’t helping. Guilt floods you as older moms and grandmas tell you to soak up these moments because kids grow all to quickly. Guilt floods you because sometimes you don’t like your kid. Guilt floods you because you yelled at them last night.
It will get better.
I know it’s hard to see beyond the current muck. I know it’s hard have hope. I’ve been there. I’m still there many days. And yet, I’ve also seen the better times.
Yesterday was Thanksgiving. My mom, aunt, brother, sister-in-law, 5 nieces and nephews, 3 children, husband and myself were all gathered around. The kids aged from 7-20 years old. A far cry from when they were all under 13. Repeatedly us adults commented on how quiet it was. How calm it was. How we could simply sit and eat without cutting up food and directing children. And the best part? My autistic 11 year old had absolutely no meltdowns. Not even a glimmer of one. She stayed and played cards with the family. We were there for 5 hours and left with smiles on our faces. It was the first time ever that we were the last to leave my mom’s home.
I have no guarantees how Christmas will go or next year or even the next 5 minutes, but I can tell you . . . it gets better.
I have sat and read a book undisturbed for an hour at a time. I have watched as my daughter took breaks and regulated herself. I have heard my children playing together and settling disagreements.
Not every day. Not all the time. But, it’s been better.
There’s hope. You will not be here forever. It sucks now. It’s ok to hate it right now. And it’s ok that you lose hope every once in a while, but on those days, remember this. Remember that there have been those parents who’ve gone before you. And we will hold the hope and strength for you. You aren’t alone. You can lean on us. And know . . .
It will get better.
Sincerely,
A mom who’s been there