Diagnosis

The post that spawned a blog.

No one talks about the things we fail

IMG_20180403_111431Since having Reece it’s become so clear to me just how different it is with Ella, and that If I didn’t have Ella first I would have no idea just how different it could be.
These feelings caught me completely by surprise. It’s almost like it made me mourn all over again, and also lit a fire to work harder for her.
I think it should be talked about, loud and clear.

Special needs mum depression.
No one talks about it, no one wants to admit to it.
We’re supposed to be these *warrior mums* “#strength”
we get accolades of ‘you’re so strong’ and ‘I don’t know how you do it’ the brave face and smile you get in return, is usually combined with an embarrassed shrug.
Sometimes I want to scream NO, I’m not.. I’m not different, I’m not strong. I’m just like you, or… I used to be at least.
It’s not like a strength switch gets flipped when she got a diagnosis.

There’s an endless parade of specialists and teachers and doctors telling you what your child can and can’t achieve.
There’s always congratulations when achievements are made, she can say mum, she can walk, she can undress herself (mostly)
We don’t talk about the fight to get there, how long it takes for the smallest of milestones.

No one talks about the things we fail at, the year we’ve spent on saying ‘seven’ , the 2 years on eating with a fork, the 3 years spent on toileting, or the 4 years on self harm. None of these things achieved yet, and I brush myself off each day and try, and try, and try. Some days I give up and think what’s the bloody point? But the next day… we try again.

No one talks about the embarrassment I feel when my child is hitting/biting herself in public.
No one talks about the multiple mornings a week I need to change her sheets because she’s split her lip and bled everywhere again, or vomited again.
No one talks about the nights spent on Google, trying to find a new way to tackle a certain goal.
No one talks about the constant worry about the future, who will look after her when I’m gone.
No one talks about the sleepless nights worrying what it’s going to be like when she’s 10, or 16, or 21 and still behaving the same.
No one talks about the ignorant comments “what’s wrong with her?!” or “have you tried *thing so obvious of course we’ve tried* or *thing that wouldn’t work in a million years*
No one talks about the times spent crying in the shower feeling small and useless.
Most of the time, I’m just scared.

And I get, I really do. It’s not what people want to share. It’s not how I want people to see me. It’s not comfortable to talk about, I don’t even know if I’ll ever share this.

We don’t talk about these things because it feels ‘weak’
Because we worry what people will think.
Because we worry it sounds like we don’t love our kids with everything we have.
And mostly
Because we get judged heavily for every little thing we do as it is.

6 thoughts on “The post that spawned a blog.”

  1. It’s knowing the struggle you’ve had , knowing how much easier it would be to give up , knowing that tears and feeling like you’re not doing your best is an everyday thing for you in your struggle to do the best with what has fallen onto you just because ….. it’s because I know all this that I admire you Mel …. you’ve chosen to be strong under the most difficult of circumstances and you continue to be that person who will fight for her child to have the best life possible !!!
    Love you sweetheart 💕💕🌈

    Liked by 1 person

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