"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all barriers within yourself that you have built against it." ~Rumi
The biggest barrier I keep butting my stubborn head against is fear.
Why do I have to take many really deep breaths when Anthony gets caught in an anxiety loop?
Fear.
That this will be his Life.
That I won't "succeed" at giving him what he needs to have the happy, wonderful Life he deserves.
That it all comes back to me.
Why does my anger flash so bright at Sophie when she questions why Anthony is so weird?
Fear.
That she speaks the truth.
That this will be HER Life.
That she will be defined by having this beautiful, challenging, challenged brother.
That her needs will slip through the cracks.
That I won't "succeed" at giving HER what she needs to be carefree and childlike.
Why do I stare at the ceiling in the middle of the night trying to solve yet another Anthony riddle?
Fear.
That I am not working enough to do the hard things in motherhood.
That I am expecting too much from him.
That I am not expecting enough from him.
Why do I have to fight the instinctual defensiveness when someone innocently asks "Why does Anthony do ________?"
Fear.
That they will see that I.don't.know.why.
That I will never know why.
That he will judge me for never figuring out why.
That the answer is right in front of me and I just can't see it.
Why do Chris and I keep nervously asking each other the magic questions. "Is it bad?" "How bad is it?" "How long has it been this bad?"
Fear.
That there will come a day where we don't feel like a team.
That this his obsession with this week's comfort won't go away.
That something worse will replace it.
That it could always get worse.
That we won't be able to handle worse.
In the dark, quiet of the winter solstice, all the fear fades. My deep, deep faith glows true.
Here are the things my children know:
Love.
That I adore them.
That I am honored to be their mother.
That their father is the love of my Life.
That there are no guarantees on this earth..
That it is ok to cry, but not to scream.
That there are people who love them dearly, but we will never see again.
That really sad, really scary things happen.
That we would do anything to keep them safe.
That I am willing to help them and keep helping them until we all figure it out.
That I will always listen.
That we don't need to name a problem before we try to make it better.
