Recently, my son has encountered something - we don't know what - that has sent his sense of self, safety and security reeling. He feels helpless, alone and scared. And he is making every waking moment of our life as a family close to unbearable. As the queen of fixing, I have tried everything - speaking to teachers and after school staff, trying to find ways to talk to Max about what he is feeling, creating a more detailed schedule for him to follow in hopes that knowing "what comes next" will help him feel more secure. I have prayed. I have cried. And I have lost my patience with him more times than I can count.
I am spent.
In my journey as a mom, I continually bump up against my inability to "do" anything. The hardest thing for me is to just be present to his pain, without trying to change it. Any mother would much rather get sick so her child doesn't or take on the pain so that don't have to. It's the protective instinct that makes us charge full speed ahead, without always reflecting.
Compassionate detachment is what I am encouraged to embrace. Can I love him fully and be present to this opportunity for him to grow? In surrendering am I able to recognize that I am open to the mystery of what he is going through? The early years were so occupied by physical needs - it was about basic survival. But we are moving into a new land as a family as Max confronts new obstacles that are not physical but are emotional and spiritual. Everyday I become more and more aware that my son is his own person.
I am continually challenged: when do I hold on, and when do I let go?
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