from another blog…...

welcome to the club – evolved
// a diary of a mom

In May of 2009, I wrote a post that would, in many ways, come to define Diary. It has been shared around the world, reprinted in more languages than I can count, appears in two anthologies, and, in a slightly edited version, will soon debut in the inaugural issue of Zoom Magazine.
When I looked at it recently in order to edit it for Zoom, I realized that it was missing something. Something big.
So for the first time since 2009, I’ve changed it.
Because it matters.
A lot.
And everything, no matter how seemingly immovable, is subject to evolution.
Thank God.
The amendment is in bold and plum. Can’t miss it.
-
My dear friend,
I am so sorry for your pain.
Don’t worry; no one else sees it, I promise. To the rest of the world, you’re fine. But when you’ve been there, you can’t miss it.
I see it in your eyes. That awful, combustible mixture of heart-wrenching pain and abject fear. God, I remember the fear.
I see it in the weight of that invisible cloak that you wear. I remember the coarseness of its fabric on my skin. Like raw wool in the middle of the desert. You see, it was mine for a time.
I never would have wanted to pass it on to you, my love. I remember so well suffocating under the weight of it, struggling for breath, fighting to throw it off while wrapping myself in its awful warmth, clutching its worn edges for dear life.
I know that it feels like it’s permanent, fixed. But one day down the line you will wake up and find that you’ve left it next to the bed. Eventually, you’ll hang it in the closet. You’ll visit it now and then. You’ll try it on for size. You’ll run your fingers over the fabric and remember when you lived in it, when it was constant, when you couldn’t take it off and leave it behind. But soon days will go by before you wear it again, then weeks, then months.
I know you are staring down what looks to be an impossibly steep learning curve. I know it looks like an immovable mountain. It is not. I know you don’t believe me, but step by step you will climb until suddenly, without warning, you will look down. You will see how far you’ve come. You’ll breathe. I promise. You might even be able to take in the view.
You will doubt yourself. You won’t trust your instincts right away. You will be afraid that you don’t have the capacity to be what your baby will need you to be. Worse, you’ll think that you don’t even know what she needs you to be. You do. I promise. You will.
When you became a mother, you held that tiny baby girl in your arms and in an instant, she filled your heart. You were overwhelmed with love. The kind of love you never expected. The kind that knocks the wind out of you. The kind of all-encompassing love that you think couldn’t possibly leave room for any other. But it did.
When your son was born, you looked into those big blue eyes and he crawled right into your heart. He made room for himself, didn’t he? He carved out a space all his own. Suddenly your heart was just bigger. And then again when your youngest was born. She made herself right at home there too.
That’s how it happens. When you need capacity you find it. Your heart expands. It just does. It’s elastic. I promise.
You are so much stronger than you think you are. Trust me. I know you. Hell, I am you.
You will find people in your life who get it and some that don’t. You’ll find some that want to get it and some that never will. You’ll find a closeness with people you never thought you had anything in common with. You’ll find comfort and relief with friends who speak your new language. You’ll find your village.
You’ll change. One day you’ll notice a shift. You’ll realize that certain words have dropped out of your lexicon. The ones you hadn’t ever thought could be hurtful. Dude, that’s retarded. Never again. You won’t laugh at vulnerability. You’ll see the world through a lens of sensitivity. The people around you will notice. You’ll change them too.
You will learn to ask for help. You’ll have to. It won’t be easy. You’ll forget sometimes. Life will remind you.
You will read more than you can process. You’ll buy books that you can’t handle reading. You’ll feel guilty that they’re sitting by the side of the bed unopened. Take small bites. The information isn’t going anywhere. Let your heart heal. It will. Breathe. You can.
You will blame yourself. You’ll think you missed signs you should have seen. You’ll be convinced that you should have known. That you should have somehow gotten help earlier. You couldn’t have known. Don’t let yourself live there for long.
You will dig deep and find reserves of energy you never would have believed you had. You will run on adrenaline and crash into dreamless sleep. But you will come through it. I swear, you will. You will find a rhythm.
You will neglect yourself. You will suddenly realize that you haven’t stopped moving. You’ve missed the gym. You’ve taken care of everyone but you. You will forget how important it is to take care of yourself. Listen to me. If you hear nothing else, hear this. You MUST take care of yourself. You are no use to anyone unless you are healthy. I mean that holistically, my friend. HEALTHY. Nourished, rested, soul-fed. Your children deserve that example.
A friend will force you to take a walk. You will go outside. You will look at the sky. Follow the clouds upward. Try to find where they end. You’ll need that. You’ll need the air. You’ll need to remember how small we all really are.
You will question your faith. Or find it. Maybe both.
You will never, ever take progress for granted. Every milestone met, no matter what the timing, will be cause for celebration. Every baby step will be a quantum leap. You will find the people who understand that. You will revel in their support and love and shared excitement.
You will encounter people who care for your child in ways that restore your faith in humanity. You will cherish the teachers and therapists and caregivers who see past your child’s challenges and who truly understand her strengths. They will feel like family.
You will examine and re-examine every one of your own insecurities. You will recognize some of your child’s challenges as your own. You will get to know yourself as you get to know your child. You will look to the tools you have used to mitigate your own challenges. You will share them. You will both be better for it.
You will come to understand that there are gifts in all of this. Tolerance, compassion, understanding. Precious, life altering gifts.
You will worry about your other children. You will feel like you’re not giving them enough time. You will find the time. Yes, you will. No, really. You will. You will discover that the time that means something to them is not big. It’s not a trip to the circus. It doesn’t involve planning. It’s free. You will forget the dog and pony shows. Instead, you will find fifteen minutes before bed. You will close the door. You will sit on the floor. You’ll play Barbies with your daughter or Legos with your son. You’ll talk. You’ll listen. You’ll listen some more. You’ll start to believe they’ll be OK. And they will. You will be a better parent for all of it.
You will find the tools that you need. You will take bits and pieces of different theories and practices. You’ll talk to parents and doctors and therapists. You’ll take something from each of them. You’ll even find value in those you don’t agree with at all. Sometimes the most. From the scraps that you gather, you will start to build your child’s quilt. A little of this, a little of that, a lot of love.
You will speak hesitantly at first, but you’ll find your voice. You will come to see that no one knows your child better than you do. You will respectfully listen to the experts in each field. You will value their experience and their knowledge. But you will ultimately remember that while they are the experts in science, you are the expert in your child.
You will find an exception to that rule. A life-changing, delicious exception.
You will discover a world of both peers and adults who share your child’s unique wiring. You will come to rely on their invaluable insight as you make your way forward. You will discover that they are part of a rich, vibrant, beautiful community that awaits her with open arms and open hearts. You will be buoyed by their very existence, by the palpable relief of understanding that your baby is not and will not be alone on this journey. 
You will think you can’t handle this. You will be wrong.
This is not an easy road, but its rewards are tremendous. It’s joys are the very sweetest of life’s nectar. You will drink them in and taste and smell and feel every last drop of them.
You will be OK.
You will help your sweet girl be far better than OK. You will show her boundless love. She will know that she is accepted and cherished and celebrated for every last morsel of who she is. She will know that her Mama’s there at every turn. She will believe in herself as you believe in her. She will astound you. Over and over and over again. She will teach you far more than you teach her. She will fly.
You will be OK.
And I will be here for you. Every step of the way.
With love,

Jess

The Language of Love

The 5 Love Languages for Children

Last week someone loaned me this book: The 5 Love Languages of Children by Gary Chapman and Ross Campbell. I’ve been impressed, and I will share what I’ve gleaned from this very readable, practical and loving little gem of a book. It is helpful for parents of typical children, and may be especially useful for children with special needs.

The 5 Love Languages are physical touch, words of affirmation, quality time, gifts, and acts of service. While all of them are important, usually, after age 5, one of them becomes primary. Before age 5, use them all generously. Most of us love our children, but sometimes they do not feel our unconditional love. And perhaps it is because we are not showing them our love behaviorally in their primary language. Sometimes, even when we don’t feel loving because of stress, work, a fight with spouse, or any number of other reasons, we can still behave lovingly.

Let’s take them one at a time and I’ll give you some examples from the book, as well as my life and clinical practice with children.

Physical Touch: Hugging, stroking their hair, rubbing their back, playful wrestling, piggy back rides or rides on shoulders, kissing hello and good bye, holding hands, snuggle while watching a movie, allowing or encouraging children to sit on your lap. These are just a few. I’m sure you can think of more.

One of the problems with a child who has touch as a primary love language and doesn’t get it, is that s/he may seek it elsewhere inappropriately. 

And there are children with sensory issues who do not like touch. With them, it is important to respect that and at the same time, find some tolerable way to give them a little. A mother told me once that her daughter really was averse to physical touch. Yet when they watched movies, especially on her computer they would touch their heads together and it felt like the sweetest thing in the world. 

If as a parent you are uncomfortable with touch and your child’s primary love language is touch, it will be important to find some way to touch your child at least once a day and build up from there. It can also be helpful to touch your own skin, rubbing your arm gently, and your shoulders and even your ankle and legs. That will help you become more comfortable with touch.

Words of Affirmation: Telling them something specific that they did and that you really appreciated; putting a word of encouragement or a compliment in their lunchbox, or frame a child’s drawing telling them why it means so much to you. If you have to be out of town, write a note for every day you are away letting the child know you are thinking of them. Be specific with praise (not “what a great picture”.....but rather,  “I love the red in that picture”, or “I get the feeling of movement from how you drew that...how did you do that?” Put a long sheet of butcher paper on the back of their bedroom door and write something complimentary every day about what your child did or said. These words become like deposits in an emotional bank of sorts. And when the going gets rough the child can go to the bank and remember/feel the praise and beautiful effort that the parent recognized and put into words. That can provide emotional support in a dark time.

Quality Time is just what it says: spending time with your undivided attention on your child, talking, laughing, playing. The book has 2 pages of suggestions if you need some ideas. In my practice, I usually recommend scheduled, regular quality time with each child every week. The child will look forward to it and it becomes like sacred time, especially if there is more than one child at home. But even for only children, this time with undivided attention is invaluable. I did this with my daughter for years. It was not an easy task to not use the phone or computer, to not fit in a load of laundry, or to not let anything else get in the way of that 30 minutes once a week. I know she loved it and felt closer to me, but I was amazed at how much closer I felt to her. Actually the first time we did it, a lot of anger came out. She was aggressive with the toys. I asked what she was angry about and it all came tumbling out. It was mostly about the divorce, going back and forth, and how much busier I was. I was able to hear and listen in a way that I hadn’t done as well previously. It became a lovely ritual for us. And in my office, a father told me that when he took his son to the park, he was annoyed that his son kept asking him to play with him. He wanted him to go off and play with the other children. But with some reflection, he could see his son wanted to play with HIM, not anyone else.

Gifts: At first I bristled against this idea. I don’t want children to become entitled or expect gifts constantly. But what I got from this is that sometimes gifts make a child feel special, loved and seen, especially when given unexpectedly. I had a mother who bought her child a small gift every payday. The child loved the gifts and it made her feel loved. You can find a feather and wrap it up or present it in a special box, or gather a bouquet of wild flowers, or dedicate a song to him/her, or buy tickets to a concert that you know h/she will love, or create a treasure hunt with a map to the treasure. It is the surprise of the gift and the knowing what the child likes, that will deepen the love bond between parent and child. There’s nothing like feeling seen!

Acts of Service: One mother told me the best thing she could do for her children was make them a sandwich. Acts of service are times when we do things for our children that we don’t normally do for them, like cleaning their room or doing a chore that is usually theirs. It is also helpful to do acts of service in the community together, like volunteering at a soup kitchen, or donating toys to a shelter.

You have to watch your child carefully to discover which one is their primary love language. Sometimes you can give your child a choice of how to spend time together, offering two from different categories and see which they prefer. For example, “I have some free time tonight. Would you rather watch a movie and snuggle on the couch or go buy you a new pair of tennis shoes?” (Quality time, with physical touch tucked in there, or a gift.)

I highly recommend the book. Speaking your child’s love language can help your child receive on a deeper level the love you have to give.