A Mother's Struggle

Courtesy of Deviant Art

I first caught a glimpse of her sitting in her car. Her youngest was asleep in the back. As I approached, I noticed she was quietly crying. I hesitated not knowing what to do. Should I afford her her privacy and continue walking or stop and say hello?

I rapped on the window. She looked at me and laughed. She felt embarrassed having been caught. It didn’t matter what her heart had felt a moment before, all traces of anguish were now gone and she was smiling, trying to make me comfortable. I know that type of personality – the type that would do anything to make others feel at ease. I am the same.

“Hey, what's going on,” I quietly asked. I got in the passenger side of the car and kissed her hello.

“Oops! You caught me!” She wiped tears from her ruddy face and laughed. She clearly felt embarrassed. But we are friends and I knew that my gentle prodding would eventually lead to what I felt she most needed at the moment: an unburdening of a heavy heart.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, business as usual,” she shrugged as if to say, what else is new?

“The kids alright?”

She laughed that nervous laugh she uses to hide a multitude of uncomfortable things. “The kids? When are my kids alright?”

I smiled and waited for her to continue.

“I’m sorry. I just...you know, it gets to be too much sometimes, that’s all.”

“I know.”

“I usually don’t get like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” Again, she apologized.

“What’s wrong,” I softly inquired.

She was quiet for a moment looking out the window. Then, “I’m tired of the criticisms, that’s all. I’m tired of people judging and telling me that nothing’s wrong with my kids and that I’m the one that might be doing something wrong.”

“I think people sometimes find the truth to be too uncomfortable to deal with. So they live in denial,” I said.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t help me or my kids. Look, the truth is that I have special needs children. And don’t think I’m complaining because I’m not. I love them with all my heart and I wouldn’t trade one single one of them for one that was normal. Well, what others think is normal. To me, my kids are normal. That’s their normal, you know what I mean? I only wish others could see them and accept them as I do.”

I knew this to be a recurring problem for her and her husband with some members of the family and some friends. They would not – could not – accept that something might be wrong and instead judged on what they felt was their lack of proper parental skills. I confess that I too at times had paused to ponder but then all I had to do was spend one afternoon with her children and it would bring home the fact that indeed they were different and their problems posed a challenge.

“They have feelings. What people don’t seem to understand is that they have feelings. And many times I have to go home and deal with the fallout of why they are treated in such a way. They get taunted at school and come home crying. They shouldn't have to feel that with family members as well, you know? I’m not saying everyone does this, just a few people. They give them looks like they're some sort of errant children and make judgments in front of them where they can hear. They notice this. They’re getting older and they notice this. And it breaks my heart.”

“Why don’t you and your husband have a sit-down with the family and speak to them truthfully about what this is doing to them? I think if you let them know, they might be receptive. They love them and I don't think they realize they're hurting them. I think if they knew what they were doing, they would stop. I don't think they mean it intentionally, you know?”

“We’re tired of talking. It doesn't do any good. So we just don’t say anything anymore. And we've cut down on the family functions too. I have to protect my kids, you know?”

“I know,” was all I could say.

I felt for her. She might have well been a modern-day Hester but instead of the scarlet letter A written across her chest she was wearing UM for unfit mother. In her world, these are the letters she wears each day in constant judgment of her primary role in life which she does to the best of her ability, but not to the best of what others believe. As a mother, in the eyes of those that don't know her or her children's history, and even some that do, she has failed. It is something that she sees and hears, but it is something she does not do anything about. “I know what people say about me and I would be lying if I tell you it didn’t bother me or I didn’t care. But what can I do? People want to believe what they want to believe, so I let them. All I care about is my kids. They want to understand, fine; they don’t, that’s fine also. C’est la vie, right?”

How sad to live in constant judgment in front of others who have had the blessings of not ever having had to walk in her shoes; others who have raised their children without the constant problems/crisis she tackles on a daily basis (and they are serious); others who in their egos believe that they are better in their parental skills than she ever could be and if they were their children they would not have those problems. These are children with clinically-diagnosed problems and they have been to a multitude of doctors and all are in agreement. So those that judge are right then? Their emotional conclusions override professional conclusions?

I see their problems and my heart breaks to see them go through this. They are trying to be the best parents they can possibly be and are being pulled in so many different directions. Four children is a full plate when three pose a challenge. I sometimes wonder why they were chosen to carry such a tremendous weight. It is a life not for the faint of heart. A person whose belief in God resides strong in her heart, she once said to me that she believed she was chosen because God knew she could handle it. And, I have to say, she can. She is always cheery, has the energy of 20 people, and has the patience of Mother Teresa. So, to see her crying was something very out of the ordinary. But, then again, no matter how strong we are, we all have days where our strengths fail us. After all, we are human.

I, in my ego, sometimes would say to myself that I would talk to them in a softer voice to calm already frayed nerves. But, then, if I step outside of my ego, what do I see? I see myself also making judgments of something I have no right to make judgment on. Can I say if I lived in her shoes each and every day that I would have the benefit of being calm when the situation called for it? Each and every time? No. So who am I to judge?

Who are we to judge? It is a murky road indeed that we walk when we rush to opine without benefit of another's disclosure. What we see is never the whole. And while we hanker for our voice to be heard because the ego intervenes and feels it is right, we should, instead, stop from ever voicing any opinions and just witness. Witness with eyes truly open.

And this brings to mind that this world would be such a better place, such a more loving and accepting place, if we all listened with our hearts instead of our egos. The heart is never wrong because the heart is the truthful voice of the soul. Ego is its nemesis yet it is the one we often side with because it carries power and we like power. But perhaps it is time for each of us to let go of the gratuitous ego when facing a person whom we are ready to judge and allow our hearts to guide us instead.

To listen with empathy, to love unconditionally, to accept without judgment...let your heart be the voice of your soul.