Exhale

Writing. It’s like exhaling. Sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly…but either way, it’s an attempt at letting go of what I’m holding in. I’ve been avoiding writing lately. Because it’s hard. And it requires me to go ‘there’. You know, the place with all the feels.

And then, I’ll spend a lot of time crying. And I just don’t even feel like I have the energy to recover from that right now.

Life is hard. Being an adult is hard. Being a kid with multiple mental health diagnoses is hard. Being his mom…is hard.

It’s also beautiful. And energizing. And enlightening. And hilarious. Filled with much joy. But the truth is…it’s also full of so much heart ache. And hard aches. And lately, we’ve had a lot of both.

This is life parenting a child with a mood disorder. It’s up and it’s down and it’s all the things in between.

Mostly, it’s unpredictable. It’s day to day. And many days, it’s actually moment to moment. Listen, life is that way…I get it. We never know what’s going to happen. But parenting a child with such swings in state of mind, such highs and lows…well, it leaves you exhausted. Never fully able to let go of a long and slow exhale. You know, really…I think so many of the days are more about sucking all the air in around me and forgetting to let it back out. And when I do, it’s in short, stoccato bursts. So if I’m feeling that way, uneasy, unsure, and uncertain about what comes next…can you imagine what he’s feeling?

Today is one of those days that I just wonder why it has to be so hard. For him. For me. I look up, I get angry, and I ask God, ‘why?’ Why bestow such a heavy burden on such small of a boy? Why make him trudge through life, constantly trying to find ways to relieve his heaviness? W-H-Y?

I really, I hate this question. The ‘why’ question. It serves no true and pure purpose. Because me knowing why doesn’t allow me to solve it.

Perhaps this is the most asked question in the world, is it not? About anything and everything? Why this? Why that? As if having the reasons and the answers can turn back time and make it not so?

I think I hate this question not only because I ask it too much, with no hope of an answer, but also because so many ask it of me. Teachers. Coaches. Friends. Family.

“Why would he do that?”

“Why is he so upset?”

“Why can’t he just be happy?’

“Why would he try and harm himself?”

“Why would someone so young feel so sad?”

 

Why, why, why.

 

I don’t know. This is the answer. It’s insufficient. It’s frustrating. But it is the only answer I have. I’m learning to try and let go of the why, because it serves no purpose. It only serves to make my mind turn on its axis over and over and over until my head hurts.

Times have been hard recently. He is struggling. And the first thing I, and many others, ask is ‘why’?

Exhale.

Why does the sadness take such a tight grip on this boy?

Exhale.

Why does he sob and sob and sob in the car, most days before swim practice?

Exhale.

When he’s hurting so, why does he curl up in his closet and shut the door?

Exhale.

Why does he grab his head, with mangled and tense hands, as if it’s being ripped apart and he’s trying to hold it together?

Exhale.

Why won’t he talk to me?

Exhale.

Why does he hold so much in?

Exhale.

Why?

Exhale.

Some days…it’s all I can do.

Close my eyes. Fill my lungs with pure air. And slowly…

E X H A L E.