Not My Deal, Really

This is not a new thought for me. In fact, the idea was first spoken to me when we still lived in Grand Rapids, MI so the kids would’ve had to have been younger than 3 and 2 years old. And I’m reminded of it now and then. I was recently reminded of it when I was belly-aching about how tough life is for ME.

Oh, brother.

Seriously. It was a day when things seemed especially difficult: I am still doing some of the things that all my friends stopped doing when their kids left the “baby stage;” I am having to carry all these supplies everywhere I go when others only have to remember to grab their kids; I am frustrated and sad that I couldn’t figure out what my daughter was trying to tell me. You get the picture. Just all of a sudden one day I was tired and frustrated and thought my life was so much worse than everyone else’s. I was mourning and fighting that I have such a load to carry. How could I carry on? Poor ME!!

And then I was reminded. This thing — this life, these disabilities, these hardships — are not unique and they aren’t mine. They aren’t mine.

When I remember that I’m just the one supporting my children with disability labels, I also remember that this whole deal is really their deal. They are the ones who really have to carry it. Chloe is the one who is stuck inside a body that doesn’t work like she wants it to work. Zippy is the one whose behaviors are so often out of his control, and then he’s stuck with the hurt that his actions have caused his loved ones. They are the ones who live everyday and every moment with their disability.

It puts it in perspective and helps me not get wrapped up and warped up into thinking it’s all about me and about being the mom of a child with disabilities. Ummmmm, no. It’s not about me. It’s about them, and it’s theirs.

Don’t get me wrong, parenting a child with disabilities is lots of work. It is work that takes over your life, mandates your every plan, highjacks every conversation, and monopolizes nearly every thought. True.

But it does me some good when I remember that it’s not about me. It’s about her. It’s about him. And it’s my job to support them in the very best ways I can. And I need to care for myself so that I have enough energy and emotion left to spend on them. But it’s really and truly about them.

It’s not mine. And it’s not about me. So I’m choosing to get over myself and get back to work.

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2 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by tracylcarpenter on April 24, 2013 at 2:49 PM

    Touche’ Love. But YOU are thier voice and YOU are the one who does ALMOST EVERYTHING the MAJORITY. So have your party, cry if you want to. Big damn deal. I couldn’t bego=in to walk in your shoes. Thats why I love you and respect you.I continue to meet those who can not hold up under the pressure. Just recently a woman I work with. My heart breaks for her. I want to tell her SOOO bad you don’t have to drink alone at the bar, you don’t have to party like a mad woman when the oppurtunity arises. I want to tell her to be active to be her childs voice. But I can’t. I want to tell here God still loves her. I want to tell her that her child WAS NOT a tradegy. I want to tell her your voice to worship Christ WILL


  2. Posted by tracylcarpenter on April 24, 2013 at 2:52 PM

    i am not sure if you got my comment but if you did, the last thing I wanted to tell her was “I wish you could meet my friend Kelly. I wish you could be her “


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