When you have a child with ADHD or any set of initials that will follow him through life, you learn yourself anew. You find tiny triumphs and grasp them tightly, hold them high like the trophy he deserves. But you also learn exhaustion in a whole new way. His need is such that finding space to breathe is a luxury, that remembering yourself without him is harder and harder, that finding ten minutes to lift a weight, to type, to read, is a pleasure that holds you through the day. It has to.
When you have a child who struggles, you sometimes neglect the one who doesn't. The sibling who still needs but not as stridently. The sister who reaches out through tears and anger and kindness, trying to be seen. It's easy to divert your focus. To say, she is fine, will be fine, will land on her feet, is strong. It's easy not to see that she is hurting too.
When you have a child who is so close to your heart that it seems he lives there, it's easy to forget you have a husband who remembers who you were before. Who needs your time, your thoughts, your dreams as well.
How do you work it out?
How do you balance?
How do you choose who loses?
Each day is a question of losses and wins, and trial and error, of so many failures and forgotten triumphs.
Each day is a chance to hug and love and laugh, and remember joy.
I can not promise I have enough to go around, just that each day I will offer what I have to give, remembering, as I do, to save a piece for me as well.
