Miracles and madness
It's just another Manic Monday... or is it?
This morning I sat with bunches of pillows tucked under my back and legs as I both recovered from a spine who refuses to behave and a night that refused to end… until it did… only to leave me analyzing how to best support my wild child. Again.
Life is real. And the journey of loving a child with an anxiety disorder can be extra real. While I wouldn’t call today a Manic Monday (cue the 1986 song by The Bangles that played every Monday of my youth), I would say it’s been a day to reflect on miracles and madness. Tomorrow, my book releases. Our book. I wrote it in minimal health several years back and worked through both edits and design details with everything from less-than-functioning limbs, neck or spine (thanks to Ehlers Danlos) to melanoma to epic migraines that made me want the Return of Christ to happen yesterday.
But it didn’t - and so here we both are!
And so here will be my book, also.
Something I really want to ponder with you today is this quote by Kimberley Quinlan, an epic therapist, speaker, podcaster, and Anxiety Toolkit maker.
So often when we (parent, grandparent, caregiver) look at the lives we lead, the focus could be on our personal fatigue. I know I’ve tangoed with this thought a time or ten! It can be truly exhausting to be the person who loves the person who struggles. Yet, the magnitude of their struggle is far greater than that which we see.
For example, I am the one holding the crying child because her friends think “I’m so OCD,” and “I have OCD, too!” are ways to bond and connect - perhaps from adult example, or perhaps from the desire to fit in… even if that box isn’t their own. And while I might shed tears (and do), it’s not the same as being the one who is experiencing the actual suffering.
I get to know this because I’ve been on the other end. My husband has held me countless times as I myself have cried. My “box” sucks, to be quite honest. There is a special kind of exhaustion from coping with a disease that keeps on giving.
Bliss and I both experience dis-ease.
I want you to know that when I wrote Bliss & Blue, I didn’t write it for me.
Yes, it gave me insight into miracles in madness. Yet, it’s not my story. It could be considered ours - for sure. But mostly, it’s hers. Her story of how a bunny named Blue came in perfect timing… as the world could not handle our Bliss and our Bliss could not handle the world… and we were stuck between therapies and home for quite a length of time.
I was uncomfortable in this season.
Have you experienced something similar?
P.S. You’ll see me in your inbox again tomorrow with our Bliss & Blue announcement! This isn’t typical. So, I don’t want you to be surprised (wink). Really though. When was the last time I posted regularly? Yet, spring is springing up… and with it my willingness to do so, loves.
It’s about time I clear a patch for you and I to sit down, kick off our shoes, and do life together, beautiful humans. It’s about time.