The Gift of the Quiet Victories

The words in this post are my heart's response to stories that are not my own to tell...and therefore, it will be intentionally vague. Because my kids' lives are not my own.

But, in the same breath, I must acknowledge that my kids are my life.

Like it or not, their worlds collectively define mine. Which means that I cannot help but cradle their hopes and dreams and struggles and fears in my heart in a way that fuses them with my own.

Many days, my heart has (and will) try to leap out of me and attempt to run after them, aching, breaking, with the desire to rescue them from their anxieties or fix their fears or find a way to make the big wide world a more gentle place for them to tred. My brain knows that they must (and will), find their own unique way to navigate this inflexible and unforgiving world, but my heart...my heart will always hate the parts of this world that demand an arbitrary standard of "normalcy" from my brilliant loves who absolutely defy the very idea of such normalcy.

My heart feels my children's deep wells of sensitivity being stirred as they themselves begin to grasp, to experience, the rigidity of what the world expects that they "should" and "shouldn't" be. My heart bows in two as they express their fears of failure and embarrassment, fears that already threaten to steal their joy. That word, embarrassment...it comes up so very often. And every time it does, I ache to heal the wounds it leaves. But I can't.

In response, my heart loathes the bruises of every word of misunderstanding that has been (and will ever be) spoken. It loathes the expectation of "necessary" conformity which, in its own way, creates a continually shrinking space in which my loves can showcase the immense and unbelievable variety of beauty and strength that they possess.

In being their mother--and hence, in needing to become the first line of defense in expertise and passionate advocacy for their conditions--I have been placed at the edge of the great divide: what is easy for others, what is a standard expectation for their peers, might never be easy, might always be an uphill battle, might never be a met expectation, for my loves. 

But this hyper-awareness of the world's "standards" versus my own "adjusted expectations" has also allowed me an extremely gradual, yet profoud shift in perspective, from what they maybe "can't" be to who they fully are. Who they were created to be all along. It is allowing me to slowly let go of the ideals of a parent living by the words of a textbook in order to become the parent I'm supposed to be: their parent. And in that, I am learning that along with every challenge we face also comes the opportunity for an immense gift.

You see, I am discovering that I get to experience the kind of intensely overwhelming victory that many other parents never will. I get to feel the kind of soul-wrenching pride that comes from a place of knowing that the "easiest" of milestones might not ever happen, and then watching the miraculous victory unfold. Often, it is a quiet victory that for others would make not one ripple. But even if the casual observer could never guess the magnitude of what just happened, it registers as a 10 on the Richter scale of hopes that we almost dared not hope. 

I get to shake my head in amazement at an incredibly mature conversation (a conversation once diverted at every opportunity) that reveals my child's acknowledgement of the greatest of fears and the desire to try to overcome them. 

I get to rejoice in the knowledge that a whispered song in mixed company is so much more monumental than the greatest American Idol win. 

I get to choke back tears as I hear and see the five page book that held so much uncertainty being sounded out with perfect diction and clarity. 

Together, we get to celebrate the realization of triumphs never actually promised to us, and treasure the fact that what looks like a tiny step is really a thrilling accomplishment that lights up our collective world, that bolsters our shared hope, that gently encourages the next step. 

Even though my heart still wishes--every day, multiple times a day--that it could remove the trials and smooth the paths and do the hard parts for them, I am presented over and over again with the opportunity to check my own "adjusted" expectations and say to myself, "of course they did it! Of course." 

And in turn, I can say to them, as their cheerleader:

"Yes, you can do it! I absolutely believe you can."

Because aside from the expert and the advocate, that's the most imporant thing they need me to be for them: the one to remind them (and myself) that neither my expectations nor those of the world can define the course they're meant for, or dictate the mission God has created them for. No victory will ever be too small to celebrate, and no horizon ever too broad for us to set our sights upon--together.

The ups and downs will continue daily (hourly), as always. But for now, we can officially dub this a week of quiet, teary-eyed victories.

And so today--heart and soul--we celebrate.