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Taking a Sad Song, Making it Better

~ Discovering joy amid pain

Taking a Sad Song, Making it Better

Tag Archives: FASD

Resting in the Stillness After Personal Struggle

03 Tuesday Apr 2018

Posted by purdywords in Acceptance, Ash Wednesday, Blessings, Catholic Parenting, Change, Childhood Mood Disorders, Family life, Forgiveness, Journaling, Lent, Love, Motherhood, Parenting, Parenting a Child with Special Needs, Past, Peace, Personal Challenges, Personal health, Perspective, Prayer, Prayers, Rest, Seasons, Stress & Anxiety, Suffering, Thankfulness, Tough days, Truth of Heart

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Anxiety, Catholic Parenting, Challenges, Change, Childhood mood disorders, Family time, FASD, Forgiveness, Hope, Inner peace, Inspiration, Lent 2018, Life lessons, Living intentionally, Love, Motherhood, Parenting, Parenting a child with special needs, Peace, Personal growth, Personal Sacrifices, Perspective, Prayer, Silence, Simple Living, Simplicity, Slowing down, Stillness, The Past, Transitions, Truth, Writing

Silence, I learned, is some times the most beautiful sound.” 
― Charlotte Eriksson

“Slowly, simply, silence, stillness” was my Lenten mantra, my focus, my goal for the 40 days between Ash Wednesday and Easter morning. A lofty goal, yes. Yet, I was convinced this intentional journey would yield the peaceful rewards I was seeking in my personal life. Of all my Lenten fasts, in comparison to all my past sacrifices, in judging the level of self-denial I’ve deliberately imposed on myself, this year’s “halt of self” has been the most challenging in refinement of my mind, body, and spirit.

Do you trust the silence? Or, are you a skeptic of stillness, like I tend to be?

Have you found a way to rest in the stillness? Do you ever allow yourself the chance to rest your weary mind and bones?

Do you welcome in the peace? Or, are you prone to catastrophising out of innate fear?

Have you lived out loud, with joy and freedom from the chains of your mind? Or, do you lurk along in misery, always waiting for the other shoe to drop?

The last three years, for me, have felt like an ultra-marathon, filled with hills and valleys of tears, running at a snail’s pace, feeling completely lost and unprepared for the race set before me, as I carried a weighted pack on my shoulders, trudging through mud, falling down too many times that I’ve lost track. Over the last few weeks, I have seen the finish line in sight and I’m eager, yet still so apprehensive, to finish the race and rest in the notion that the biggest fight of my life thus far, is finally done. I am having a difficult time accepting that the grueling miles I’ve run have amounted to much more than having run a race I was thrown into, without adequate preparation. Now that my desperate pleas and prayers seem to be answered, it’s difficult to switch gears to a place where it’s time to rest, recuperate, recover from the incredible feat I have just accomplished, emotionally.

For so very long now, I have carried that burdensome cross of mothering a struggling child without a compass, my headlamp dimmed, my resolve shaken and trampled on. Yet, here I rise. The truth is the only way I’ve survived the mountainous terrain of my parenting journey is that I’m finally allowing myself to let go of control. Though fears still grapple me with super-human strength, I am diligent in practicing how to breathe through them, pray through them, write through them, and further unloading them in dialogue with my amazing therapist, trying to leave them in that space between us, not letting them drag me to the floor once I return home.

I’ve practiced a lot of self-forgiveness as I’ve fallen flat on my face and the need to forgive and seek forgiveness will remain a focus in my life. Despite my missteps and mistakes, I can recognize that I am loving as best I can today, and have let those circumstances, hardships, and some relationships to just be, freely flying away to where they need to go—even if that means far away from me where I can no longer enact any type of chance to insert my will, my advice, my vision, or my control.

The most humbling lesson I’ve learned in the last three years is that it’s okay, preferable, actually, to let go of perfection and preconceived notions, allowing God to do His job, and to just love—myself, others, my family, strangers, my friends, and enemies—right where I am and right where they are, without expectation nor conditions to that love. Truth be told, it’s a difficult, often heart-wrenching choice, challenge, and cross to bear going on in love when you feel so beaten down and defeated by the compounding hardships of life. But, going on in love and patience, staying mindful to live each day as best as I can, choosing better than before, these new choices and changes only feel strange and unnatural for a time before the transformative lightness is shining from deep within my heart, mind, and soul, changing me for the better.

Slowly, simply, silence, stillness. This has been my Lenten focus and will remain my prayerful path going into the Easter season and throughout the remainder of this year. Hoping for heartfelt and mindful changes for you, me, and the world abound. Be at peace, friends.

“Whenever there is stillness there is the still small voice, God’s speaking from the whirlwind, nature’s old song, and dance…” 
― Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk: Expeditions and Encounters

From Darkness to Light

07 Monday Sep 2015

Posted by purdywords in Adoption, Attachment parenting, Catholic Parenting, Change, Childhood Mood Disorders, Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD), Forgiveness, Parenting, Parenting a Child with Special Needs, Writing Goals

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#FASDAwareness, Adoption, Catholic Parenting, Change, Childhood mood disorders, Crosses to bear, FASD, Joy and Pain, Motherhood stories, Parenting, Writing, Writing therapy

“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.” 
― Albert Camus

When tragedy falls upon us, how do we respond? When tremendous joy is off-set by excruciating trials, which wins over your heart? When your faith in God is tested daily and you feel your mind darkening and your heart hardening, how do you bring yourself back to a place of light and peace?

Lake Michigan's rocky shore.

Lake Michigan’s rocky shore.


These are the challenges of my current days. This year has been filled with the joy of welcoming a newborn son—the most joyful, sweet boy, and the pain of The Girl’s myriad of disorders, special needs, and past traumas affecting her ability to function in a normal place—one far away from our loving reach. My silence on this blog is time spent away caring for my family in a way I never imagined I would have to do, facing enormous decisions that debilitate me on my strongest days, and inviting forgiveness and healing into my heart and home, often, on a moment-to-moment basis.

Always in the back of my mind is my  commitment to writing and what’s pulling me away from my writing goals. So, I’m figuring out a way I can continue to write about this whole mess of a year–wading in the murk and turmoil, despite the incredible challenges, changes, and triumphs, amidst the melancholic tragedies–and trying to not forget or dismiss the golden moments, too. My hope is that I can discover a new way to write it all down in order that my words will count for something and resonate with a kindred spirit living a similar dichotomy of joy and pain; that my wordy reflections bring about peace and hope, shedding light and love back into the world.

Sunset on Lake Michigan

Sunset on Lake Michigan

Born to Write

10 Saturday Jan 2015

Posted by purdywords in Motherhood, Parenting, Writing, Writing routine

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Change, Crosses to bear, FASD, Motherhood stories, New Year's Resolutions, Snow day, Writing

“If a story is in you, it has to come out.” ~ William Faulkner

Remember my little blog post last week about setting and keeping writing resolutions for the new year? Well, 2015 got off to a rough start. A family member was in the hospital. Wicked weather caused us to have two snow days the week the kids returned from Christmas Break. The Girl’s incessant inability to self-regulate her moods equaled a string of rough days turned into even worse nights wrought with constant monitoring, counseling, and emotional drainage for all of us to deal with and decompress from. To cap off the hectic week, Baby Girl suddenly became stricken with a stomach bug yesterday afternoon not five minutes after I left her and The Boy with a brand-new babysitter so I could get The Girl to a much-needed appointment with her therapist. Although the worst, I hope, is over, I’m still in care-taking mode.

How many words did I actually write this first week of the new year, you ask? Not many, but some. More than I thought I would get done given the upheaval around here, to be truthful. I’ll take that as a victory despite the fact my good intentions and scheduled writing time were thrown out the window.

On a brighter note, today I’m able to make up for last week’s lost writing time. Since I’m (gladly) stuck at home caring for my sweet baby, (it’s freezing outside anyway), I’m writing at a leisurely pace and have already logged well over my daily word count goal!  Additionally, I’ve been able to research upcoming writing contests and submission guidelines for a few pieces I’m intent on polishing for possible (hopeful!) publication.  The Girl is with her caring and capable respite provider all day, so the lack of chaos is helping me to think more clearly even with a head foggy due to lack of sleep from staying up with Baby Girl throughout the night.

This is life–chaotic, unpredictable, often cold and tiring. Much of the same can be attributed to the motherhood journey, personally. I’m learning to live, write, and parent better despite the trials that smack me in the face. My writing will follow-suit. It may be a bit fragmented in the beginning, but I’ll get there in the end. This I know, I was born to write.

“I think if you feel like you were born to write, then you probably were.”
—  Lena Dunham

In keeping with the theme of writing goals for 2015, The Writer published quite the motivating article about how to be successful at keeping your writing resolutions this year. Well worth the read, you can check it out here.

Happy Writing. Happy Mothering.

Simply, love

09 Thursday May 2013

Posted by purdywords in AD/HD, Adoption, Attachment parenting, Childhood Mood Disorders, Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD), Forgiveness, Love, Mothers & Daughters, Parenting, Peace, Stress & Anxiety, Tough days, Writing

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Adoption, FASD, Forgiveness, Love, Mother's Day, Peace, Simplicity, Writing

There are times when silence has the loudest voice. ~ Leroy Brownlow

“…Peace begins with a smile. Smile five times a day at someone you don’t really want to smile at; do it for peace…” ~Mother Teresa

 

Day and evening, I have sat diligently at my distressed white Queen Anne desk to begin writing about the past, the present, the dream of tomorrow, but the words lead me nowhere, and I give up mid-sentence. Word documents are left half-explored. Bits and pieces of something remain–and that something has to do with bitterness and defeat. Anger and despair can’t be the only source of my words, so I allow days to pass me by to seek a cure to my writer’s block. I read instead.

A pile of books loaned from Uptown’s public library; a few favored electronic books downloaded to my Kindle; a growing stack of periodicals in the wicker basket beside the French country cream and green checkered love seat in the living room. Covered in my favorite down throw, I seek solace in treasured reading time. If my words are halted, then I will fill the void with other authors’ stories. I think, maybe this reading-only plan will help me to regain the courage I lost over these last three weeks to forge ahead in writing my story. Vindicated after just a couple days spent getting lost in stories, I find myself less harsh, and eager to befriend my ruby-red laptop once again.

Tapping the keys can be a most profound stress reliever. Anger melts away toward a deeper perspective–one borne of rumination, not regret. Word count increases and I feel like myself again.

~

The last couple of weeks have not been easy around here. The Girl has had a fair amount of challenges at home and school and the ramifications are felt all around us, lingering like a storm that begs to break. There are some days when I don’t feel capable of giving her all that she needs, to listen to her constant emotional wreckage, to be present and calm with her nearby. Truly, there are times when I feel like I don’t have an ounce of strength left in me to be her first line of defense when fighting the constant battles she brings to the table. I’m left overwhelmed by the daily management of this child and it has left me drained–so much so that I have to shut down my mind come evening and just be still.

Most challenging at times is the level of patience and calm persistence it takes to raise The Girl. The discipline always seems clunky– not quite right–and the level of perseverance it takes to get through an ordinary day is exhausting. If the everyday occurrences of emotional turmoil, wreckage and hyperactivity were kept to a minimum or happened on occasion then maybe I wouldn’t be living in constant frustration of it all. Before I react or teach, I honestly have to remind myself that she needs me more now in her time of trouble than on an average bad day–especially when I am the main target of her fight. Yes, most especially when she fights with me for no apparent reason.

This morning was a particularly tough one. Already tired that this irrational fight between us was starting at such an early hour, I asked The Girl, “Do we have to do this today?” A shrug was the only answer in return.

“Can you tell me why you are fighting with me now? Why are you arguing with me?” Silence.

With a heavy heart, I turned away from her, hiding my anguished face and my overworked mind tired of trying to figure out what ailed her this day. Exhausted of figuring out if this was one of those “big deal” situations or just her typical moodiness, I just had to turn away. Day after day after day of troubles and heartache–hers and mine–gets old fast.

One day of simple–this is my Mother’s Day wish.

As I descended the stairs to ready my little ones for the quick drive over to The Girl’s elementary school for morning drop-off, I gathered those two–The Boy and Baby Girl– in overzealous hugs and kisses, taking in a deep breath that filled my lungs with their little kid sweetness. With that breath, also a prayer. A prayer that this downreaching yogic breath would sustain me through the morning with The Girl–in peace. Despite my natural inclination to be annoyed and angry back at her, despite her ability to keep the charade going, I was going to win this war–with kindness, a smile, not engaging her at her worst–fathomless breaths guiding me through. It was my prayer that we were going to finish out the remainder of the morning without any further argument, without turning the gray effect into black, without more hurt feelings or emotional pain.

As I remained strong-willed in my efforts to remain calm, rising above the blackness of mood threatening to take over, my prayer was answered almost immediately. Just when I needed it most. Ironically, The Girl must’ve been doing her own deep breathing upstairs as she awaited my call to gather her belongings and head to the van. Because, once she descended those stairs herself, her entire demeanor had changed and I actually received a half-hug–her attempt at an apology. Her posture and presence dramatically morphed from bitter anger to a softer, calmer, kinder state. In thankfulness, I melted into that awkward embrace, my rigidness relaxing, too.

Thank you, Lord. Thank you for answered prayers and reminding me that I am not alone and neither is she. 

Upon locking the front door, I inhaled a triumphantly deep yogic breath of gratitude. It might not seem like much that The Girl quickly changed her attitude, but to me it was a sign of hope. Truly, a small miracle so desperately needed to sustain both of us after weeks of struggle. At the very least, I knew this change of heart meant The Girl’s morning at school would go smoothly. It also meant that she is growing in her ability to take responsibility for how her words–or lack thereof–and actions affect others. She is developing empathy, I think. This alone is a triumph worth celebrating. My hope is that the turn-around points to her learning how to be sorry. At this point, I’ll accept any attempt at reconciliation from her for a fight that I never saw coming–one that seems to resurface without any apparent pattern and typically without warning. I’d love for this recurrent fight to end so that we can forge ahead in love.

I’ll never stop being her advocate at school, with doctors, or in the community-at-large. But, the ever-present struggle between us at home has to end at some point. All I want for our family is true love and peace–in us and between us. All I want for The Girl is the ability to feel truly loved by us, the knowledge that she belongs here with us, and that she is alright just as she is. All I want is calmer, easier, better days ahead.

One day of simple–this is my Mother’s Day wish. 

  • purdywords
    • 30 Days of Thanks, November 2020
    • How to Give Without Giving Yourself Away
    • Raising Awareness About Miscarriage & Pregnancy Loss

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