S/O at what age did you feel grown up ?

amother

Wheat

Fri, Mar 08 2019, 9:55 am

Sometimes I feel like a child still, but I can remember so many moments of adulthood:

The night my not-yet husband told me that he had a mental health diagnosis, explaining
what it meant slowly, tentatively, honestly. His humility, his fear, his hope was clear on his face, showing me what I meant to him, how in a matter of weeks what I thought and felt had come to matter to him, to matter dearly. Reassuring him that it wouldn't change anything, knowing in that moment that I was powerful in a way I had never been before, that as interest and curiosity and flirtation solidified into respect, into love, I was tied now to another person in a way I'd never been before. It was scary, that power, knowing that his vulnerability had given me the power to wound, the power to protect. Knowing that if things continued this way, I’d be vulnerable too, he would have the power to damage or shelter me. Knowing, instinctively, that I could trust him, that he would treat the trust I put in him as sacred, knowing in that moment that if he asked, I’d be his.

The day I took my son home from the NICU. He was the size of a potato chip bag. My husband and I stayed up all night, watching him breath, barely breathing ourselves.

Hearing my pediatrician's mildly worded concerns about my son's development and feeling my stomach drop out, my heart beat stutter. Staring down at the referral that would send us to a developmental neurologist with the words PDD-ASD on it. Coming home from the neurologist with my son after getting his diagnosis, putting him in for a nap and leaning over the rail of the crib to watch him, tears of grief, confusion, anger, fear making dark blue dots on his blanket.

Sending my son into school one morning, his eyes tearful and fearful, his voice watery and resigned, knowing that my growing sense of dread over the past few months could not be ignored any longer, knowing that something was wrong but not knowing what, feeling helpless and tired, watching him trudge bravely into the building, the bravery of a solider headed into battle low on ammunition but willing, every day willing, to fight the good fight. I felt my resolve, my courage, rise, stiffen, stick, flooded with the surety that I would do whatever it took to help him. I pulled away from the parking lot strong. I was his mother, I would figure this out.

Watching my kids make paper airplanes together, their faces serious and serene, voices calm, flexible, thoughtful, hard at work, working together. Knowing what it took to get us here. Knowing that no one else would see this the way I did. After all, what is the big deal? It’s just a couple of kids, making airplanes. But my heart is flying, my eyes are flooding.

Walking my crying baby through the streets in the dark of a warm night. He’d been crying for hours, and looked set to keep crying for hours more. I felt calm. I was strong, I could hold him for as long as he needed. I sang, and walked, certain in the knowledge that he’d be calm eventually, that I’d sleep eventually, that before long he would crawl, walk, talk, that time would pass, this stage would pass. He fell asleep, but I kept walking. Time would pass so quickly.

Telling my sister that I would donate my liver to her husband. Feeling no conflict of emotions, no regret.

Ridethewaves

Fri, Mar 08 2019, 10:02 am

amother wrote:

You seem like an amazing woman. I wish I knew you!

amother

Seashell

Fri, Mar 08 2019, 10:24 am

amother wrote:

You made me cry. You are such a beautiful strong woman! I wish you weren't amother! But I totally understand why you are.
I'll go amother too.

My marriage at a very young age, the birth of my childen, medical crisis, when we bought a house, moved oot. Made almost every yom tov and pesach myself at a very young age..... All that didn't make me feel grown up.
I'm used to doing the work and figuring things out since before I can even remember myself.

But when I realized that I and only I am in charge of my own destiny.
I have the power to make or break my little people.
I have the right and the power to break away from toxic relationships and build new ones.

It wasn't a specific event in my life. Just an epiphany one day. Literally.

The innate power I have as a human as an adult. That my words and actions matter and make a differece. That I have what it takes to be the kind of person and mother I want to be.

As a young 20 something year old, I felt like an adult.