The thunder is rumbling outside.
It's a good description of what's going on inside my head, and stomach as well. All of my thoughts are swirling like those storm clouds. Slamming into each other and sending pulses through my consciousness like bolts of electricity. And then settling into a rumble until the next wave of anxiety crashes into my heart again.
Kit's evaluation is tomorrow (of course you're reading this today, so it's today).
I am really uneasy. I'm anxious. I'm scared.
I am so afraid of another person looking at me like I'm crazy or "over-concerned".
I cringe at the thought of hearing the words "she's just a baby, let's wait and see"... again.
My stomach turns at the thought that these women could potentially leave my home tomorrow knowing full well that my baby has real, evident issues, but not enough to qualify for their help. How much worse does she have to get before she gets better?!
My tears are hard to stop when I think of continuing down this path on our own, just trying to piece things together, and haphazardly stumbling along.
I am overwhelmed.
I'm on a high speed train running back and forth between the cars trying to juggle. The train never stops. I don't ever get to get off. I rarely even get to just sit down and rest. My head is swirling, my mind is reeling, my body is tired, and my heart hurts.
I love my job, but I really just sometimes need someone else to show me the way. That's all I really want. I just want someone who really knows to occasionally tell me, this could help, try it this way, or I'm here to help. I'll listen. I'll follow through.
Just please, please, don't tell me there's nothing to worry about or nothing wrong.
Because when everyone else goes home, I'm still here. I'm the one that holds them when they cry but can't tell me why. That wakes up five, ten, twenty, or more times a night to help them back to sleep. And can't sleep when they finally can. That watches them spin around and around, and push, and twist and ache, unable to get satisfied. To just feel comfortable in their own skin.
I'm the one that takes the blows. Has the bruises and bite-marks. And catches them mid-air when they try to throw themselves on the ground. I face the screams and explosions, come closer when others back away. I see the confusion, the longing, and anguish where others might only see defiance or temper. I'm the one that sees, hears, and feels what they live with. Because, I'm the one that holds them when they cry.
And I carry as much as I can so they don't have to, so they are free to just be children.
The children that everyone else wants to "just wait and see".
But I do see. Better than anyone else. I see that for which I don't have answers, and that's why I ask for help. I'm starting to plea.
Because waiting...isn't working.
It's a good description of what's going on inside my head, and stomach as well. All of my thoughts are swirling like those storm clouds. Slamming into each other and sending pulses through my consciousness like bolts of electricity. And then settling into a rumble until the next wave of anxiety crashes into my heart again.
Kit's evaluation is tomorrow (of course you're reading this today, so it's today).
I am really uneasy. I'm anxious. I'm scared.
I am so afraid of another person looking at me like I'm crazy or "over-concerned".
I cringe at the thought of hearing the words "she's just a baby, let's wait and see"... again.
My stomach turns at the thought that these women could potentially leave my home tomorrow knowing full well that my baby has real, evident issues, but not enough to qualify for their help. How much worse does she have to get before she gets better?!
My tears are hard to stop when I think of continuing down this path on our own, just trying to piece things together, and haphazardly stumbling along.
I am overwhelmed.
I'm on a high speed train running back and forth between the cars trying to juggle. The train never stops. I don't ever get to get off. I rarely even get to just sit down and rest. My head is swirling, my mind is reeling, my body is tired, and my heart hurts.
I love my job, but I really just sometimes need someone else to show me the way. That's all I really want. I just want someone who really knows to occasionally tell me, this could help, try it this way, or I'm here to help. I'll listen. I'll follow through.
Just please, please, don't tell me there's nothing to worry about or nothing wrong.
Because when everyone else goes home, I'm still here. I'm the one that holds them when they cry but can't tell me why. That wakes up five, ten, twenty, or more times a night to help them back to sleep. And can't sleep when they finally can. That watches them spin around and around, and push, and twist and ache, unable to get satisfied. To just feel comfortable in their own skin.
I'm the one that takes the blows. Has the bruises and bite-marks. And catches them mid-air when they try to throw themselves on the ground. I face the screams and explosions, come closer when others back away. I see the confusion, the longing, and anguish where others might only see defiance or temper. I'm the one that sees, hears, and feels what they live with. Because, I'm the one that holds them when they cry.
And I carry as much as I can so they don't have to, so they are free to just be children.
The children that everyone else wants to "just wait and see".
But I do see. Better than anyone else. I see that for which I don't have answers, and that's why I ask for help. I'm starting to plea.
Because waiting...isn't working.
I completely understand. I've been trough several evaluations. And still, people act as if I'm overly concerned for my son. A few weeks ago, I was very stressed about trying to get help for my son. A friend told me, "Jehovah has taken care of you up to this point in your life. He won't stop now." Try to hang in there and keep praying. I'll pray for you, too.
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