This is part 5 of the series “Invisible Illnesses.” To read the previous post, click here.
Parenting is tough.
It’ll chew you up and spit you back out. It’ll wring your heart out until it’s dry. It taxes the mind, burdens the heart, and dominates your prayers—all while demanding constant creativity. You become a strategist, investigator, and commander, as well as a comforter, counselor, and coach. You must be fair, patient, willing to be inconvenienced, diligent in training, and protective of your child’s innocence.
Every decision has major consequences—from how you give birth to how you choose to educate. To survive, you develop a thick skin against both tears and tantrums while bearing up under the scathing criticism of everyone—from your own family to the irritable lady at the grocery store.
Are you ready for the hardest part of this gig?
These kids have free will.
You could do everything “right” and they might still choose wrong.
Parenting is a challenge under the best circumstances.
Now, throw in some three- and four-letter word disorders and you’ve just added both a labyrinth and a minotaur into the mix. Continue reading
Hello dear readers!
I am in the middle of working on some upcoming blog posts for this week, but I saw a great post today that ties in beautifully to the past several posts regarding invisible illnesses. I’m including one of the graphics, but you’ll have to click the link to see the rest:
May the peace of God dwell with you today and always.
This is part 3 of the series “Invisible Illnesses.” To read the previous post, click here.
The heavy beat of drums and the wail of electric guitars blared through small white earbuds. Her cold, trembling fingers pressed them deeper into her ears, attempting to drown the screaming and thumping echoing down the hallway. Another uncontrollable tantrum. A tantrum over… what, exactly? She couldn’t put her finger on the triggering moment.
He cradled his head in his rough, battle-scarred hands, breathing heavily. The accelerated pace of his heart drummed so loudly he could hear nothing else. Sweat beaded on his forehead as blood pounded in his temples. He inhaled deeply, attempting to calm himself. He was thankful to have found this temporary refuge, even if it was a grimy old bathroom. The grinding of the pneumatic impact wrench securing nuts on wheels sounded eerily similar to the battle zone. Before he could acknowledge the trigger, he’d felt his body go into a tailspin. With herculean effort, he stood very slowly, making a deliberate B-line for this small sanctuary.
This was all so humiliating.
Stupid, stupid STUPID! Why did he have to be weak like this?!?
None of the guys from the hundred and first had this problem! They were still smoking and joking about the war like it was some video game. Only the weak ones contracted this illness.
His hair brushed back and forth over his hands as he shook his head, acknowledging the lie as it snaked its way through his thoughts. Hadn’t he just been to Jameson’s funeral? Continue reading