Courage Part II

I have been a cowardly person for most of my life. Whatever anger I felt I kept deep inside of me where it morphed itself into feelings of depression and helplessness. I didn't know, really, what courage would feel like inside of me, and had no idea how to find out.

I've told the story about the anger that arrived the day my son was born. Raw, animalistic, powerful. And for once it aimed itself outward toward the world, instead of settling itself inside of me. It was at once frightening and thrilling. To know I held a power within me that could be used to protect and later advocate for my son felt like a true gift. And it was.

What happened, though, when the anger subsided (as it has over the years. Just like any other strong emotion, it's not one a healthy mind and/or body can keep up for extended periods of time)? That is when something even stronger, even more powerful, began to show itself, as something new that had been growing slowly within me, hidden by my anger but growing nonetheless, emerged.

Courage.

I have not even in my life been courageous before. This is yet another of the countless gifts that being a parent has brought me. And it wasn't like I was handed this gift; I worked for it. I fought and feared and cried and screamed and somehow, I fired within me this hard, shining, priceless jewel of courage.

What does this mean for me? That although I still expect the worst from the future sometimes and still lack hope that everything will be well, I do not fear it. I have found a strength inside of me that tells me I can handle whatever comes my way.

I walk into these large meetings where my son's future in school is discussed, and I take the lead. I ask questions and expect to be treated equally and not talked down to, as I was in the beginning because I was a beginner with no knowledge, and didn't know that I was as much an expert on my child as any of these other people, and that my input mattered and counted.

I am no longer afraid to ask for anything that I think may help my son. I used to hate picking up the phone and talking to people. But I don't hate to do it now when it's regarding my son's agenda. I call these people up and tell them what I want.

Having courage also means sometimes accepting that you may need to try something for your child that scares you (and not him because you will never let on that you are afraid!). If you know the benefits for him are in something that seems a little "out there", you give it a shot, knowing you will protect your child through it all and that you have the power to put your foot down and say, enough, if it starts to get scary/painful for your child and you don't see the fear/pain as necessary for his growth.

Allowing my child to sometimes feel that fear and pain is a big one for me. I don't want to see my child hurting ever. But I know that pain sometimes helps growth. I know because I am new to this too. I may have forgotten how pain helped me grow in my childhood, but I recently had to go through the pain that brought me to this point. And I know my son must sometimes experience some pain. I need to give him credit that he can handle a bit now, a bit more as he gets older. I need to allow him to find his own shining jewel inside of himself. The constant monitoring of "is this too much/not enough?" will get old, I'm sure. But I will always do it.

What else does courage feel like? Strength. A willingness to be myself without worrying what others think of me. A willingness to stand up for my child without caring how others see me. A willingness to allow my child to be himself without caring that I am being watched and judged and found inadequate by other parents.

And courage forced me to look for a job that will someday hopefully turn into a telecommute job so we never have to go through the nightmare of having Monster kicked out of a daycare ever again.

It's going to be a long hard road with Monster. I feel ready. I don't know what lies ahead, but te gifts he has given me so far will bring me through. And maybe there are more gifts coming. You just never know what's out there.