War?

I wanted to show that somehow, no matter what life throws at us with little to no earthly support, no human hugs, God can see us through without ever losing our character. Without ever using pain as an excuse for lashing out at people.

I wanted to warn others. Back pain that lasts long? If your orthopedic surgeons are like mine and my radiologists and see nothing, try the eyes of a rheumatologist.

I wanted to show mothers of hectic autistics that they aren’t alone. I’m here with you. I’ve now had three days of screaming hell. As I showered earlier this morning, I braced myself for the war that I feared would erupt. I told myself I was being pessimistic. “Today is a new day!”

Well, new day, same old prolonged screaming. Same old body pain and fatigue. Same old… I was right. I thought of a research article others had quoted that said that mothers of autistic children (I’m pretty sure they mean those with high needs) have same levels of stress as those of soldiers who have gone to war. As I fearfully looked at the hours that loomed ahead of me, I believed it was possible.

Unceasing. Relentless. No break. No escape. Adrenaline.

And like soldiers who mock people who whine, I find myself with not enough sympathy. Especially not for those who can read an entire post about many topics, and come back and make it about themselves as if we live the same war.

We don’t.

And so, I considered shutting this blog down yesterday. I want to know I am helping. I don’t want my own words to be used by someone to show me how little they understand of my life because they’re so busy inserting themselves in it.

And no, it’s not you, Flydah.

I post on instagram about a lovely doctor who ordered a hospital bed for me to help with my body pain, and this HEALTHY woman talks about how she spent so many years in a hospital with her one child. She has no clue the trauma I’ve gone through with other children. She forgets I have MANY children with significant challenges. She forgets I’m living in constant pain and have many children at home who need me while I’m in hospital with one.

So no, her PAST life in the paeds ward has absolutely NOTHING to do with the wonderful doctor I was praising.

The post here on my continued decline, the handicapped disc and the child who pulled my hair so hard it hurt? Her response is to tell me to be like her and get a handicapped disc from wherever (Don’t know what she’s referring to and) I already HAVE a disc!! Is that all she could get from such a long post? An opportunity to insert herself and not hearing me?

That’s all she sees. My words, my story…She sees her own inflated ego and I’m not in the mood. I can’t take narcissists. I have too many in my own family to deal with some stranger imposing themselves. She can go start her own blog where she can talk about herself.

I used to hate silence. Readers who stalk. Readers who read but never whisper a word. But they are much better than self-absorbed commenters who make you question why you bother sharing your story if all it does is make others compete to tell you THEIRS. Especially when it is so clear that they didn’t hear you at all.

But, I’m not shutting the blog down. There will come a time when a weary and sick mom needs to hear the voice of another sick and weary mom. There will come a time when a Christian will wonder if they are wrong in asking God to let them rest. They’ll wonder if they are weak.

You’re not.

We’re in good company if even Elijah wanted to die! How much more those of us whose nights are broken by pain and challenging children and whose days are filled with the very same thing?

But I have taken steps to protect myself. Yes, I did tell her that it seemed every time I shared elsewhere about myself, it invariably goes back to HER.

She missed it. Totally missed the point.

I’m in a season of lamenting. I have absolutely no friend in my shoes. She definitely isn’t in my shoes though she tries to kick me out of them so she can insert herself in them and erase my experiences. This is my space to be me. To cry out what my smiles hide. To scream out what my hugs to my children and patience towards them can’t release.

I will not allow someone to hijack my space.

So, thank you again Flydah for being the opposite. For showing me you hear and ever praying for the situation, for the point of that particular day’s post. Thank you for hearing me.

For if I am not worth hearing, then why should I even exist? God created us for community. Not competition, community. I don’t have that except via social media. If that disappeared, I’d disappear too.

Your comments hold me up. You are God’s hands.

I saw an article debunking the PTSD moms with children like mine endure, saying it’s a lie that it’s similar to that of solders coming from war.

I don’t know. All I know is my experience. And my experiences is hard and endless and has absolutely no solution. I feel sorry for broken soldiers.

I feel sorry for all of us. It’s no competition. If I’m not going through what soldiers go through, it’s no big loss losing that comparison. I know I’m going through my own hell. And thanks to loving comments, I know I’m going through it with God and His child.

Thank you for making my online diary a place where I find solace and an outlet for pain.