Something that is rarely talked about, especially by fathers, is how all of this just sucks sometimes.
I’m not talking about parenting in general. Nothing like that. But being a parent to a disabled child.
And when I say it sucks, it probably isn’t for the reasons you think.
Yes, it is rough that our life is not what we envisioned. We have struggled; we have grieved, and 3 years in we’re still doing both and more, but that’s not what sucks.
What sucks is that you’re powerless.
What sucks is when that feeling of helplessness and being powerless to help your child spills over into anger.
Where you just want to go, punch a hole in the wall and yell at the heavens.
It sucks because you can’t.
You can’t lose yourself in emotion. You can’t let things take you over. You have to maintain the course. Keep focused and logical.
Because your child is counting on you. Because you have to be the guiding light to help them through the pain, the frustration, the confusion, and the sadness.
I realize that some people think I blog and that I write out my feelings for social media likes, for clout, or simply just the attention.
“Oh look, Michael has posted another blog post about taking Harrison to Greenville. He has to get his attention for the moment.”
I know that’s a thought, and that it is said about me, which is hilarious considering how little they know. How little they realize. Because they get to live in their happy little box, not knowing the emotional, mental, and physical rollercoaster that what appears to be a simple trip to Greenville can be.
I’ve written about how this society makes fatherhood a lonely island to be on, especially in medical instances.
And sure, there are plenty of men out there who still think that we, as fathers and men, shouldn’t have any emotion. Shouldn’t show we struggle or admit we have bad days. That we still need to be the strong, stoic, silent type.
Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt and the hat, and you know what that got me? A son, who I struggled emotionally and mentally over, questioning how much his dad even loves him.
The child I fought for doesn’t grasp how much I love him, because I didn’t let him see the emotions, good or bad, as he grew up.
This is not an easy role. This is not a simple path to walk. It is not for the faint of heart. You have to want it. You have to want it and you have to maintain the composure to stay on it. Just not for you, for your partner, but for your child, who relies on you. Who looks to you for support and comfort.
So why do I write all this? Who is it for?
First and foremost, it is for me. It is my outlet, so I don’t keep everything bottled in. If people ever took the time to look around, they’d see me write more than I share. I have posts that have never had eyes on them outside of mine, that just sit here. In ways I suppose I keep a journal.
I selectively share what I consider my side of the story. I don’t, nor can I share my son’s story, or even my wife’s thoughts, feelings, and perspectives. I can only share my own. Why? Because I have the ability to do so. Because I enjoy getting things out, writing them out, and having them to reflect on.
This is essentially my journal, my guide, that I’m willing to share with people.
Not for clout, not for attention, but for the Dad sitting in a NICU, scared to death, feeling isolated and alone as people check on his child, his wife, but never him.
I write for the Dad that needs to know he’s not alone. Because I had friends who ensured I didn’t feel alone back then.
I write because I can. Because it’s a privilege to share and educate until my son is old enough to do so on his own, and only if he so chooses to do so.
Feeling powerless, helpless to make things better for your child, for your crying toddler is one of the worst soul-stabbing, isolating feelings in the world. You feel like a failure across the board.
The one thing you can take solace in, if that’s even possible, is that you’re not alone in your struggles. You’re not the first nor the last.
And you will get to the other side.
So, if you’re reading this and you’re a dad feeling lost and alone, reach out. Comment below, send me a message, anything. There’s a whole community of us out there, and we can walk this path together. You are not alone.
