My hubby sent this pic to me and it brought me to gushing, sobbing tears.
See that child sitting removed in the far corner from the other kids? That’s my Vman, who has decided to not participate in gymnastics (which he loves for the proprioceptive outlet) because the instructor has long hair that gets in the instructor’s eyes. Yep. My kid is so freaked out by the thought of having hair in his own eyes that he can’t stand seeing someone else with shaggy hair.
Sitting away from other kids and people isn’t anything new for Vman. But the photo conjured up an overwhelming feeling that no matter how hard I work and pour my soul into him, it won’t make a difference.
Now I know this isn’t true. Almost three years into OT and mirroring those efforts at home, we’ve seen big improvements in Vman. But those changes are so gradual that it can be hard to see the big picture of how much he has incorporated into his day to day life.
And so some days feel dark and hopeless. Some days I just need to cry, sob, blubber. Whatever gets me through that moment and lets me uncork the feelings I sometimes smooth over — because if I didn’t I would be an absolute wreck.
My granny used to say that we can either choose to laugh or choose to cry. So although I’m crying today, tomorrow I will be laughing and smiling at my beautiful Vman. It’s a choice. Not to hide from the truth but to embrace the good that the day has to offer.