Hard . . .

This is a hard row to hoe. Living with kids like ours, kids of trauma, is just plain HARD. I got a plee from a mom last night on facebook to call her. She is struggling. Talking to her I realized once again that we are just as traumatized as our kids.

Our kids share similar diagnosis.

Our kids share similar trauma.

Our kids both have Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Her's is a bit higher functioning than mine when it comes to IQ. I have said before that sometimes a lower IQ is a blessing in disguise. We qualify for some different services when it comes to school. Thankfully Dustin has fewer expectations at school and qualifies for a 1:1 aide. Hers does not.

Tonight when I called, I heard her desperation. Her frustration that she cannot help him. Her sadness that the world does not understand. She mentioned reading my blogs and asked me how I do it. How do I do this day to day and not lose it.

I admitted I am a failure.

I go to bed nightly thinking I could've done so many things differently. I could've tried harder, had more patience, said nicer things.

I lose my cool. I say things I shouldn't. I am not perfect.

But I keep moving forward. I have to. For him, for my other kids, for all of us. We start each new day with a clean slate. We start over with a new perspective. We give it one more shot.

We can advocate for our kids. We can fight for services. We can beg and plead for help. When it comes down to it, we are left alone to deal with the aftermath of the trauma they suffered as children. We can make it better, but it will never ever go away. My child's brain damage caused by alcohol in utero will not repair itself. We have to cut them some slack. Why shouldn't we cut ourselves the same slack?

It's hard. It may not be what I signed up for, but I keep going. What other choice do I have? You do what you have to and hope you get another day to do it a little bit better than the last.

It's hard. It's what I do.