Dear Abigail,
I have a 6-year-old son who has a genetic syndrome and is disabled. He is not yet walking, talking, or even eating. Other kids his age with the same syndrome are doing all these things, though they may be a bit behind their peers cognitively. We are traveling to the ends of the U.S., and possibly one day the world, to find someone who can help him in any way. I have three other children and a truly amazing husband. We do not have family nearby, so we handle this on our own.
What I need help with is my mindset. I worry I’m becoming a bitter and un-empathetic person. I can handle carrying this weight, and day-to-day it is usually fine, but there are seasons that are harder than others. In those seasons—when the weight feels almost unbearable, but I keep fighting for my son—I have less patience for anyone outside my husband and children who want to complain about their problems.
I have thoughts like: “Are you kidding me? You stubbed your toe, and you’re going to complain to the person who lost a limb? If you knew what I was going through, would you still share this? Want to trade?” I want to lecture them about how good they have it and how lucky they are. I don’t want to put in the effort to console them in any way. I simply find them irritating. It leaves me feeling more righteous in my anger and more bitter at the rest of the world, which is not how I want to live my life.
I’ve tried therapy and read the books of other parents with special-needs kids, but neither fits. One insists on gratitude, but when I’m weighed down, I don’t want to focus on being thankful for what I have; the other insists on grief, and I can’t fully commit to that either, because I’m still holding out hope there’s more to find.
How can I still be empathetic to the struggles of others, no matter how small they seem in comparison to my own?
—Matilda, 41
Dear Matilda,
Ever notice how easy it is to pick out the freshmen on campus? College, high school, doesn’t matter. They all wear a tentative and clueless look: fearful and apprehensive, striving and failing at the same time. Everything they do seems to take twice the effort it should. Every minor achievement, monumental. So, too, the minor setbacks. They are entirely ridiculous because, by definition, they show up entirely underprepared.
They look like children to students only a few years older.
They look like most other parents now seem to you.
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