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Biking in the rain

Posted Aug 07 2009 7:16pm

Pedaling Backwards includes biking in the rain…. 

I’ve biked in the rain.   In the old days  bicycles had fenders. Now biking in the rain makes for a wet ride.  The water splashes straight up my back and soaks me from bike seat to helmet. Quite uncomfortable.

Today’s “biking in the rain”  is also very uncomfortable: living in the midst of grief. I’m drenched.  It’s raining hard in here. I prefer the grief that is just a light sprinkle.

My daughter is in her room yelling. Again.  Requests culminating in the word “no” cause implacable rants. I reason, I encourage, I validate, I hold (when allowed).  I offer escape routes from the frustration.  I leave her in it. I walk away. I go out on the deck and close the door so I cannot hear her. I wait….

The discouraged and overwhelmed self goes with me.  Can I not leave that part of me in the house? I hate these times. All the joy she brings does not eliminate all the grief. Of course.

With my “other kids” I’ve been more successful in teaching them the skills to deal with the ups and downs of life.  Nearly 11 years in, I don’t feel I’m making any progress on this.  I guess that’s the point.  I keep believing there is something I can do to make her improve, grow up, not suffer, eat more, learn more, blah blah blah. Which implies I somehow caused her limitations.  Faulty thinking because I did not make her this way.  I have to remind myself over and over. 

THIS is one of the reasons raising a child with special needs is so exhausting.  There is so much to process.

Pedaling Backwards includes biking in the rain…. 

I’ve biked in the rain.   In the old days  bicycles had fenders. Now biking in the rain makes for a wet ride.  The water splashes straight up my back and soaks me from bike seat to helmet. Quite uncomfortable.

Today’s “biking in the rain”  is also very uncomfortable: living in the midst of grief. I’m drenched.  It’s raining hard in here. I prefer the grief that is just a light sprinkle.

My daughter is in her room yelling. Again.  Requests culminating in the word “no” cause implacable rants. I reason, I encourage, I validate, I hold (when allowed).  I offer escape routes from the frustration.  I leave her in it. I walk away. I go out on the deck and close the door so I cannot hear her. I wait….

The discouraged and overwhelmed self goes with me.  Can I not leave that part of me in the house? I hate these times. All the joy she brings does not eliminate all the grief. Of course.

With my “other kids” I’ve been more successful in teaching them the skills to deal with the ups and downs of life.  Nearly 11 years in, I don’t feel I’m making any progress on this.  I guess that’s the point.  I keep believing there is something I can do to make her improve, grow up, not suffer, eat more, learn more, blah blah blah. Which implies I somehow caused her limitations.  Faulty thinking because I did not make her this way.  I have to remind myself over and over. 

THIS is one of the reasons raising a child with special needs is so exhausting.  There is so much to process.

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