Woman on an Island: This is for the Moms Who Feel Lonely

I think one of the hardest things about motherhood that I was not prepared for is the amount of loneliness I have experienced over the last three and a half years.  Now don’t misunderstand when I say motherhood is lonely or that I’ve been lonely to mean I have no support or people around me.  I have a wonderful tribe of friends, family, and co-workers that constantly are there for me, Grey and hubs.  The kind of loneliness I’m talking about is the one where you’re in the shower or driving in your car or making that grocery run and you feel as though no one really understands who you are, what you need, and that you’re stumbling around in this thing called motherhood and you have no idea what you’re doing.  It’s when the pressure of everything mom comes crashing down around you and you feel like you’re failing everyone.  Even yourself.  I feel as though it’s hard to explain but that if you are a mother you’ll understand.  I think it’s like you feel as though you’re invisible sometimes.  People see me, I’m mom, but it’s like Bridget has disappeared.  And I feel like I’m on an island by myself. 

Now take all of that and add on top being a mother to a child with special needs.  This past week there was a day where I recognized this amplified loneliness and was able to fully realize it and express it.  For those that may not know my son Grey has a rare brain disorder that causes global development delays and learning challenges.  I wrote a blog post about it and you can learn more here.  A couple of months ago we got some results back from an extensive genetics test.  Due to COVID we were not able to have a meeting with our doctor in person, so we did a video conference.  Unfortunately, we didn’t get a paper copy of the results before this meeting, so we relied on the doctor to communicate the findings to us.  The details of the findings are for another time, but basically Grey inherited a gene from me that could be the cause of some of his conditions.  So, this means any future children could inherit this gene as well and have issues like Grey does.  Even though I had my loving husband, Justin, by my side I felt so alone in this moment.  To know that I was the one who gave this genetic defect to my son is heart breaking.  To know that we won’t have any more children is crushing. 

So, this past week we finally got the paper copy of the test results and as I carefully combed through it’s scientific words and text I saw the words hypoplasia of the corpus callosum (HCC).  That is the exact brain disorder my son has and it is listed on this sheet that there are others out there that have this same gene variant AND a diagnosis of HCC.  This was not communicated to us in our previous meeting and I found myself angry.  Upon first glance I’m mad and confused as to why this wasn’t brought up, but on a deeper level I’m the most upset because throughout this entire process of being a mom to a child with special needs and a rare brain disorder I’ve felt so alone.  Like no one else out there quite understands.  And here on this sheet of paper it tells me that there is someone that does.  There are some ones.  And suddenly, I know why I am so upset.  Having a child with special needs can be lonely and isolating at times.  You feel as though you’re the only one you know whose kid isn’t quite like everyone else.  They aren’t meeting the same milestones, doing the same things, or invited to participate because they aren’t at the same level as everyone else.  At daycare, your kid is the complicated one.  The one that has a harder time adjusting, having more accidents, and has added obstacles such as orthotics.  And you hear it in their tone and in their words.  Most of the time they are well-intentioned, but their well-meaning words cut through you like hot knives through butter.  You want to relate to your other mom friends and co-workers so badly, but you can’t.  Yes, on some level you do, but you can’t fully because your experience isn’t their experience.  The realities of your day to day is not even a blip on their radar.  And you are glad it’s not because you would never wish for them to struggle like you do.  To have this added loneliness.

So, this is for all the moms with children that are differently abled, that have special needs and aren’t quite like the other kids.  I. See. You.  You are not on the island by yourself.  I’m there with you.  We might not always be able to physically see each other but know that I am there.  I know your worries.  I know your struggles.  I know your wishes and your hopes for your kid.  I see you at the doctor and therapy appointments.  I’m there with you.  I see you talking to your kid’s teacher or care giver about what issues there are at school or daycare.  I’m there with you.  I see you crying alone in your room at night after you’ve put your baby to sleep and the weight of everything is pulling you down.  I’m there with you. 

You’re not alone.  I’m here with you. 

I know there will be times of loneliness that we all will feel.  It’s just a part of the human experience, but I hope by talking about it and being aware of it; that we can all feel it just a little bit less.  And recognize in those moments that we aren’t actually alone, and we can create more opportunities for connection and solidarity.  Obviously I’m not a therapist or psychologist or anything professional in that realm, but I have to think that like so many other things, that feeling alone doesn’t get better by staying silent but rather by talking about it, recognizing it, and sharing our experience with others.  I guess this is my small step in feeling less alone in motherhood.  In motherhood with a differently abled child.  During a global pandemic when your orders are to literally stay away from people (face palm emoji).  I guess this is my hand reaching out to yours if you are feeling down and by yourself.  Or rather, me sitting down beside you, and sitting in our feelings together.  Motherhood can be lonely, but if we stick together, support one another, reach out, maybe it doesn’t have to be so much of the time.

I’m saying this to myself as much as I’m saying it to you-

You’re not alone. 

I’m here with you.

Always.