The day I broke 

No one is coming to our rescue.

Our social worker is a chocolate teapot who’s broken record repertoire of ‘no funding’and ‘nothing they can do’ is wearing embarrassingly thin.
CAMHS are merely a suicide hotline for young people, funding only the very extreme cases that can no longer continue being ignored and are pushed to make a permanent solution to what could be a temporary problem with the right support. 

Help. Such an empty word. Full of pity. Such a shame. 

Being a parent of a child with special needs means to continually rip your heart open and remain functional. To continue to breathe with minimal oxygen. To struggle beyond the realms of coping. To walk through firey battles and live in a perpetual state of weariness. 

No one is coming to rescue us.

You scream from a burning building, frightened for your sanity and for those little people you’ve made along with your unicorn child. Unique in their needs. So very different from the Rose-tinted parenting life you’d imagined. 

Put your own oxygen mask first, they say. But what of the children? How can you bear to watch their panicked eyes when they silently scream for air? No. You take yours off and give it to them because THEY ARE the very air you breathe. You learn to live with the snatches of air while they sleep. And you never dare to sleep because the dreams you have are the best you’ll ever have compared to living. 

Help us.

You struggle for long days, weeks, months. Years go by. You finally dig deep into your pride-filled pockets and pull them inside out. 

Help us. Please. 

You close your burning eyes and listen for sirens. You wait. Days. Weeks. Months go by. How long do you wait for someone, something to save you? Save your child from suffering? Save your family unit from combustion? How long would you wait? 

Wait for tests. 

Wait for a diagnosis.

Wait for funding.

Wait for eligibility.

Wait for maturity.

Wait in line.

Wait, cradling your children.

Wait to have that shower.

Wait in for telephone appointments.

Wait. Wait. Wait. 

WAIT. 
Until that day you realise. No one is coming. No one. Nothing is out there. Nothing in the void will save you. 

So. You fall. You don’t wait for a safety net. You fall. You breathe peacefully. You fall. Endlessly. Because on that day you broke, you finally understood that the quest for help would come from inside of you. It was there all along. 

A diamond is made from from high temperatures, pressures and depths. 

We are diamonds. We are precious. Our children need us like the air they breathe. We will adapt.

 We will save ourselves. 

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24 thoughts on “The day I broke 

      1. ❤️ Beautifully heartbreaking if that is possible ❤️ What an incredibly lucky little person that gets to call you mummy ❤️

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  1. Yes…but when you get to this point…THEN you can truly start to save them…and you. I know…I reached it over five years ago…and today my daughter is doing great, I have a wonderful new life partner…and we are both happier than I ever imagined possible.

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  2. I’m pleased you’re digging your way to the diamond, the strength, the hope, inside you.
    I’m digging too, I’m treading water, and I WONT be defeated though many days I do feel different.
    Fall down 7times, get up 8 🙌🏻💎💗😘

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  3. And so say All of Us. x. To admit that we have All stared breaking point head on, seen it coming and still trudged on towards it hoping we have underestimated ourselves and maybe we won’t break this time.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Oh dear heart. I hear you. My seven year old’s umpteenth attempt to seriously harm himself or his sister or me. Sitting in that big room with sixteen experts around the table and No One had Any advice or guidance. That moment of surrender that this is my life and better or worse is all on me. That we have to leave the house sometimes and if there is a meltdown it’s no one’s job but mine to pin him and be stared at and protect the curious kid no one’s calling back. Fragile is the right word. Courageous is another. But I rarely feel anything but lost and braced for the next surprise. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

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    1. Bless you, I see and hear you in your daily diamond struggles. The aggression and anger is something we know all too well, sadly. We fight on for our little ones because the fight belongs to us and we will save ourselves. One day. 💎❤️💎

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  5. I feel your strength and determination in your beautiful words. Failure is not an option. I have been there. I will tell you what my father said to me swallowing his own tears when I said I wasn’t sure I could do it:
    “You will do it because you have to do it!”
    Please know that the end of the dark dark tunnel will come.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for your lovely comments. I often think the light at the tunnel is an oncoming train but I’m used to dodging them by now! Failure is absolutely not an option and we start each day afresh. 💎❤️💎

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