There was a time when I would have described parenting my two children as being akin to trying to herd a flock of velociraptors single file through a crowded mall on Black Friday.
I’m not sure exactly when that changed, or if we’ve just given in and embraced the chaos, but the little ones are currently sitting quietly in the living room watching youtube videos while Andy plays video games and I research a blog piece on Palestinian folk tales. My house is quiet, and while I wouldn’t describe it as perfectly orderly, I can see my floors and I don’t have a sink full of dishes. Laundry mountain is currently more of a laundry knoll.
Had you asked me five years ago if I thought I would ever reach a point with parenting where I felt like I could handle it I would have laughed in your face. I was constantly overwhelmed with insecurity and anxiety about how I could manage as a single mother to two neurodivergent kids struggling with the kinds of trauma our family had experienced. It took patience with myself and with my kids and therapy and many long nights reminding myself that it was okay to make mistakes as long as I learned from them to reach a point where my daughter could ask me for the support she needs, and my son could put words to his struggles with sitting still, but we got there.
And you’ll get there too, even if it doesn’t feel like that. Just remember to breathe.