Every parent knows “that child” — the one whose antics become legendary among classmates. Today, that child might have climbed on desks, dashed through hallways, or shouted at a teacher. They might have even defied boundaries by attempting to leave school unescorted. It’s a tough day when it takes two educators to restrain them from causing chaos again or when they let loose a slew of inappropriate words.
As you hear your child recount tales of that child, I want you to understand what’s happening behind the scenes for me, the parent of that child. I’m listening to them express feelings of hopelessness. I’m holding them close at home, ensuring they’re safe while their younger siblings retreat to another room to avoid fear. I’m desperately reaching out to therapists within a 50-mile radius because yet another professional has left the practice. I’m checking that child into a psychiatric facility for the fourth time in their short decade of life. I’m comforting their siblings as they say goodbye yet again, not knowing when they’ll see their sibling again.
At work, I’m racing out the door, shouting to colleagues that I have to leave. I’m juggling an underpaid job to gain the flexibility needed to support my child. I drive to the school, my mind swirling with anxiety about what I might find. Will they be safe? Will the police be involved? Is this the final breaking point? They often don’t even sign that child out when we leave; “Don’t worry,” they say. “We know them.”
Amidst the chaos of work and family, I’m navigating a maze of appointments and therapies. I’m on the phone with doctors for medication refills, filling out mountains of paperwork, and engaging in endless meetings with school staff that I never even knew existed. At home, I strive to have that child recognized as disabled for additional support. When the letter arrives confirming their disability, I feel a mix of relief — knowing I’m not failing as a parent — and grief for the challenges ahead.
I’ve faced angry parents at playgrounds, frustrated that my child doesn’t behave like theirs. Lately, I’ve found myself wishing to take my child to the park, but fear grips me, and we stay home instead. I’m trying to keep my composure for all of my kids, yet there’s little support when you have that child. There are no babysitters for date nights, no playdates, and no one checking in on us.
On better days, I cherish quality time with that child. We have deep conversations about their dreams and aspirations. They show compassion, asking if they can share their lunch with a classmate who struggles to have enough or donate clothes to those in need. They challenge me in chess, assist with home projects, and eagerly absorb knowledge, despite what school labels them. I’m showered with hugs and love, reminding them I care.
Before you react to your child’s stories, here’s what I need from you. I need you to tell your child, “It sounds like that child is having a tough time. I hope they’re receiving the help they need.” Encourage empathy and inclusivity in your kids. It’s vital for them to cheer on that child, even when they stumble or miss the mark.
I also need a reassuring smile when you see me managing multiple kids at the park. I’m only one person and can’t always catch the signs that it’s time to go. Your acknowledgment means the world to me. I need you to advocate for that child; attend school board meetings, write letters, and push for the funding necessary to support them. When all children receive help, everyone thrives.
Please remember me. Include me in your plans, even if I must decline most of the time. Text me about your day or call just to chat. I need reminders of the outside world, a break from the challenges I face. I need laughter and connection, so send me those funny memes or stories. Ask how I’m doing; after a long day of caring for my child, I often forget to seek help for myself.
Ultimately, that child is my child — the one who has shaped me into who I am today. I love them unconditionally and support them wholeheartedly. I’m doing everything I can, often more than I can manage. As they say, “It takes a village,” and I need you to include us in yours.
If you’re interested in more insights, check out this blog post for further reading about parenting challenges. You can also explore this resource for expert advice on similar topics, and this site offers excellent information on pregnancy and home insemination.
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In summary, parenting “that child” is a journey filled with unique challenges and profound love. It requires understanding, patience, and a community willing to support not just the child but the entire family. Together, we can foster an environment that nurtures every child’s potential and well-being.