Yesterday, my little one had an unfortunate incident. In a moment of playful enthusiasm, his older sister swung a door wide open, not realizing his tiny foot was in the way. While his toe was bruised, thankfully, it wasn’t anything too serious. But the real story lies in how we navigated that moment.
As my husband and I sat at the dinner table, enjoying a rare moment of peace after the kids had finished eating, our son came running in, tears streaming down his face. It’s a common occurrence in our household, where the chaos of four children often leads to both laughter and tears. Still, when we turned our attention to him, it was clear this was more than just a typical cry.
“Jamie…” my husband said, and I immediately felt a sense of urgency. “I think you should see this.” In an instant, we shifted gears, our family springing into action like a well-rehearsed team. I scooped him up, while my husband cleared a space by the sink to clean the wound.
Meanwhile, the other kids scattered around the house, returning breathless with their “first aid” supplies: Band-Aids, cozy blankets, and beloved stuffed animals. In that moment, our family felt perfectly synchronized; there was no bickering or jockeying for position. For a brief time, we were united in our mission to comfort our boy.
However, later that night, chaos returned. Each child had their own issues to air—one reluctant to part with video games, another clinging to me for comfort, and the youngest throwing a fit over having her socks removed (they were dirty and it was hot!). My husband and I were exhausted, and I felt the weight of the day pressing down on us.
From the outside, it probably looked like a glass about to shatter under pressure: first, the cracks appear, then the inevitable break. A few days prior, a reader reached out with a question that resonated deeply with me. She had endured her own struggles, emerging strong and resilient. But now that the turmoil had passed, she found herself feeling worse instead of better. “Why do I feel this way now that it’s over?” she asked.
Her words reminded me of coming home from a funeral with my mother. We had lost a woman whose children I knew, and my mom had spoken at the service. As a child, I couldn’t fathom how those kids were managing their grief. When I asked my mother about it, she shared wisdom that stuck with me. “It’s not during the storm but after, when the casseroles have been eaten and the visitors have left, that we truly start to feel the weight of our loss.”
This insight makes sense now. Warriors don’t falter in battle; they press on, shielded by their armor. It’s only when the fight is over that we start to feel the cracks. Just like we couldn’t help our son if we hadn’t steeled ourselves against his pain, my reader had to push through her own trials to reach a point of healing.
And here’s the crucial part my mother didn’t mention: it’s in those moments of breaking that we begin to heal. Just as removing a restrictive bra at the end of a long day can bring immense relief, breaking down emotionally can pave the way for recovery.
The next morning, I asked my son how his foot was feeling. “Does it hurt?” I inquired, leaning over him as he lay snug in bed. He paused, then smiled faintly. “I think maybe it’s better now,” he replied, “than it ever was before.” And in that moment, I realized we all felt a little more whole.
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Summary
Life’s challenges, while difficult, can bring families closer together. Through moments of chaos and emotional breakdowns, we find strength and healing. The bonds we form during tough times can lead to deeper connections.