The Parenting Journey

The door is unlocked, you're on the road and there's no going back. You're a parent now. Even if you did want to run for the hills, even if the journey is not what you expected, you're here now and there's no alternative. Your DNA has changed and you are no longer the most important person in your world. There's now a little piece of you that exists in this world that is more important than all the riches, sleep and sanity the world has to offer. Nothing can prepare you for the absolute upheaval of life as you knew it. No writing or words can ever do justice to the cataclysmic shift that occurs once this little person enters the world. It is one of the most profound shifts in the human experience and although mind bendingly challenging, it's beautiful beyond description. It's the most epic love story and you feel it in every ounce of your being. The weight of them in your arms is enough to bring you to tears. It's a complete all consuming type of love.

Your DNA has changed and you are no longer the most important person in your world.

Anyone who has been lucky enough to go on this journey is probably nodding along, understanding the life altering shift and thinking back to their own experiences. It's familiar. It tends to follow a well worn path, one that was laid out for us by the care givers that went before and the ones who plod along with us. We're all in the trenches together and there's such comradery and support in that. Yes there's bumps along the way but someone will know someone who has a bottle of gripe water, the name of a good sleep therapist or a GP who actually listens. There's a lady down the road who has a tube of metanium from up north or Margaret on the corner who has the recipe for lactating cookies. The path is definitely quiet and lonely at times, especially at 3am after a cluster f**k of a feed, but someone somewhere out there is also trying to get that burp up so there's always that.

But what happens when there's a road block, a detour, a crash? What happens when your world suddenly tilts, the axis shifts and the room you thought you landed in is now actually a series of tectonic plates jolting beneath your feet? No gripe water, metanium or tea and biscuits will right this. The path has diverged and you're moving off on a different route. You can still hear them talk and chatter but it's at a distance and you're no longer part of it. Your new path now isn't as well worn, it's a little treacherous under foot and a bit thorny at times but man is it interesting! You experience things you never knew existed, a whole new realm has been unlocked. With this comes a range of new emotions, some that knock you sideways with the intensity of them, others that make you want to knock others sideways and continue on until you've levelled the earth. You've never felt sadness like it, but when there's moments of joy, nothing can compare to that euphoria. It feels like youre in a computer game and a new level has been unlocked. A world that is so complex and difficult to navigate but the gains? They're incomparable. You're no longer concerned about the gripe water and sleep therapist but about hospital appointments, surgeries, therapies and medication.

You experience things you never knew existed, a whole new realm has been unlocked.

Your path is not only quiet, but isolated. You feel such warmth and kindness from people but at the same time you hear others say "I couldn't do it" or "I dont know how you cope", as if you have a choice. People who openly say they're not the type of people who could handle a life like yours. You nod, smile and then scream into the abyss. The complexity of your new life is sometimes too big for you to fathom, you love deeper than words can explain, like that primal newborn instinct to protect and love never wanes. You learn to live in the in between; between appointments and meltdowns, between laughter and heartbreak, between what you thought life would be and what it actually is. You grieve quietly sometimes, not just for the milestones missed but for the ease that others seem to have. The kind of ease that used to be invisible to you until you no longer had it. You become fluent in acronyms and medical jargon, a reluctant expert in systems you wish you never had to understand. You navigate forms, waiting lists, and endless meetings with people who know your child on paper but not in essence.

The version of you that once existed has long gone. The stumbles and falls along this new terrain has left its mark. You're bumped, bruised and a little spikier around the edges. You've learned to be nimble, never be too sure footed and to watch out for potholes that are never tended to. You're stronger and more resilient than old you ever thought possible but you struggle to find the lightness she once had.

There are days that swallow you whole. Days when exhaustion feels bone-deep and your heart aches in ways you can’t quite put words to. Days you long to be invisible, to slip away from the constant advocacy and explaining and educating. But you don’t, because you can’t.

And then, there's days that set the world alight. A burst of sunshine so bright it destroys any darkness in its wake. A quip, a joke, a clever one-liner, something that takes you by surprise and reminds you of the wonder that they are. A tiny triumph that most of the world wouldn’t even notice, but you do. You see it, feel it, savour it. Those moments feel like fireworks in the dark, so bright and beautiful they make you forget how heavy the night can be.

And then, there's days that set the world alight. A burst of sunshine so bright it destroys any darkness in its wake.

You realise, somewhere along the way, that this isn’t just a detour, it’s an entirely new landscape. It’s wild and unpredictable, yes, but it’s also filled with a kind of magic that people on the well worn path might never see. You start to find others wandering here too, tired but kind eyed souls who speak your language. You build your own tribe, small but mighty, bound by empathy and understanding that can’t be taught.

It’s not easy. It’s not fair. But it’s real. It’s love stretched to its absolute limits and still somehow holding and stronger than you thought possible. You no longer measure life by milestones or markers but by moments. By breaths. By the simple miracle of still standing, still loving, still finding beauty in the cracks.