Unopened Whiteboard

Let me take the drama out of this and explain the premise right at the beginning — the unopened whiteboard is a metaphor. Sadly, not a particularly happy one. Let me take the suspense away again — this is not going to be an inspiring post. It’s going to be a bit of self flagellation and bemoaning my failures and foibles. Just so everyone is aware where this is going.

The email came a few weeks ago, and I was too embarrassed to respond. Which is never a good sign when it comes to parenting decisions or behavior. This was a specific example, but I probably have lots of general ones I could also share showing my failures. This one came from one of Declan’s behavioral therapist, and I’m paraphrasing slightly, but it essentially said “have you had any success with x and y suggestion we made.” I was too embarrassed to answer because like lots of suggestions and strategies to help us better manage him at home the idea is easy, the implementation is hard. And that challenge makes improving our situation feel completely insurmountable.

I’ve written before about how taking on household projects can theoretically feel easier if tackled in small pieces. There is probably merit in taking a similar approach in addressing Declan’s challenges, but once again the theoretical proves far easier than the actual. We have had lots of ideas, and plans, and strategies (and other words that basically mean the same thing) for trying to improve his behavior at home. And yet every day we’re trying to chip away at the small stuff, just staying afloat, without the energy to take on the big things that might make a difference.

There’s a paradox I feel with having a son with special needs which is that you know there are all these things you should be doing for them, but the struggle to get through every day makes tackling those bigger challenges feel all but impossible. Yet that doesn’t make the guilt any less real when things aren’t getting any better and we keep facing the same problems without any improvement.

I’ve shared before a quote my wife unearthed about how “for parents of special needs children, comparison is the thief of joy.” Well I feel the same way about the parents of special needs kids. I see all these other parents who seemingly have a grasp on handling their kids and are somehow able to keep tabs on everything they are doing. They understand their diagnoses, what they need, and how to get it for them. Here I sit, just holding on for dear life and feeling like I’m failing everyone.

So an unopened whiteboard (now opened, but sitting behind the couch) serves as a metaphor. I bought it to help with that suggestion that was yet to be accomplished, the one that sparked my parental guilt. It sat in a box, unopened in the garage for a week, and I still haven’t managed to put it up or set up or execute the plan. Keep trying to face down the failure and do better by everyone tomorrow. Or the next day. And hope that somewhere along the line I find a way to solve some real problems and put an end to the failure.