I appreciate all the hugs and prayers that commenters posted yesterday to my Wounded blog entries. My intent, though, is not to sound full of self-pity. My situation here is no worse than it usually is. In fact, it may be improving, hence the opportunity for reflection.

This is the way I’ve always handled life…so immersed in something that I couldn’t debrief or recognize my own needs until I was done. When I was teenager, I detassled corn. As Midwest farm teens know, this job is financially more lucrative than other summer jobs. But it is not easy work. (Maybe it is now…maybe there are machines.) It required rising early (4 am) and getting on a bus that hauled us to the fields, where we began work as soon as it was light, so we could be finished between noon and one, and avoid the heat of the day. The purpose (for you non-farmers out there) was by removing the tassles of certain corn you were allowing two varieties of corn to cross-pollinate, producing hybrids. It was hot work, and one of the more grueling aspects was that the leaves on the corn stalks have very sharp edges and will cut you. Long sleeves and long pants (despite the temperature) was the only safe uniform. Still, you always got cut; they were much like severe papercuts.

I wouldn’t notice the cuts when they happened, only later, when I was showering, or sometimes days later, would I realize how wounded I was.

This happens to moms of children with lots of challenges, too. We just “do the job” not recognizing the toll it’s taking on us. Sometimes for days…more often for years. Sometimes not until some crisis happens that forces us to reflect and re-evaluate. Fortunately for me, there is no crisis right now forcing me to reflect…just a lull in the action that has given me this opportunity.

My detassling career ended abruptly. One especially hot day, I passed out in the corn field. The doctor pronounced it heat exhaustion and ordered me to stay out of the direct sun the rest of the summer. I do remember being dizzy and nauseated everytime I was outside the rest of that summer.

The other phenomenon I experience when I’m wounded is the desire not to look at the wound. This has happened with any surgery, any stitches. I would much rather someone else change the dressing. I really don’t want to look at the painful wound. It hurts less when it’s covered. The same is true for our emotional wounds, I think. As long as we can keep them wrapped up, we can ignore them, pretend they’re healing, and go on. But sometimes, it’s time to change the dressing on those too. Sometimes they need to be uncovered to heal. So maybe that’s what I’m doing, reflecting on the last couple of years of my life….changing the dressing.

There’s tons of reasons for me to be wounded. LuLu’s challenges, her behaviors, our court battle with the school, needing to give up my career/job/income, skirmishes with the insurance company, trying to figure out medical and biomedical interventions, not being able to afford some interventions…and all the impact that has on me as a person and my relationships with all my other family members and friends. It can be overwhelming looking directly at these wounds.

Unless, of course, I recognize that the wounds are still there, whether I choose to look at them or not. And that by tending to them, I’m giving them a chance to heal.

Walking Wounded

Wounded: Special Needs Moms


Photo Credit

For information/instructions on how to subscribe FREE to your favorite AdoptionBlogs, please visit this link.