It’s been a season since I’ve last written to you. How has the sunshine treated you, darling? Was your summer filled with sunscreen, sticky hands from popsicles, and if you were lucky crashing waves? Was it equally filled with cramming the responsibilities of life and parenting in between all the joy the warmth brings? If your home life is anything like mine, summer sleepily announced itself then roared into action. We were mindful as a family and yet I am burned out once again. You would think after all the years under my belt in mindfulness I’d be a little farther along living in presence. It is unfortunately a daily practice that I fail at and try again often. You see, being a mama, running a company, and, well, being human are very complicated things.
As we step away from the summer with the promise structure glowing from inside school doors, I would love to say rest is near. Yet, as I type this, I can feel both the relief of the structure and pressure of the new world my children will enter once again. Children, you see, are wonderful at mindfulness. They live in the present moment almost always and when a season ends, no matter if they have been there before, they once again have to adjust. It’s almost cruel to peel them from sunshine and put them back into little boxes with rules, don’t you think?
As often as I can, I try to harness their joy, to sit and just be with my children undistracted. I find my greatest moments of joy with a warm coffee, sitting on the floor just being there as the morning breaks. Yet as the night leers ahead I slip back into the mental load reminding myself of everything that hasn’t been done, who needs what, and why for the love of god the socks are getting eaten by the washing machine. I know in my heart that love will lead us through to whatever it is we truly need. And, well, being human is a very complicated thing.
Last night as the thunderstorms pounded against the windows, I was assailed with whether my horses were scared in the barn, who was going to organize my closet (spoiler alert it’s me), and the insurmountable responsibility of parenthood. As I closed my eyes a thousand times recentering my breath to my heart, I could not shake the desire to write. It is in fact one of my very favorite things. As I asked myself why, the answer was clear – when I write I know that I am not alone and that perhaps my words may uplift my own life and the lives of others. I’m not sure that my writing has the effect I desire, but I desire it and so I am here again hopeful to stay.
Closing the season of this summer is so much more to me than just sunshine going away and the school season starting. It is an energetic time of closing off chapters that no longer serve me, placing focus into what brings joys and love, and dare I say being supported at home. You see, after six years of single motherhood my partner has Matt moved in. I do not know a Target run without children on the weekends or a meal cooked that is not mine. The simple joy of talking to a grown-up while sipping coffee and enjoying our children is a new joy. With this rest my body is opening to all it has carried and, my goodness, it has carried a lot.
It is often said that we cannot see our way out when we are in a difficult situation. I counter this with the belief that only love is real. As many times as I have fallen down these six years, I have gotten up one more time to guide my children and me to love. Yet, to truly reflect, a body must be balanced and mine now has the chance to rest and so I am reflecting. You may think by my title that I will tell you I am my children’s unsung hero. My darling, this time of reflection is not about me, it’s about my work. You, my loves, are the unsung heroes.
When I think about the difficulty of divorce, single motherhood, and finding clinical resources in a rural area for my children, it takes my heart to every family I have ever met in my time as a BCBA. In almost two decades of work I have never met a parent who has come looking for services bright-eyed and rested. Every parent I have met is exhausted beyond measure, and many have activated their protectors (please see internal family systems) and are either wearily or angrily asking for help for their child. Of course they are; of course you are.
You are the parent who finds joy in your child’s precious moments and who is awake in the night reeling about how to help them. Your list of worries spans from how to help your baby talk to, if your child did start ABA, would your baby keep getting to be themselves. You worry that your funding will either not be taken or be exploited. You want the aggression to go away; you are tired of covering bruises from your frustrated child knowing you are both doing your best. You worry if the bus is safe. You worry that the last box of cereal they will eat is gone because the brand had the audacity to change the color and now your child has zero foods they will accept for breakfast. You worry about the team around your child. You worry, you worry.
And yet through your worries you also see that love carries you out. You know that there is a world in which your child can thrive. A world in which when you ask for help, you receive it. A world where you are not fighting for what your child needs and your own peace. And, my darling, as every morning breaks you believe in this world. You know that no matter how rocky the terrain, you will guide your child to freedom. Freedom to be themselves. Freedom to reach their unlimited potential. Freedom to navigate a social world not built for them but changed for the better by them. You, my darling, are fighting for the freedom to exist in harmony. You, my dearest one, are the unsung hero. Tap your heart, hold your babies, and know that no matter what our complicated world brings we will get where we are going together.
I am not perfect. And yet, through the gift of motherhood and IABA I am here with you hoping to build this world together. Lay down your arms and open them all at the same time.
Xoxo,
Jessie Cooper