Saturday, September 17, 2016

Living ear muffs

We were waiting as a family at the optometrists when a baby just inside the room started screaming. 

I was sitting down when it happened. theboy stepped forward and immediately clasped his hands over my ears to dampen the noise in case it triggered an anxiety attack. I was using my phone at the time.

He's less than 10. That he thinks to do that is amazing; that he feels he has to is a black lump of crud at the back of the microwave. 

I have an amazing, caring, empathetic child. But it grieves me to my core that my wound forces him to factor in the likely physical and mental reaction I may have to an external triggering stimulus and to then act in the moment to help me.

He shouldn't have to do that. No child should. No child should be forced to parent a parent but he has to just in case I regress into a wounded animal state.

That's what it is to carry an injury to the mind. Someone with a broken leg doesn't induce changes in people around them except to be a bit more careful moving around near them or to offer to get them a sandy now and then. 

But I wouldn't be me if I wasn't injured and he wouldn't be him if he didn't give a shit. 

He should not have to give a shit. He should just get to be a kid.

No comments:

Post a Comment

No comments needed, really.

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.