The Discovery,
This morning I went for my walk in my favorite park. As I followed the winding trail, I found myself taking in the tall trees that lined the path, how they offered shade while still letting the morning light filter through. I watched the little stream curve alongside the trail, and for a while, I simply enjoyed being present in nature.
As I rounded one bend, I saw a family walking toward me: a mom, a dad, a preteen, and a little boy who couldn't have been more than five or six years old. As we got closer, they each greeted me with a cheerful, "Good morning."
But it was the little boy who captured my attention.
He looked at me with the kind of pure energy and joy that only a child seems to possess and cheerfully rang out, "Good morning!" My own smile widened as I returned his greeting and continued on my way.
And that's when I noticed something I had never noticed before. I became aware of how tight my smile was.
As I continued walking, I found myself wondering...
Where did this tightness come from? It felt like an invisible restraint—something so subtle I hadn't even realized it was there, yet it had quietly been holding me back.
As I continued walking, I realized this wasn't really just about my smile. There was underlying tension in my jawline, cheeks, neck, shoulders, and body. So naturally, my next question was" How long has this invisible restraint been there?
The Meaning
The answer came almost immediately. I realized I had been carrying it since Nathan's cerebral palsy diagnosis twenty-two years ago. Not because of Nathan, but because his diagnosis marked the moment my life fundamentally changed. There was life before the diagnosis, and there was life after it.
In the aftermath of that diagnosis, I entered a constant state of responsibility and vigilance. It was necessary. I needed to learn, to advocate, to make decisions, and to become the mother Nathan needed me to be. I share more about that experience in my book, Raising Nathan Against All Odds: Discovering the Blessings, Joy, and Purpose of Raising a Child with Disabilities.
Back then, whenever I smiled, it looked forced. The light never reached my eyes. I've worked intentionally on that over the years and honestly thought I was past it.
But this morning revealed something different. It wasn't really about my smile. It was about that quiet, invisible restraint that had become part of my life after Nathan's diagnosis.
That realization led me to another question: What happens to us after years of carrying so much?
For me, it has been twenty-two years. For another parent I recently spoke with, it has been fifty-eight. (Yes, our children do grow up.)
What happens to the parts of us that once laughed freely...
Smiled without restraint...
Celebrated without wondering what crisis might interrupt the moment?
Do they disappear? Or do they simply become buried beneath years of responsibility, advocacy, appointments, decisions, and the constant vigilance that comes with loving a child with disabilities?
This morning, I realized that somewhere along the way, I hadn't just learned how to smile through the pain. I had learned to hold back part of my smile. Somewhere along the way, that quiet restraint had become normal. I had stopped noticing it.
As we all know so well, as parents of children with disabilities, surviving often becomes part of everyday life. Somewhere in the process of becoming the Special Needs Mama Bear our children need us to be, many of us stop being aware of ourselves. We become experts in our children—their needs, their comforts, their health, their education, and everything else it takes to help them thrive. But somewhere along the way, we stop noticing ourselves. We develop coping patterns that help us survive, and over time, those patterns become so familiar that we mistake them for who we are.
The Invitation
Now, here's what is amazing in this discovery and learning. These patterns aren't wrong. They served a purpose. Somewhere in the process of becoming the Special Needs Mama Bear our children need us to be, many of us stop being ourselves. We develop these patterns that help us cope with whatever we are going through.
I also realize that as we move through our journey, we don't need to break the survival pattern. We simply need to become aware of it so we can transform it. These patterns were wise. They protected us. They helped us survive seasons that demanded everything we had. The problem isn't that they exist. The problem is that when they continue to drive our lives long after the moment that created them has passed, it can become a problem for us.
But as we learn and grow into who we are becoming, we heal. Healing is not about rejecting the person we've become in order to survive. Nor is it about letting go of the survival patterns that carried us through some of life's hardest seasons. Perhaps healing is about changing our relationship with them. It is our awareness of these patterns that gives us the freedom to choose when to lean into them and when not to. Because if we are to move from merely coping and surviving to truly thriving, our survival patterns must become tools that we intentionally use—not unconscious habits that continue to direct our lives.
That is why self-awareness has become such an important part of my own thriving journey. Because, as I have learned firsthand, one of the greatest gifts I can give myself is the space to notice my feelings.
So, to answer the question: Will I ever feel relaxed again after my child's diagnosis? I can say that today's moment of awareness didn't magically make the tension in my body disappear. But it made me aware of its presence. As I continued walking and greeting others along the trail, I found myself intentionally relaxing my smile each time. So, perhaps part of becoming a Special Needs Mama Bear who thrives is also about finding our way back to ourselves in the new realities of our lives.
What do you think? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
If this reflection encouraged you, I hope you'll continue the journey by exploring the other articles here on The Special Needs Mama Bear® blog.
And if your own journey has taught you a lesson that might encourage another family, I'd love to invite you to share your story as a guest blogger. Every family's story matters, and yours may be exactly what another parent needs today. Simply send your story to info@thespecialneedsmamabear.org.
If you're looking for practical support as you navigate your own journey, be sure to explore our books, trainings, and membership community on this website. Whether you're just beginning or have been walking this road for years, you'll find encouragement, practical guidance, and a community that understands.
Until next time... keep becoming the Mama Bear you were always meant to be. 🐻💜
