What happens when your life gets hard? I mean life never going to be the same kind of hard. The type that leaves you lying on the floor for a half hour at the end of the day because you cannot think much less move and just need the world to stop for a minute. Where all the niceties hide in the back of your brain since it can only produce the barest of bones in communication, and decorum goes away in favor of practicality and just being in it. Think of Shawshank. Get busy living or get busy dying, which I read as, get busy accepting and getting things done or lay back and let it destroy.
You stop caring about being proper with each other and the practice of that has you asking or talking about restroom activities, walking out of a restaurant or other public place because it’s no longer within your abilities, even with other people. It makes you not give a frack about what anyone else thinks because X needs this attention, yes right the f now. Or in my case, what I need if I can’t handle what is happening. You stop caring about these things you might have before like your house is difficult to clean when your head is filled with cotton.
It’s much like your brain space gets so filled with how you’re going to make it work that all those other thoughts have no room. Your energy reserves tap out if you’re having to focus on something that makes your insides twist up like cables so you don’t ruin what needs to be done. Try focusing on something you don’t like for 30 minutes, forcing yourself to return over and over and assess your mind, then do something and see if you’re a bit scatterbrained in the task. There have been a few absolutely disgusting cookies and cakes made when in this state. I shudder at the memories.
I see this a lot with special needs families. Our state nurse told us that she loves our home because of what she sees. The example I remember was families that refuse to let their child wear their hearing aids because it hurts their pride, embarrasses them, or they feel shame. Only taking them out when the nurse arrives. They let their children flounder because they either don’t want to put in the effort or are punishing their child for something that’s not their fault. They re getting busy dying, giving up on their responsibility.
When you’re not one of the families that puts themselves before their child, then you’re in it and mostly doing your best. If something needs to be given up, it’s gone, make it work. If another thing needs to be bought, you find a way or do your damnedest. If you need to sit for hours just rocking your child, you do it, screw your back. You do the hard, fight where you need to, focus where you must, and do the work. At the very least, that’s how you know you’re on the right path. It’s OK to be angry, to scream, to cry, to beat a cardboard box into submission in your garage, and to feel like an abject failure. You’re doing what you need to do, hard, gross, and/or unbelievably embarrassing. Get busy living, dying is too easy.
You know what happens? You get stronger.