“Just being there for someone can sometimes bring hope when all else feels hopeless.” ~Dave G. Llewellyn
Parents, if I were to ask you what your worst nightmare is, what would you say?
I daresay it probably falls somewhere under the category of “safety and health,” and the negative version thereof.
Death. Illness. Suffering.
It could largely summed up as “to watch or know my child is suffering,” an extension of that being “… and to not be able to do anything to help or take it away.”
If you’re not a parent, I’m guessing you’re felt this same way about someone else you’ve loved, so a lot of this probably applies to you as well.
Let’s focus for a minute on the illness angle, as that is where I have a personal frame of reference.
Illness is a painful reality for millions of people around the world.
It doesn’t matter whether that illness is something as seemingly innocuous as the common cold, or something far more sinister on the health scale; for a parent to watch their child get sick and suffer, it’s not a situation that anyone wants.
They’re forced to put on a brave face and shove down the feelings that threaten to bubble over at any point: fear, sadness, guilt, anger, helplessness, frustration, and exhaustion, just to name a few.
Chronic illness has left its mark on my family; spun it’s web, drawn us in.
I may not have been a child when my whole world changed—I was a young adult of twenty-four years old—but my parents had to stand by and watch it all unfold.
I’ll be a child in their eyes—their child—always.
They’ve not only had to witness the initial impact—that devastating moment when they were told to brace themselves, stand strong, for their child was so critically ill that her life was hanging in the balance—but they’ve also had to continue living with those ever-reaching threads for fourteen years.
They’ve watched me overcome adversity and shine, time and time again.
But then the coin flipped over and they had to face the underlying realities of my situation despite my vibrant smile: the ongoing chronic pain, neurological deficits, and life challenges.
When a person is chronically ill, the whole family feels the pain.
Healthy family members are often overworked, physically and mentally, particularly if they have assumed caregiver responsibilities, all of which is compounded by the helplessness they feel when they’re unable to provide relief to the family member in distress.
I’ve always been aware of this impact. I’ve always known my parents would willingly take my illness and make it theirs, if that option existed.
I know my parents often feel powerless; they don’t know what to say, how to act, or what they can do to help me.
I’ve always understood and had empathy for this. But I’ve never fully comprehended the true extent of their experience and feelings.
How could I possibly?
Just like they can’t walk a mile in my shoes, I can’t walk a mile in theirs. Our shoes are unique. They fit only us.
Life lesson coming up…
Horus, my fur child, has had some health challenges over the past twelve months, seemingly one thing after another.
His most recent ailment relates to a leg issue that thankfully is now on the mend, but it’s certainly been cause for worry.
At one of his recent check-ups, his vet made mention that Horus is most likely experiencing a high degree of pain and discomfort, despite the perpetually happy exterior and perky disposition, and it suddenly struck me:
My child, so like his Mumma, is in pain.
Quite possibly a high degree of pain.
I will never know for sure.
And I can’t take it away for him.
A blow to my heart. I’m his Mumma and I can’t take away his hurt and make it all better.
It’s a blow that my parents, and in this example context, my mother, has no doubt felt, time and time again, with my situation. Only I know hers would be amplified tenfold. A hundredfold. And my father’s as well.
Because parents love their children so deeply, they would make any sacrifice required to take their hurt away and make it all better.
What happens when you really can’t take away their pain, despite all the wishing and heartfelt sentiments?
When you really can’t remove your child’s obstacles, in whatever form they may take?
I can’t fathom the agony, anger, guilt, frustration, helplessness, powerless and the myriad of other emotions that my parents must have felt, and continue to feel, when they think about my challenges in life.
And even though I am in an amazing new season of growth, opportunity, and health, the challenges are still real, albeit tapered down—thank goodness!—and I know they still struggle because I struggle.
A parent is supposed to take away all of her child’s obstacles.
Or are they?
Truthfully, that is an unrealistic burden to place upon yourself.
To any parents reading this—or to anyone who’s feeling the agony of being unable to heal their loved one’s pain—please do your upmost to release yourself from these mental shackles.
The mind is very cruel at times, if you allow it untethered freedom, and it will keep you stuck in a place of sadness that serves neither you nor your child. You can’t be there for them, or anyone else, if you’re lost in your head, beating yourself up for not being able to do more.
You’re doing the best you can. Why compound your pain with unnecessary guilt?
To my parents, please know this:
You have equipped me with everything I need in this life.
You can’t take away my pain, but you can be happy that you gave me the strength and the will to persevere.
You can’t take away my obstacles, but you can be there, physically and emotionally, to guide me, to hold out a hand, to lift me up when I fall down, to be my biggest cheerleaders.
Sometimes, all you can do is be there.
But just being there might be enough.
About Bree Hogan
Bree Hogan - Essential Oil Educator, Resilience + Health Coach, Preventing + Putting Out Health Spot Fires So You Can Thrive! You can catch Bree over on Instagram and Facebook, or learn more about her story and services on her website, Starbrite Warrior.
Though I run this site, it is not mine. It's ours. It's not about me. It's about us. Your stories and your wisdom are just as meaningful as mine.
Thank you Bree for letting me see from your eyes what a child with a chronic illness hopes their parent will do. My daughter was diagnosed a year ago. She is only two. The worry hurts, but your thoughtful words help. Thank you.
Bree- Thank you! I experience anxiety and realized it is because I want to take All pain and suffering away for my child. Thinking I have taught home resiliency and strength soothe me as well as knowing he Always has me for support or to listen. Thanks for your article.
Dear Bree, Thank you for sharing your courage and wisdom with us. My daughter has been chronically ill
Great article, and really takes me back about 5 years ago when my mum was in palliative care and I was the primary caretaker. I am very blessed that I was able to be there for her, and hug her, cry and say goodbye towards the end. I have little guilt that I wasn’t able to take better care of her, there really wasn’t anything I could do anyhow. My mum told me once while grappling with this issue “You really have an inflated sense of self importance about you, don’t you?” That was her way of saying you can’t change the situation so get over yourself. She was a loving person, so please don’t let that glib example paint her otherwise. 🙂 As caring as she was, she also knew she couldn’t protect me for the pain of the world. I am glad there was that balance.
Thank you for the wonderful article. I think the hardest thing a parent has to learn to do is to watch your child fail knowing that you could do something about it, but also know that it’s better not to. One of the keys to emotional intelligence is learning the tools to help yourself and know that you can work through difficult life events. Raising three boys was rewarding and terrifying. It’s not a parents job to eliminate all pain and suffering from their kid’s lives-as much as you would like to for your own sake. Now that two of our boys have kids of their own, it is amazing when they ask for your advice on raising them. It’s not gospel, only a opinion. There to take or leave. Their decision. Thanks again for writing about a very important subject.
Hi Joy, oh wow, so young. The journey you have all been on, and continue to navigate, is no doubt very challenging. Again, the biggest gift you can give is your presence, it’s worth more than you will ever know. Hugs xx
Hi Gomek, your Mumma sounds like a very inspiring, brave and wise woman. Not an easy lesson / or words to hear, but they have the ring of truth to them which you have identified. Your support would have been invaluable to her. Hugs xx
Hi Serrie, my pleasure and I’m glad the article could give you a new perspective and way of looking at the situation. It still doesn’t make it easier, but hopefully it does the lift the pain/burden somewhat. Never underestimate the power of being there for someone, it’s huge. Bree x
Hi Ari, thank you for reading the article and taking the time to share your thoughts, that is very much appreciated. It’s no doubt been a challenging journey for your daughter and your family with chronic illness, but hopefully, blessings have also come through. Bree x
Hi Jim, thank you for taking the time to leave a comment and share your story. It sounds like you raised amazing, level-headed boys and have a terrific relationship with them. As you say, there were no doubt times when they fell down, when they experienced pain in some capacity, but you gave them all the support and tools they needed to ultimately come out on top.