I see you, there at the end of your rope. I see you, grasping it so tightly that your hands are numb. I see you because I am right there with you, rope in hand. We all are. Every single one of us who is a parent is at the end of our rope.
Maybe you are there because you haven’t slept longer than an hour stretch at a time in months. Maybe you are grasping at the end of your rope because you have tried every tactic known to parenting-kind and your baby still won’t sleep. You have co-slept and cried-it-out and worn a path in your living room, pacing pacing pacing pacing, shh shh shh. And so you cling to the end of your rope, desperate and praying to claw your way back up to the top.
Maybe you are at the end of your rope because your two-year-old still isn’t talking. Maybe you have heard it all from all the professionals–autism spectrum disorder likely, severely delayed in all areas of development. Maybe you try all the therapy, take your child to specialist after specialist, all the while knowing that they don’t see what you see; they don’t recognize the light, the brilliance, the knowing in your child’s eyes. And so you cling to the end of your rope, desperate and praying to claw your way back up to the top.
Maybe you are at the end of your rope because, well, your child is four years old. You start the day with grace and patience and before the last bite of oatmeal is scooped out of their bowl, you’ve already raised your voice more than you promised yourself you would. The day creeps by, battle after battle, tantrum after tantrum, and your arsenal of parenting tactics is completely depleted. That night, you sit beside their bed, watching their sweet four-year-old face as they dream, tears welling in your eyes because you remember nothing but the bad times from the day and worry that you’re just not enough. And so you cling to the end of your rope, desperate and praying to claw your way back up to the top.
Every parent has a rope, and most of the time, they are at the end of it. Even when you think you’ve got it all figured out, life drops something unexpected and down you fall, back to clinging to the end. What sets the parents apart from one another, the ones who seem to have it all together and the ones who are so obviously and frantically grasping the end of their rope, is how they hold onto it.
It’s the desperate clawing and the clinging that hurts the most. When you find yourself at the end of your rope, which is inevitable, sometimes it makes the most sense to just be OK with it, hold on, and toss your head back, smile and swing. The baby WILL eventually sleep, the two-year-old WILL eventually talk, and the four-year-old WILL eventually grow out of the tantrum stage. Instead of desperately worrying about when and how they will, just swing on that rope and ride it out. It won’t make your baby sleep, but it will help you handle the sleepless nights just a little bit better.
And so, I see you there, at the end of your rope. I see you because I am there, too. We all are. I see you there, trying your best. I see you because I am there, too. We all are.
