Ode to the mother of a hypersensitive child

Dear mother (of a hypersensitive child),

I know you are friendly, smiling and kind. But I know you’re tired. I know you’re doing your best to raise your child “normally”: you organize playdates, you drop them off to school, you work tirelessly, read stories, take care of chores, you organize dinner parties, etc…

I know you observe other children’s behavior and compare. I know you’re jealous when you see tantrums lasting for 1 minute and ending in an excuse or a hug.

I know you’re embarrassed when people feel pity for you and secretly judge you for the “erratic” behavior of your child.

I know you suffer when your child is called a “weirdo” every time he flutters his arms or cries erratically.

I know you keep on telling yourself “to be strong” but you break down in tears when you find a “solo” moment (probably under the shower or when you sit on the toilet).

I know how it kills you when you get a phone call from the school to let you know that “your child is having a hard time”.

I know how it feels to keep your temper only to be rewarded with a foot in your face. I know how much you hate yourself when you lose your marbles and your desperate high pitched voice scares the crap out of the one person you love so much.

I know you secretly wish you were better prepared for it. I know you live with guilt, responsibility and helplessness.

I wish I could give you the “magic formula” to harmony and cohesion. Instead, I’m just telling you: “I know”, cause I’m just like you.

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