When the Needs Change
I joke with friends who tell me about their relaxing weekends that there's "no chill at the Ladd house". Benjamin has always required less sleep and more intense physical activity than all the parenting books said. During the extra-long days and nights, I've learned terms like "sensory seeking" and a profile of autism best understood as a nervous system disability.
But we found our rhythm: high energy, always moving, wildly caffeinated (me!), and full of connection and joy. Benjamin became a car psalmist en route to adventures, and his giggling little brother loves the crazy cadence he was born into. Lifa would jump in every chance he had, always upping the fun.
Lately, we're running at a lower capacity. There is no rhythm and definitely no chill. Benjamin's needs are changing, but he doesn't know what they are yet. We don't either. He only knows that horrible feeling of things not being right inside his own five-year old skin. His neurological wiring keeps parts of himself just out of reach, and it's more frustrating than he can communicate.
If I'm very honest, this weekend I wanted to climb out of my own skin. Benjamin couldn't get settled in his, and mind vibrated with panic. Chris, Lifa and I took turns giving Benjamin our full attention, lending our nervous systems to steady his. To no avail, it seemed. My "mom brain" was short-circuiting in my inability to truly help Benjamin, care for the rest of the family, do normal life things, or take a whole, deep breath all by myself.
After 13 hours of all-in effort, Benjamin was finally able to access himself. He opted to go outside at 6pm. I stood in the kitchen window, watching his erratic, self-soothing behaviors, and wept. My nerve endings still sizzled. There was no way they would recover before Benjamin woke the next morning. And what about our other children? What kind of mom could I be for them?
I tiptoed to the coffeepot at 4am the next morning with a desperate heart. I poured myself out before the Lord, and Living Water gently restored my mind, nerves, and soul. I committed to taking the day moment by moment, and trusting God to work out the good. He's God enough.
That morning, remarkably, Benjamin asked, "Where are we going today?" He was up for an outing. He led an exploration at the Castle of Good Hope. We weren't moving with the same speed or zeal as last time. His stops got slower as we went. But we took time to imagine, see, hear, connect, and share an experience together. The two brothers became kings, ship captains, and soldiers. Forty-five minutes into the voyage, Benjamin turned grey and said he was ready to go home. We spent the rest of the day recovering. And it was still good. Still worth it.
I am still overwhelmed. But I can't afford fear for the future. I can't step outside of the present when I'm sharing a nervous system with someone in real time. I can't count the costs. It's panic-inducing. I can only say, "Thank You God for a life that affords me the privilege of knowing how much I need You in every moment of every day." And I really am thankful for that.
I'm too prideful on my own. If I could get by without needing grace, I would. I need to need God. And I need to need him every day, every step of the way. I can't cash in future grace or live on past grace. It's present only in His presence. That's what my family needs from me. And I can only do that in the present Presence of the Living God.
Isn't He great?
