Parenting through Pain: Navigating Motherhood with Chronic Illness and Love

Imagine planning a beautiful day with your children. You start by preparing an amazing breakfast of toasted ciabatta and sourdough bread with a light spread of butter, scrambled and sunny-side-up eggs topped with micro greens, and sliced avocados. You all enjoy our meal, get dressed, and head out to the local bowling alley. Shortly after starting your first game, a surging pain radiates from your left sciatic nerve causing sharp shooting pain down your leg. You push through only managing to land gutter balls, but you continue to give your children the fun and memorable day they asked for—the goal of every loving parent. You have lunch, bowl some more, and move the fun to the arcade. As you're heading to the car, your kids start bickering and it all turns to shit. One kid yells to the other, "Keep quiet" out of utter anger and frustration. This was me.

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Motherhood is not for the weak.

It's even harder for those with chronic pain.

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What I thought was a beautiful time was ending disastrously. Not too long ago we were having fun, and shortly after, I was at my wit's end with two bickering children. For the last two hours, all I could hear and feel outside of my beating heart was the throbbing and unbearable pain on the left side of my lower back. Instead of our usual celebratory talk and high-fives at the end of a three-hour day of fun, I had to be the referee between my two girls.

My older daughter opened the door to the back seat and the alarm went off for some reason, sending my younger daughter into a high-pitched screaming frenzy. The mix of noise and pain made me even more frustrated with the whole situation and I yelled from the driver's side, "Please stop it."

My little one began crying immediately, as I expected to. Guilt came over me. This was the last thing I wanted to do. She thought I was telling her to stop crying, which is not something I do. We acknowledge all feelings, as long as it does not violate physical boundaries and become emotionally abusive. Crying isn’t suppressed or dismissed. I had to quickly assure her that I wasn't telling her she had no reason to cry, but rather that they stop the bickering. We all got in the car and started making our way home instead of heading to the thrift store as we had planned earlier. I think we all just needed to rest.

The ride back home was all of about seven minutes, but another argument erupted. I can't remember for the life of me what sparked the argument.… Oh, I do remember! I was looking for my glasses, and suspected I may have forgotten it at the bowling alley—I did forget it there. My younger daughter pointed out that she thinks her sister is wearing it since our glasses are the same rose color. I knew it wasn't, because mine is a different shape. I said to her that those belonged to her sister and that it wasn't mine.

My older daughter then suddenly screamed out, "Stop pointing at me," to her sister. I usually try to let them resolve things on their own, but after about the third time she screamed another ear-drum splitting "Stop pointing at me," I had it up to my eyeballs and with a firmly elevated voice said, "Stop it now."

“The funny thing about children is that they are the reason we lose it and the reason we hold it together!” — Author Unknown

At that point, I was simply praying to get to my bed, because of the pain in my lower back and down my left leg was worsening. I imagined my hand reaching between the driver and passenger seats to be the heavy hand I would sometimes feel as a kid on my skin when I did not follow directions. It was fleeting and mildly satisfying, but met with instant regret. I refuse to spank, beat, or inflict intentional pain on my children, so I resorted to what I know how to do best—talk. I instructed everyone to stop talking and to be respectful to each other. We all just needed to get home.

They remained silent for only a few seconds before my older daughter began to vent her frustrations about her sister. She talked about how she tries to be a great big sister, but her little sister keeps making her mad. I told her I was sorry that she felt that way. We approached the parking lot and I backed into my spot. She vented some more, because that is one of the ways she processes her emotions. She kept talking on our way to our apartment and I felt every ounce of her frustration. I sympathized with her and let her know that I heard her. I reminded her that she is an awesome big sister and I do see her kindness to her sister.

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As a parent with a chronic illness, I am more emotionally attuned

to the needs of my children as a way to compensate for

the times when I am physically incapable of showing up.

I simply do the best I can when I can.

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When we got inside our apartment, I took my coat and shoes off as soon as I stepped in, and walked straight into my bedroom. All I wanted to do was lie down. I had nothing to give at that point. I felt completely depleted, so I asked the girls to help themselves with their snacks. I couldn't be on my feet anymore. My body was not cooperating, so I had to navigate this tough day as I always do—with honesty. On my rough days, my girls are only given small responsibilities that they are capable of doing. They know that some days are better than others. I also try not to feel guilty about asking the girls for space and time to rest when I need it.

Alex Padurariu/Unsplash

Before I was able to fully retreat, we played one round of UNO on my bed. The game diffused all that tension and we were beginning to enjoy each other's company again. They segued into their assigned one hour of pad time, giving me ample time to rest. They were more than excited and it worked out perfectly. My head hit that pillow with a smile, because we all got what we needed, and we rode that emotional wave the best we all could. It turned out to be a beautiful day after all.