I’m always sorry


Tonight, after listening to non-stop vocals all day — we’re talking 30 times a minute — I decided to never, ever I MEAN NEVER look up “tic cure” “tic video” “tic help” or “tourettes is driving me crazy” ever ever again.

Why? Because it’s been 8 years of this. Oh sure, I have moments where I am OK (when things are quiet) but then the tics rear their ugly heads and I’m back into despair again.

No more. Do I want them to subside? Yes. Of course. With every tic, twitch and shudder I’m remembering that on Tuesday I will be in a naturopath’s office — a place where we’ll hopefully get some answers to this insane spike in symptoms.

But as someone very wise told me over the phone just now, this is not my journey. It’s Stink’s. And really, if I’m going to be someone who has peace of mind and purpose, I simply have to let go of what i cannot control.

Seconds into this post, my son walked in, and this happened:

Stink: “Mom, do you know where the game Sorry is?”

Me: “It’s in the treasure chest.”

Stink: “Oh, well, will you play with me and Addie? (his friend) I know it’s late but, well, it will be really fun.”

Me: (on the inside): “No no no no no don’t make me sit there and listen to the machine gun firing of noises I can’t make stop and can’t ask you to make stop.” (on the outside) “I would like nothing more. Let’s do it.”

Stink: “Really?”

Me: “Of course! But one thing first.”

Him: (suspicious) “What?”

Me: “We need snacks. Delicious ones!”


And so we played Sorry. All five of us. Me, Stink, Addie, Brooklyn the Pip and the tics. And I’m not one bit sorry about it.

Until Tuesday’s appointment with Dr. Carroll, I’m going to really try to stop my mad obsessing. Because seriously, there’s some pretty messed up crud in the world. I had better get a hold of a diagnosis I can’t control, because that skill set is going to come in handy if I’m going to have a big, hairy, juicy life.

I have a huge job interview on Monday. I can either say “no” out of fear. I can decide to give up the opportunity to stay home and watch my kid’s disorder progress with the tenacity of an OCD time bomb, ready to explode.

Or I can say “Yes” to life. To a change. To the hope that in letting go I’ll find peace.

With peace, I will have freedom.

And really, maybe that’s what I’m scared of most of all. Perhaps I’m terrified that in letting go of my fears of my kid’s syndrome I’ll have to really take a look at who I am, what my purpose is, and what I’m going to do about it.

For those on this journey with me, let’s pray for each other. Let’s pray that we don’t take crosses upon ourselves that are on ours to bear. In the end, as my friend reminded me this evening, our kids are not really ours. They are on a journey to fulfil their destiny and we are on ours.

I’m not sure about you, but as for me, I’m ready to say goodbye to co-dependence on an ever changing order.

Tics are up and and down. But my God is the same. And I’m pretty sure he has something glorious planned for me. I just need to say yes to my faith, not my fear.

I pray you all do the same. And if you’re not there (hey, some days I’m not) please leave a comment. Share with one another. Our burdens are so much lighter when we don’t face life alone. And here’s the real kicker: We can put our burdens down, whether or not we’ve “fixed” our kids.

Yes, we can. When we can find peace despite less than peaceful circumstances, we’ve found the cure. Maybe not the cure to T.S.. But the cure to fear.

And ladies, that’s good enough for me.

Until next time, May God grant you the serenity to accept the tics you cannot change, change the tics you can, and have the wisdom to know the difference.

One Comment

  1. God bless you and yours. It’s a tough road we and especially are kids are walking down. Keep the faith. – K

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