“Does it ever get better??”
I’m going to bet that’s a question that you have asked yourself at least once in your life – or if you haven’t, that you’ve at least heard it. The mother with the clingy, colicky newborn. The teen struggling to navigate relationships. The father struggling to make ends meet. The parent of a child with a disability, or significant difference. You could add your own struggles, I’m sure.
It is an interesting question. And one that we tend to ask when we find someone who is further along some similar path or journey to us in one area or another – or a few. Perhaps a few years or stages ahead. It can be one we ask simply in curiosity, or solely out of utter desperation – or any combination in between. For me it tends to be the latter. And the range of answers I have received and/or seen, are just as interesting.
So… does it get better? Does anyone know?
Let me start with a little story.
This morning at home, my son had a meltdown. A full blown one. An autistic meltdown is never mild or fun. I sighed as I immediately knew everything would now take a whole lot longer, and my previous suspicion that we would be late became a certainty. Yet, as is common now, apart from feeling a bit annoyed (mostly at myself), I wasn’t phased in the slightest by what went on. His meltdowns can go for some time, but I knew exactly what to do and I know what he needs. I said what I knew I needed to, and then calmly continued on packing school bags, putting on my shoes, and preparing to leave, amidst all of the mayhem. Once he regulated, we talked through it, cuddled again, and we left. Simples!
We were late of course, but only by 5 minutes, which was pretty darn impressive if I may say so. As we walked out the door today though, an increasing smile crept right across my face. Because I suddenly remembered that it had not always been this “simples”. Not. at. all. The smile came as I remembered something I used to do three years back.
I remembered anticipating every possible meltdown, and once one did happen and we had all recovered afterwards (which could take quite a while), remembering to whip my phone out quick to add to an ever increasing tally and log. An “x” for the tally, a couple of words for the log if I could manage it or think of it. Why? Things were beyond chaotic then – not that I realised the full extent of it at the time. Using the swimming analogy – I was certainly in the deep end, with no clue at all how to swim, and rarely getting any chance to come up for air. Crisis mode may be an apt descriptor of that time. A child psychologist we had begun seeing asked me how many meltdowns would occur in a typical day. I stared back blankly. I had no idea; I had never thought to count. “Um… a lot?” I answered. “Well, can you estimate? 5, 10, 30…?” he asked.
I thought hard, but my mind was a mess, as it often was/is. “I’m sorry, I really don’t know” I sighed, on the verge of tears at just trying to remember any or all of those meltdowns that somewhat defined our lives daily. At that point, the psychologist encouraged me to keep a log over the next fortnight and then report back. That fortnight, I discovered some things. I learnt quickly that it is really not easy to log something in the midst, or the aftermath, of emotional volatility (within us all)… but I did it. And in that time, I also discovered many new facts – ones that seem simply mind-blowing now. We averaged over 30 a day. The range, just in that time period, was 21-47. Yes, you read right. In a single day, we would experience at least twenty-one, and up to forty-seven meltdowns. Not brief or mild ones, either (I mean, does such a thing even exist?). Long, full blown ones, just like this morning. They could take 15 minutes, or close to an hour. The longest I recorded the length of was 50 minutes (not including recovery or processing time – just the meltdown itself). Forty seven in a day. My mind boggled as I remembered not just what happened back then, but exactly how all that felt.
I remembered days upon days of feeling as though nothing would ever improve. I remember the copious amount of tears (from us all). Injuries. Broken things. Not much clue as to why, despite my constant efforts in trying to understand. Constant trial and error of new strategies. Many, many months of desperately seeking something that might offer and bring calm. Toys, tents, sensory items, food, drinks, TV, hugs, no hugs, it was endless. Logging things, searching for patterns and triggers. Not much ever worked or helped at the time, and I reached a point where I doubted if anything ever would. After all, I was already doing everything possible, all the “right” things, and had done so for quite some time. All of it just felt increasingly useless. Nothing had improved. I despaired at the thought that perhaps this would just never change. Never get better. But surely it had to, I thought. I couldn’t do it, I could not keep going – not like this. Every meltdown broke me a little more. Every day that was the same (and they all seemed the same), confirmed my despairing thoughts more and more.
And so, I began asking the question. That question. Oh yes, I asked it very often, every chance I could. I had to know. Every parent I came across that was further along than me – be it by a decade or only a year or so – on a journey that even slightly resembled mine, I would desperately jump at the chance to find out.
“Does it ever get better?! Please, just please tell me it gets better. Tell me at least something gets better?” I would beg earnestly in an exasperated, despairing, but slightly hopeful voice. Always I was nervous, and yet optimistic, in awaiting the answer.
Usually it was someone a few years ahead – their child a few years older than mine. As I said before, the responses were always, well, let’s just say interesting. They often varied. But all of them certainly had two things in common – the look on the face of the person of whom that question was asked, and what their answer brought. The look on their face was a mix of uncertainty, some awkwardness, some pondering, and a clear hint of trepidation. Every time. And not once was there a confident or straightforward answer. I mean, that in itself just about told me their answer anyway, along with the second thing that they all had in common – they all brought hopelessness. No matter how it was worded or how well some of them tried to butter it up. Just utter hopelessness.
Some found it too tricky to answer, and did what they could to give a very brief and vague answer before changing the topic or finding a distraction. Others gave a mixed response, trying to offer some positives amidst realistic truths. Often they offered words of comfort first, and eventually indicated that they wouldn’t necessary use the term better, nor worse, but certainly different. That was by far the most common response. Still others would offer a harshly realistic answer indicating clearly that whilst it changes, no it doesn’t really get better.
I would say I asked that question of someone at least around 15 times. It never really mattered which of the above responses came, though. To me, they were pretty much all saying the same thing, only ever leaving me in deeper and deeper despair. It confirmed exactly what I had thought at the time, but had desperately hoped and prayed simply wasn’t true – that nothing would truly get better and that what I was dealing with at that moment in time would never get any easier. Maybe it would change, just as they said it does, but it would obviously not be any better than it was in that moment… and at that point, it was purely and utterly horrendous. Unbearable. Hopeless. I mean, I knew there would undoubtedly be hard stuff in the future. That’s a no brainer. Everyone knows each stage of life and/or parenting comes with new challenges. What I was really asking, though, was “do these particular struggles that feel utterly horrendous and impossible right now, ever get better?” or in other words “will I ever come out of the other side of this crisis mode?!”… but maybe what they thought I was asking was “do the struggles and hard stuff ever disappear completely?” or “does it ever get or feel really easy?”… who knows. Or maybe for them it really did never get any better… and oh my… I am not sure how they were still alive and standing and speaking to me, if that were the case. Regardless, only one person had offered any hope, and had told me that yes, although there are new struggles, that stuff really does get better (or at least did for her). I so wanted to believe her, but it was really hard to believe that one response when the overwhelming majority clearly suggested the opposite.
I simply needed hope. Sorely needed it. So what I really needed, was someone that could not only hear how extremely hard it all was (and perhaps even recognise I was in crisis mode), but even if not, could offer some sort of insight and hope in explaining to me that many of the things I was experiencing actually can get better, do get better, and maybe even something of how those things get better. I needed someone to look back on their own “hardest of hard” of those past years, which is where I was at, and to realise and tell me that oh hey, actually, that stuff did get better. That even though different struggles may exist now (maybe even seemingly harder struggles!), they got through those struggles in the past – that it really is possible. “It changes” just wasn’t good enough. Being in crisis mode, I just needed to know that it was survivable – that it was possible to get to a point where I could actually somehow cope with it all; cope with life. Because it actually was possible, but no one told me that. They only told me that no, it doesn’t. get. better. But in that moment I didn’t care nor need to know what hard stuff lay beyond, or what is to come on the other side of this impossible mountain… I would face all that when it came. I only needed to know that I could and would get there, and perhaps something of how.
So, that is what was behind that smile, along with a little giddy sense of joy, as I walked out the door today. Because finally, I actually had the answer that I had always needed and had sorely sought. It really, truly does get better. Just to be clear – today’s meltdown was no less intense than any before. These days they can even be more intense! And just like they said, there are certainly new struggles. Different ones. These days we navigate through different aspects of working out what a “friend” is, how to work with peers, negotiating when “M” rated movies can be watched (not for a while mate!), meetings, ongoing advocacy for funding and inclusion… all new “hards”. Sometimes I still even catch myself asking that very same question, but of my new struggles – will this ever get better?
But you know what? “Future” (i.e. current) me finally holds the answer that “past” me had so desperately sought and needed and eventually threw in the trash as long-lost and clearly non-existent. How I so wished I could go back to tell three-years-younger past me that all of those people’s answers were both right, AND (more importantly) wrong. To tell her that yes, like they say, it does change and different things become hard, but that also: YES! It does get better, it REALLY, REALLY DOES. The thing you battle daily right now with your child? That really does get better. It is not going to be that way in 10, or 6, or even 3 years’ time. The 47 meltdowns in a single day? It won’t be that way forever. I promise. Feeling like you will never understand your kid and they will never reach that seemingly elusive goal? It. Gets. Better. One day, your child is going to do that thing that you are working so hard at helping them achieve. Many of your efforts now, will be evident. One day, you will experience more than 5 minutes of peace in your home. I would tell her NOT to extinguish that hope. No, you keep it burning no matter what, because although nothing seems to work now and everything feels hopeless, one day some of those things really will click and work. One day those simple but seemingly unattainable goals can be achieved. And by then there will of course be brand new struggles and new goals, but it WON’T. BE. LIKE. THIS. You will find what works. And it won’t be this hard. It really won’t. Tears are rolling down my cheeks right now as I remember all the emotions and wish I could have just hugged past-me so tight and whispered “it really will be okay.” Oh, how I wish I had heard those words.
And that is why now, if or when I am ever on the receiving end of that question, I give the answer that my past-self really needed. Not one of false hope, or buttered-up truth, nor one of reality mixed with doom and despair. And never with uncertainty or trepidation. Amidst a comforting hug and knowing smile, I will offer the truth I know, in a way that confidently expresses that not only is there hope (and yes, there really, actually is!) but that they are not alone, and they will survive it. All of it.
Something along the lines of, you know what? Yes. These particular struggles that are so, so hard right now, they actually do get better. I mean, the years ahead won’t suddenly be rosy, but I’m sure you already know that. There are different struggles, different goals, and different joys. But you need to know that there are absolutely days ahead when you will stand so, so proud, knowing that you got you and your child through the hardest of times, knowing they finally reached that seemingly impossible goal, and looking back to see God’s hand in it all. And in those future times, hard bits and all, his hand will still be in it all then too. You’ve got this now, because he’s got you.
If you are struggling, if you are in that same trench I was once in, those words are for you. All of them, and every single one is true. Maybe like me, you won’t realise how deep in crisis mode you really are until much later. Whatever the case, the stuff that is hard right now, it won’t be hard forever. I promise. With deep love, time, effort, and trust, whether it takes some months, some years, or heck, some decades… it does. get. better. Every time.
It may not be simples (in fact, it is definitely not), but could we please stop believing and telling struggling people that because all the various stages ahead of them have their own version of “hard”, that what they are experiencing doesn’t “get better”?
On behalf of every parent sitting deep in the pit of despair I was once in – a very sincere thank you.
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In The Not Yet 