I heard myself in another mother at the beach today.
The gentle but firm, almost cautious tone.
The endless listening as her child did not respond to her questions but continued to share the internal mental dialogue that was running in his mind.
The timers, and gentle reminders.
The carefully expressed, calculated front loading.
The patience and softness in her heart as it was tested and s t r e t c h e d.
The check-ins on clothing and temperature, the invisible accommodations for differences in interoception.
The delicate balancing act between letting her child be himself and that internal pull to not be too loud and risk disturbing the people around them, or me, meditating nearby.
The calculated concessions and compromises.
The invisible labour and meeting of support needs that most don’t see, or worse, they criticize or mock because they don’t see what’s beneath.
The pull in my heart to tell her she was seen for everything behind the scenes was stronger than my fear of overstepping or breaking the expected societal mold of staying quiet and small and minding my own.
She deserved to know that she was seen with a fraction of the grace and the love that she gathers within herself, each and every day.
I told her she was doing great, that I had a similar nature of child at home, but the truth was I wanted to say more, ask more.
“Do you sleep at night? Or are you up, like many of us, long past the infant stage. Supporting, loving, parenting, researching, while everyone else is sleeping.”
“How many fires did you avoid in order to get out the door today, how many lit and turned into wild untamed flames that you had to pour all of yourself onto to put out, to keep moving forward?”
“Are you afraid of what’s to come amidst your next transition, or the trip to the store you have to make on your way home that I heard you prep him for, or the steps it takes to get in and out of the car, safely and successfully?”
“Do you have support?”
“Do you feel invisible except for when society is loudly, boldly, aggressively reminding you how greatly our systems are not designed for our children, for our families, for us?”
“Has the weight of the world amidst your circumstances isolated you or do you feel supported? And if you do, how?”
“Does the amount of capacity, energy, resources that it takes to create and maintain some level of support drain you?”
“Do you feel seen for all that you do behind the scenes? For all of the invisible labour, the meeting of support needs, or do you only feel seen when you or your child’s behaviour doesn’t fit the mold?”
I saw you today.
And in your way of being, I heard myself. So, thank you, because even if not by others, a part of me was seen today, too.
By witnessing you, I was able to witness myself.
Gratitude.
Expressive writing by Denise Elysa, while on the beach – May 2025
