I recently started the book Rising Strong by Brene Brown. There was a section that really stood out, and it needs to be talked about – “the messy middle.”
I did not get through the entire book, so I am paraphrasing. But Brene talks about this “messy middle” and how so often in storytelling, especially when telling inspirational stories of redemption and overcoming vulnerability and obstacles, we skip over the middle part of our journeys rather quickly.
Maybe this has happened to you at a professional/personal development conference or when listening to a motivational speaker. Maybe it’s happened while listening to a podcast where the person being interviewed regales you with a tale of overcoming defeat and coming out victorious on the other side.
We are inundated daily with positive messages about what we can achieve and what we can do, and I agree these messages are important. I have seen the power of perseverance first-hand, trust me. I have seen what grit and faith and God can do. But, I also agree with Brene. I think we gloss over the “middle” too quickly, leaving a false sense of what that middle feels like.
The middle is messy. It is hard. Lonely. Isolating. Transformational. I can bet if you’ve been through one of these “middle” parts of a journey in your life, you’ve emerged on the other side a very different person.
In most redemption stories, you just see the happy times on the other side. People don’t often talk about the middle, at least not for long. They don’t linger there. I’ve seen it in many of my Facebook groups. Stories of overcoming. Stories of hope. Stories of positivity. And yes, we need these all day long. These are the stories that get us through the middle!
Yet, parents are still reaching out to me, asking about what surgery was like. What was the hard part like? How did we make the choice to do it – to decide neurosurgery was the solution? What was recovery like? In fact, just last week, I had to recount some of these memories with a Dad who was very distraught that doctors were recommending surgery for his daughter.
Here’s the truth about the middle: It is NOT easy.
I completely broke down in the hospital room the day we had to sign surgery papers. I physically could not sign my name on those documents because, if anything happened, it would be my name on them. That somehow, I would be the one at fault if things went wrong. My husband, solemnly, took the paperwork and signed it.
I can barely talk about physically giving my child over to the surgical team. I can leave that up to your imagination – what handing your child over to a neurosurgeon is like, unsure if you’d ever see him/her again.
What about recovery? What about when he was vomiting for weeks and weeks and we had run every test and seen every specialist, and I felt like he was starving because how could his little body be getting any nutrition with how much he was vomiting?
Rehab? Watching therapists literally open blinds in his hospital room and pull him from his warm, cozy bed to make him stand, walk, hold his head up, and bear weight in his legs. It was almost too much. He had brain surgery, and my barely two-year-old son was being removed from his bed days after surgery to do physical therapy. I wanted to kick everyone out of that room and snuggle my baby in my arms until he was ready.
What about the mom-shaming? The people who so willingly wanted to give me advice but really just hurt me more? Sometimes words of others can leave the deepest wounds, intentionally or unintentionally. So many amazing people lifted us up and carried us through an extremely difficult time. A few did the opposite.
What about the life-long deficits our son will have as a result of his surgery? So many people will ask, “So he’s better, right?” Cerebral palsy is permanent. It doesn’t go away because seizures stop. Yes, he may not be having seizures, but our son will struggle for the rest of his life to do things kids his age do with ease. I think about this daily, multiple times a day, and often wonder what other things we could be doing to make sure the ever-increasing gap never gets too big.
Don’t get me wrong – my son has come a tremendously long way in a year since surgery, but it was NOT easy. There was rehab. There were weeks and months (literally) of travel where we spent more time out of our house than in it – seeing specialists and visiting doctors in other cities and trying alternative therapies. There have been trips to more specialists, CT scans, post-surgery MRIs, medication weans with schedules to follow, IEP meetings, assessments and re-evaluations and and and…it was NOT easy.
Our son has worked so incredibly hard and battled his way through more therapy hours than I can even keep up with anymore. He’s the tough one. He’s the one who has had to overcome so much, all of which has NOT been easy for him.
This isn’t necessarily easy stuff to read – but it’s the middle of our journey. It was messy. It still is, at times, messy.
An enormous amount of research, prayer, science, God and the Holy Spirit has led us to where we are today, and I will always give thanks to Him. But it was not a picnic to get to where we are today, and I want other families to know, especially if you’re in the thick of it right now…
If you’re right there, in the middle of your hard journey, and you’re thinking – will this get easier?? Will I survive this?
Yes. and yes.
It is NOT easy, and it’s OK.
It is OK to cry in the bathroom.
It is OK to wonder how life got to where you are, right now.
You didn’t do anything wrong.
You didn’t deserve this.
Your child/family/spouse/insert other name here/ didn’t deserve this, either.
The middle can be messy.
It can be hard. It may get harder before it gets easier.
It may get easier, and then get harder again.
It’s OK if you are just doing the best you can. Keep going.
Give yourself grace.
Stop the negative self-talk.
Find the things that bring you joy. Do more of those things.
Don’t worry if someone thinks you should feel a certain way or do something a different way. Your way is OK. Those people cannot offer you advice until they’ve walked a day in your shoes.
It’s OK if you want to be alone.
It’s OK if you don’t want to be alone.
Take the time you need.
You are worthy.
You will smile again.
You will love again.
You will have the courage to try again.
You will overcome this.
Your day is coming.
Hang in there. And lean into the middle.