“Trust is a gift you give.
It is not earned or deserved.”
Considering that Cinnamon was my answered prayer just prior to my fourth eye cancer surgery, it didn’t take me long before I trusted the guidance of my teacher as regards to our son. Prior to even meeting Krew, Cinnamon had dropped off an extra soft stuffed animal to my work, advising me to give it to him for comfort. Beyond touched, I started crying the moment that I saw it. So far, my emotional support system was weak because no one knew what to say or do. Unless, of course, you count the continual reprimanding of what we were doing WRONG, which often felt more like an indictment than help. Here I felt more valued and supported from a complete “stranger” than from all the people in my life combined. I brought the stuffed animal home, and Krew named him Pepper because of its’ black and tan coat. We later baptized the stuffed animal’s head over the kitchen sink with a pepper shaker.
Cinnamon’s gift was a sweet surprise, but my teacher and I were just beginning. Krew was becoming more unruly by the second and his tantrums had become rages. I would frantically close all the windows, hoping that it would keep my neighbors from hearing all the chaos. Krew would relentlessly continue, charging at me like a caged bull ready to fight for his life. I, being the Matador with a surgical patch over my left eye, was scared out of my mind. Krew seemed to lack any conscience and would not stop, especially if I fought back. I would run up the stairs to the master bedroom like roadrunner with him close on my tail, and then lock the door as fast as I could, weeping and waiting for him to calm down.
As I sat there hunched over, holding myself like a baby, my mind would immediately race to the future. There were no scenarios of picnics in the park. Being present and trusting love was not a discipline I had practiced. I created desperation, envy, and anger. While other mothers were attending their weekly mom’s group for toddler playtime, I was screaming to just have ONE day of peace. I watched an Oprah show where parents of these challenged kids feared for their life, and I was becoming one of them. Krew’s treatments with the Occupational Therapist and jumping on her trampoline were not as affective as I had once hoped. After a melt down at the beach where he literally passed out from hitting me relentlessly and trying to rip off my bathing suit (giving quite a show for beachcombers), the therapist recommended that we see a specialist. After seeing many different doctors, including an audiologist who stated that his sensory processing was off the charts (no surprise there), I went to see a neurologist. She said that the ONLY thing that we could do was behavioral therapy and...MEDICATION. Our son was only four-years-old.
Although, medication seemed like a quick fix, I knew that it would just be a temporary bandaid to a wound far deeper than I was even willing to acknowledge. After meeting Cinnamon, I began to see how I had created a pattern of fear for so long that my mind had me convinced that I must not have “the mother” gene. The ego is a convincing liar, and I had been continually running from my fears of not having a ‘normal’ child according to the world’s view of normalcy. My fear seemed like a sledge hammer, pounding me down to the ground with more obstacles to problem solve and fix. I often showed up as a mother putting on a show of false confidence which also took its toll. All the while, I was stifling myself on the inside with petrified angst and worry. And because I judged myself, I proceeded to aim my defensive darts onto others. This common yet irrational behavior began to change when I decided to take action through Cinnamon’s teaching by calming my mind, breathing into my core, and listening to the voice of my heart. Considering that Krew was high functioning at school and the teachers at preschool were not complaining, I knew that medication was NOT our answer. The Kaptain agreed.
The other recommendation was taking our son to a behavioral therapist. My mother’s instinct kicked in, and this time (no matter what anyone thought), I was going to follow it fully. To the dismay and displeasure of my previous therapist, Cinnamon, a non-credentialed teacher, was the resource for me. By being an empty vessel and instrument of God’s love, she gave us far more than any specialist could ever offer. My teacher is a master heart facilitator, and I was soon to learn how my fears were bumping into his. And so began the daily and intensive journey of returning to the powerful heart, giving Krew the example to mirror his own heart and hopefully change his experience of life.
Today Krew is an eleven-years-old with many friends and doing well in school without medication. He is doing more than just fine with a fun loving, talkative, and generous spirit when he so chooses. He went surfing with his dad for the first time this year and even school clothes shopping with me (due to his sensory challenges, he has never wanted to go to the beach or wear anything but nylon basketball shorts). Life with Krew is becoming much easier and we are not challenge free, moving through each one with progress. Although there are no more physical outbursts, Krew does show up at times as brutally honest while obsessively arguing like a lawyer. He may not like the parental discipline of lowering his sugar intake, or the reminder that for “every action there is a reaction,” AND I know that he is counting on me to be who I say I am. As rough and bittersweet as our relationship has been, I will continue to sing him a song that Cinnamon once sang to me...
“I know, that you know, that I love you.
What I want you to know, is that I know,
that you love me.”
Our greatest challenge can be experienced as our greatest gift. By the time I met Cinnamon, it was timely for me to trust and respect the power of the message that our son brought to us. We are spirits creating the experience of being human and the light within us is more powerful than any worldly diagnosis. He may have an imbalance (let’s face it, who doesn’t), but it does NOT have to have him. He did not need to be fixed or pitied. Little by little, I stopped fearing his fear, got out of the good opinion of others, and saw through his behavior by trusting his loving heart. Without needing for him to deserve it, I gave him the gift of trust and embraced who I really am, no longer willing to ignore my fears. Having done that, my heart’s desire is to bring awareness to respecting and welcoming the power of the messages ALL children bring.
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