Walking In My Shoes

If you've ever had to physically restrain your child from hitting themself, you've walked in my shoes.

If you've ever spent two+ hours convincing your child he's not an "idiot", you've walked in my shoes.

If you spend every day walking on eggshells to avoid the next meltdown, you've walked in my shoes.

If you've ever stayed up til two in the morning, hoping your child's anxiety will go away for just one night, you've walked in my shoes.

If you've ever watched your child go from smiling and laughing, to saying they want to die, you've walked in my shoes.

If you can't say you've done any of the above, then please....fucking please.....don't tell me you fucking understand. Trust me, you don't. I didn't. Until it was my child.

I don't want your sympathy. Neither does my child. However, I don't want the dirty looks in the store because you think I'm a bad parent, or think my child is a brat.

Trust me, I wish he was. It would be much easy to deal with.

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