Shaped By Our Suffering

When we lived in Colorado, I would see trees on the edge of cliffs as we drove through the mountains. The wind and weather at that elevation could be brutal. But these trees would grow thick roots to ground themselves into the earth, even as their trunk and branches were bent and battered and grew angled towards the sky to withstand the constant pressure from the wind.

I recently came across the phrase “shaped by our suffering,” which speaks to how difficult experiences can shape a person’s character, perspective, or life path. While painful and often unwanted, the idea is that suffering can lead to personal growth, resilience, and a deeper understanding of life.

For as long as my son can remember, he has had challenges. He has had seizures, memory, attention, and learning difficulties. He was isolated even before the pandemic and, even now, is often on the outside of many social situations. He had so many dreams taken away from him before he could try to achieve them.

Through it all, though, his challenges and struggles shaped him into a sweet, empathetic, resilient, and big-hearted person. Those are his roots, which ground him as a person and to this family and keep him from getting blown away by what he endures every day to be in the world.

His struggles have also shaped me, forcing me to reflect on myself, my life, and my choices and develop a greater self-awareness. The months in the hospital while the doctors, nurses, and support staff kept him alive and rebuilt what he had lost changed my view on life, gratitude, and presence. The strength and grace he shows daily in the face of his challenges guide how I think about and approach challenges in my day.

The hardship we endured as a family, which tried to tear us apart, formed deeper, stronger connections between my wife and me and in our family. Today, those roots continue to strengthen, ground us, and make us more resilient against whatever comes our way.

Like the trees I saw in Colorado, we are shaped by the winds of our struggles. The storms we face may bend and scar us, but they also deepen our roots, making us more resilient and grounded in the things that truly matter. My son’s suffering has shaped him into a remarkable person with an incredible capacity for empathy, strength, and love. It’s taught me to live with more gratitude, to be more present, and to face my challenges with the same strength as my son.

The hardships we endure don’t define us, but they shape us—and sometimes, they make us stronger than we ever imagined possible.

Walking Through The Mud

I’ve been having a hard time finding the motivation to write lately. The thoughts in my head and the words on the page all seem the same as they have been for the past few months. The past few years.

My son isn’t better. He’s still seizing. He’s still limited. He’s still heavily medicated. We’re still dealing with his school and trying to get him an education.

Everything is harder than it should be.

It feels like I’m walking through mud. Every step takes extra effort. Every step requires my full attention. I need to push my hands through the mud to search for my leg that is trapped in the muck. When I find it, I have to wrap my hands around it and pull it towards the surface. The mud resists, not wanting to let go. Even as my leg reaches the surface, the weight of the mud clinging to my legs and shoes threaten to pull it back down. It leaves me unbalanced. Even though it is only inches in front of where I started, I’m forced to push my foot back through the mud to the ground underneath. Even though I know it means that I will have to struggle for my next step, it’s the only way to find temporary stability. Otherwise, I risk falling over and being fully consumed.

The struggle reveals itself everywhere.

Parenting is harder.

There are fewer right answers. There is more uncertainty. There is more acceptance of things that no parent of a 9-year old should have to accept.

Marriage is harder.

We’re in the same stressful, relentless situation watching our son struggle and seizure, but we have different perspectives and have different needs. We’re both trying to be there for our son but we go at different paces and we aren’t always within reach of one another.

Work is harder.

It’s hard to go to work after endless sleepless nights. It’s hard to concentrate on the work when the mind wants to worry about an upcoming surgery or the handful of seizures he had that morning.

Friendship is harder because we’re so focused on the things we can’t afford to ignore that we ignore the relationships we need. Finances are harder because of the mounting costs of medical care, nanny care and tutoring. Diet and exercise are harder because we’re always so tired and pressed for time and it’s just easier to order something from the couch.

But like many families in our situation, we continue to move forward. We keep taking labored steps towards a destination that we can’t see. Because where we are isn’t where we want to be. Because we hope we are heading in the right direction. Because there is no other choice.

The mud is unforgiving, but in those moments of brief stability in between each step, I sometimes catch a glimpse of something wonderful. The struggle has given us gifts. I am a better parent to my son because I can’t take a moment for granted. I am a better partner and friend to my wife because we know what it is like to truly need and love another. And I have brought my whole self in to work and been surrounded by people who accept and care about me. We found understanding friends. And we have learned the value of trying to live the best life we can with what we have.

It’s not always easy to see these gifts when I’m stuck in the mud. It’s difficult to be motivated when everything feels harder than it should be. But I’m doing my best to keep moving. I’m doing my best to learn and to grow and to be a good father, and husband, and friend. Because, really, there is no other choice.

“The lotus flower blooms most beautifully from the deepest and thickest mud.” ~Buddhist Proverb