Moments of Hope: Entry 1 in the Parenting Mental Illness series

How does one measure hope?... 

By the number of prayers answered? 

Or by the number of dreams and wishes that come true?

Lately for me, hope is measured in the small, subtle moments where I get to breathe and no longer have to anxiously hold my breath, wondering what will happen next. Moments where I see the evil glimpses of mental illness being overtaken by loving words of adoration and comforting hugs. 

Moments like this:

my measurement of hope

How is this a measurement of hope?

Last month, my ten-year-old was diagnosed with Bipolar. (You may remember reading about one of Jacob’s diagnoses here.) Well, it seems that Jacob’s mental health journey is not over yet. The bipolar diagnosis replaces the DMDD, even though he is still young.

While we think we have found the right medicine for Jacob concerning his bipolar, there are still other factors that medicine does not “fix”, because after all, one cannot really “fix” mental illness. 

Jacob is learning to cope with his severe anxiety and anger outbursts. His mood swings are quite challenging to navigate. There are several things we have put into place to help him calm down and redirect.

Now let’s go back to this pic. 

To this measurement of hope.

Tonight rage, despair, and anxiety came together in the form of our sweet ten-year-old boy. Logic had no place in our home for over an hour as Jacob’s meltdown escalated. I finally put him on the piano. At first, sounds of minor keys squeaked.

“Dear God, help us,” I prayed as I went into the kitchen to be with my youngest, Jude. About ten minutes later, Jacob calmly walks up to me and apologizes. Then he embraces Jude and lingers there. Jacob is not much of a hugger. He’s a sensory-avoider most of the time.

But this moment. 

This was my moment of hope.

It was the moment where I breathed...where God whispered "Everything is ok"...where I saw love between a sad boy who is crying out for help, and a family who is supportive no matter what.

The sadness in Jacob’s eyes and the long sighs his heart made, made me feel caught in a bittersweet parenting trap. Parenting mental illness sucks. It’s beyond exhausting with little reward. But it has made me a stronger person, more open to all the moments of hope that God has sent along the way. Because moment by moment is how I measure hope.