“When Strong Feels Fragile: One of Those Weeks”

This week… whew. It’s been one of those where you try to laugh through the tears, and sometimes you succeed—other times, not so much.

I’m a mom of four boys. Well, three here with me and one in heaven. He was my stepson, and just when we were finally getting really close, cancer took him from us. It was one of the most heartbreaking things I’ve ever experienced—and for my husband, it cut even deeper. Watching him grieve his son has been a pain I can’t put into words. My heart still bleeds for him.

Our boys—especially the two we share—watched their big brother slowly fade away. At the time, I didn’t realize how deeply it would affect them. Kids are resilient, right? That’s what they say. But grief has a sneaky way of sticking around, especially for my middle son.

He’s the one who’s always been my go-getter. Three-sport athlete. Honor roll. Smart, kind, funny. The one who’s always moving—until about six weeks ago, when he broke his fibula. For any teenager, that’s tough. But for an athlete? Devastating. Suddenly, my strong, energetic boy is stuck on crutches and a scooter, watching life move on without him.

And now… anxiety. Panic attacks. Fear. The kind that comes out of nowhere and convinces you something terrible is happening. He tells me he thinks he’s dying. As a mom, there’s no worse feeling than not being able to convince your child that they’re okay.

I try to explain that his body is reacting to change. That when your body’s been trained to move nonstop, being forced into stillness can make your mind spin in ways you never imagined. But logic doesn’t always calm fear. And while I’m out here making call after call to find him a therapist (because apparently every therapist in the state has a six-month waitlist), I’m also trying to keep the house running, meals on the table, emotions in check, and oh yeah—myself from falling apart.

📸 Even on the hard days, a smile still finds its way through. That’s how I know we’re going to be okay.

Some days are good. Some days feel like we’re stuck in a rainstorm with no umbrella. But lately, I see small signs of sunshine. A smile. A laugh. A tiny glimmer of the boy I know is still in there, healing one day at a time.

We all want the same thing—for our kids to be happy. Safe. Whole. And as moms, we take on so much of their pain as our own. We carry it, we cry over it, and we show up again the next day because that’s just what we do.

So, how do I keep myself happy?

That’s a question I’m still figuring out. But I think it starts with giving ourselves permission to feel it all. The grief. The joy. The exhaustion. The hope. Sometimes all in the same breath.

If you’re having one of those weeks too, just know—you’re not alone. We’re all out here doing the best we can, one messy, beautiful, chaotic, heart-filled day at a time.

Xoxo

Deborah 🥰❤️