Earlier this year my daughter became obsessed with learning how to do a cartwheel. She took a cheer class at the Y and enjoyed going every week. Until one day the teacher took a break to play a game. A cartwheel game. I could hear the sadness in her heart as she explained how everyone in the class started running around the room doing cartwheels and she just stood there.
When we got home, she insisted I teach her how. Her passion was evident. Her pointed toes were not. Her cartwheels were on the struggle bus and the countless bumps and bruises proved it. She rarely landed on her feet and every time she fell, she would cry and say, “I can’t. Everyone else can and I can’t.”
Which we all know is completely untrue. But that’s how she felt on Saturdays at cheer class. It wasn’t about doing a cartwheel. It was about feeling like she was the only one.
Lately, I’ve been fighting those feelings too.
It’s no secret our youngest son has issues. If you’re around him for more than three minutes you’ll notice he’s not “typical”. Because of this, it’s hard to take him places. It’s hard to explain to our other children why Jack sometimes gets treated differently. It’s hard to watch him take three steps forward in speech, but two steps back in behavior.
If I’m not proactive, I start believing the lies.
“Everyone else has normal children and you don’t.”
“Your family will never get to do what other families do.”
“It’s not getting better, it’s getting worse.”
There are days I wish Jack would be like the “other” kids. There are days I feel left out. Like the only girl in cheer class who can’t do a cartwheel.
Maybe your child isn’t delayed. Maybe your cartwheel is perfect. It’s still safe to say you’re hearing lies in at least one area of your life. The enemy of our soul wants to isolate us and make us feel like we are the only one struggling,
My determined little girl practiced every night for three weeks and finally mastered the skill. Now she proudly flips all over the house and is even attempting to teach her little sister.
While I haven’t mastered the skill of overcoming lies, I am getting better. I’m saying the lies out loud and replacing them with truth. In my car, washing dishes, in a conversation with a friend. I’m smashing those suckers like it’s a game of whack-a-mole. Every time I get them out of my head, I feel lighter and stronger.
Try it. You will too.