I’m looking out the window at the creek behind my house. It’s a clear, crisp day and the water sparkles in the sun. Just past my property, the creek narrows, hooks to the right and then disappears.
If you didn’t know, it appears the creek must end just beyond the curve. I thought that too until one day shortly after moving in I put my kayak in the water and went exploring.
While the creek narrows significantly at the turn, once you’re through a series of S-curves, it levels out. Paddle beyond that for a while and the creek opens into a very large lake. It’s a lake with a little island home to birds and other wildlife.
But, looking from the back of my house, the creek shows no hint of the beauty that hides around the curve.
It’s kind of like life right now. We’re looking at the curve and the path appears too narrow to continue on. Or, even worse, we’re not sure we can handle what’s on the other side of the turn.
We have hit what author Seth Godin calls “the dip.” The dip is the point in the journey when most people give up. He says what separates those who overcome and those who don’t is the dip. The ones who overcome get through it.
Simple, right?
Sitting in a therapist’s office this morning with one of my loves, the dip feels like a valley. It’s intimidating, all of this therapy, training and the endless paperwork that accompanies each new thing.
As a seasoned mom, this is all new territory for me and I’m overwhelmed. Just before the session a crazy, panicked feeling sets in. I want to throw a white flag in the air and call the game on account of rain.
Answers seem so far away. And even then, I’m not sure if I will like the reality of them.
As the therapists sits down with me one on one to discuss things, she talks about having fostered and adopted; about how she’s been there.
She tells me about the observations she’s made. She begins to validate everything my husband and I have noticed.
Suddenly, I feel tears well up in my eyes, and I choke out the words, “So, we’re not crazy?”
She smiles, looks me in the eye as she leans closer and says “You’re not crazy.”
She reassures me that there is a way forward. She’s been on this journey hundreds of times before.
Just like that, I get to glimpse what might be around the curve. Hope flags a little corner of my heart.
And answers don’t seem so far away.
Jenn Morris is a freelance writer, blogger and a mom of six (some biological, some foster). Learn more about her and our other bloggers here and check out all our foster care resources here. If you want to volunteer to help foster kids, see this list of opportunities.
