I saw a reel on Instagram recently that stopped me in my tracks.

It showed a mother cuddling her child, with powerful music playing in the background. The words on the screen read:

“You’re such an amazing advocate for your son…”

Then, almost immediately, the reel cuts to a rapid-fire montage of things exploding and erupting: volcanoes, collapsing buildings, an avalanche, a nuclear explosion, etc.

The words on the screen change:

“What it felt like becoming the amazing advocate.”

And I immediately understood it.

Because people see the advocate you already are.

They don’t necessarily see everything that had to happen for you to get there. Sometimes they don’t realize that who you are now was dependent on an uncomfortable journey – a journey that pushed you out of comfort zones you prefer to stay in.

I mean sure, I’m big and scary now, but I wasn’t always the shrew you see before you. (And if you immediately don’t think of Shakespeare as you’re reading that last line, we probably can’t be friends.)

I suppose I was “lucky”(?!) that my caregiving journey has evolved over a long period of time. I rode the kiddie rides before hopping on the rickety, old school wooden rollercoasters. The whiplash is there, and sometimes it feels like a total possession, but an exorcism isn’t required. Not yet, anyway.

Side Note: Old school wooden coasters – Thunder Run at Canada’s Wonderland comes to mind, but there are others. Absolutely terrifying. And these rides aren’t terrifying because of their height or speed, rather it’s the knowledge that the rollercoaster was built (probably) in the first half of the 1900s, and how could it possibly stay intact.

Second Side Note: I’m going to start calling my side notes “Intrusive Thoughts” because…seriously.

Well, I’ve veered far enough off track, here. (Please tell me someone got that joke.) I guess my point is that like any major transitional moment in your life, caregiving can tear you all the way down to the studs, and then something else is built in its place. It’s not a fun process – it’s painful, scary, traumatic, exhausting. You’re forever changed after that experience – but maybe the rebuild has budget for crown molding? Maybe an accent wall? Maybe we’re made better? Stronger? Kinder? More empathetic? Less likely to accept the status quo? More likely to fight for your person?

One can hope.