The Silent Battle We've Been Fighting

Seven months and many sleepless nights ago, we welcomed our sweet girl into this world. Her presence has brought so much joy and laughter to our lives that we never could've imagined otherwise. For years, seven to be exact, we were convinced that our son would be an only child. Our decision was probably more or less fear-based, since we experienced a really tough first year with our firstborn. Regardless, we were set on "one and done." But God... I just love those words. They never get old. God had a different plan. He had a plan and a purpose for Isabelle to make her appearance in our lives. With all the joy a new baby brings, its easy to let other things go unnoticed. After all, this new little life demands a lot of attention. My son, my firstborn, was beginning to show signs of something that was quickly spiraling out of our control.

With each passing day, I began to notice patterns in Owen that didn't make sense. He would have to walk around our car twice before getting in. He would make strange noises, repeatedly, to the point where they disrupted our everyday activities. He was no longer sleeping, waking multiple times a night, convinced if he fell asleep he wouldn't wake up again. As a mom to a new baby, I shrugged these silly things off as a boy begging for attention, and handled it as such. Days and weeks went by and the disturbing patterns began to multiply. It seemed that no amount of attention, good or bad, would suffice. With each new annoying, inconvenient pattern came a new punishment. I was determined to gain control over this situation. Then, one unexpected night, the reality that this wasn't just a phase, and it wasn't just for attention, finally hit me.

It happened shortly after we said our "goodnights" and tucked him into bed. He came running out of his room, screaming in fear. We Momma's know when our babies are scared. This wasn't just scared. This was a blood-curdling scream like he was hurt. He ran into my bedroom and sat on the floor crying, begging me to reassure him he wouldn't die in his sleep. As I sat in the floor, holding my sobbing boy, I began to sob myself. Through the sleepless nights with my newborn, the countless hours of nursing and the brain fog of sleep deprivation, how did I miss this? How is my son this mentally disturbed that he can't even sleep anymore? I came to grips that he needed help, and more than I could give.

The next day we met with his doctor and were given the news that I had already sensed in my heart to be true: Owen is struggling with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Although I knew this was probably the case, my heart sank, nonetheless. I have a newborn at home who needs me completely right now. And now I have a boy who needs me just the same.  My mind began racing..."Lord, I just want to NOT be needed! I can't do this. This is too much."

Things progressively got worse from there. My 8 year old, who should be worried about nothing more than which toy to play with, what book to read or movie to watch, was afraid his blood would stop pumping, fearful he would wake up in the hospital, afraid to drink out of a cup or eat a certain food because it may be poisoned. This Momma's heart was, and still is, hurting for my baby. I know the Lord could heal him in a moment, but for whatever reason, he has seen it fit to not take it away but give us all the strength to make it through this.

We now have a couple months of counseling under our belt, and some tools in our toolbox to walk him through this. But all the amount of counseling and all the number of tools don't give us strength when we are exhausted. The questions. The reassurances. The tears. It's exhausting. And we are tired.

When I have to confirm for the hundredth time today that the water isn't poisoned.
When I have to give him two hugs and two kisses goodbye before he feels safe to leave.
When I have to remind him for the twentieth time that his hands are clean enough to eat.
When I spend twenty minutes convincing him there is no metal in his string cheese.
This isn't just Owen's struggle. Its our struggle.

The days and nights have been so hard. These past seven months have been among the more challenging ones for my husband and I, but we've grown. We've found ourselves in intercession for our son way more often than before. We've learned to appreciate the baby steps. If he eats a meal without asking if its safe, we celebrate. If he sleeps an entire night in his bed without a single tear, we praise the Lord. If he plays outside with friends without coming to me and asking if the dirt will seep into his veins, we help him see there is hope!

I know Facebook, Instagram and all the other social media sites allow us to paint this pretty picture of our lives and cover up our struggles. But today, I wanted to share this struggle we've been battling. It's still not over. There is still work and prayer and intercession to be done but we are getting stronger by the day as we trust the Lord and also learn more about OCD and the way it effects our son. If you think of us, just lift us up in prayer.  He needs help, daily. We need strength, daily. We need to fix our eyes, daily. We need the Lord to remind us that this is just a storm and He has a purpose and plan for Owen and his struggle, daily. Owen is the Lord's. He will accomplish His purpose!