Powerhouse

There is a woman at the gym that I see regularly.  I'm almost fascinated with her perhaps in a freak show kind of way.  She's tall, fake 'n baked, and extremely muscular.  She's a trainer at the gym but I occasionally see her working out on her own.  Yesterday, I was using weights which were located behind where she was working out and was struck by each muscle that bulged as she pulled down on the machine.  I couldn't help but compare myself to her.  I am certainly not anywhere as strong as she is - not even close.  I don't envy her physical strength because I've never found extremely muscular woman attractive yet I will say that it is striking.  Although I go to the gym as often as I can manage, I'm not interested in strengthening my body in order to get large muscles or even to lose weight.  I'm using the gym to help me be stronger inside.

There are times when the weight of my son's condition seems heavier than I can bear.  I feel so inadequate in the face of such a confusing disability that I feel myself unraveling as I desperately try to stitch myself back up.  Like a dog chasing its tail, I find myself spinning and spinning in search of something concrete and real, an answer that clearly states this is what you need to do so that he can be well.  Of course, on the other hand, there is the haunting reminder that there is no cure, only struggles to try to replace less desirable behavior with better behavior.  How can one help a child when no one can definitively explain why he does certain things?  If there is no answer to why then how can we truly help him? 

The endless pursuit of answers while subsequently caring for my son requires a strength and endurance that exercising could never help me with.  Unlike weight training, there are no breaks between reps, there are no days to allow certain muscles to heal.  I can't leave the gym and take a break when things are getting to tough for me.  Usually, when I'm the most tired is when I'm needed the most.  There are times that I struggle to find the strength that I know is there even though it escapes me, leaving me feeling as if I have failed myself, my son and my family. 

Tonight, I was at the gym.  I channeled my intense feelings through my muscles in the hopes of releasing negative emotions which were standing in my way.  I didn't feel strong.  I felt overwhelmed, confused, tired, burned out, and sad.  I still do but after focusing on lifting heavy weights despite the physical pain, I feel I may have glimpsed my internal strength again.  As my children sleep, I'll try to rest so that I may find that strength in the morning.  Perhaps one day I will be as strong as some of the other moms of autistic children which I have had the privilege of meeting.  Unlike the trainer I've seen at the gym, the moms are the true powerhouses in my mind.