Imagine a World Full of Walmart Dads: What a Chance Encounter Taught Me
And why I'm done with waiting for the world to change
I was tasked with an errand requiring me to leave my home and do some shopping earlier this week. It was drizzling light raindrops as I drove to and entered our local supercenter store. I hadn't bothered to apply my full makeup routine or even thoroughly brush my hair. I, instead, had opted to pencil in my eyebrows (unfortunately a "Must"), swipe on some red lipstick, and clamp a large hairclip around the length of my hair that I had twisted halfway down.
Dressed in Mom Jeans, T-shirt, and tennis shoes, I trekked towards the haircare aisle on my quest for more product to manage my daughter's nappy unruly curly hair. I didn't have our two kids with me, and so I was free to take my time browsing the different options gracing the shelves. I might have even taken more time than I needed at this simply because I was enjoying my "escape" from the cozy familiarities of home.
You see, the ingredients for cooking dinner were there safely thawing in the sink, I had recently checked and the kids were both peacefully taking naps, my husband was washing dishes, and everything was in perfect order at home for me to really enjoy my moment alone in the store with a little bit more cash than usual on hand. I even briefly considered buying a new work bag, but responsibly stopped short of this on my way back towards the self-checkout.
I passed by an older gentleman and his shopping cart with a small child seated inside the larger part, them being a bit too big to comfortably ride in the front of the basket. I nodded to myself as I had only recently stopped this practice with my oldest child for a few reasons, and that's the exact moment that I noticed something unique about this picture. The child in the basket appeared to have Down Syndrome at a closer inspection. In fact, they looked just like one of my son's classmates from his preschool for children with special needs.
I watched as who I assume was the father absent-mindedly acknowledge his son's happy and manic ramblings with an inattentive nod and "Oh yeah?.. Okay!" like all of us parents do when we're otherwise too busy to fully engage with our children. The father didn't appear unhappy or distressed, however. He gave off an almost tangible air of confidence and comfort within his own skin as he navigated the store with his kid, in fact.
I smiled to myself at the thought of Walmart Dad, now having walked off elsewhere inside of the crowded supercenter.
He seemed happy, I noted. Truly happy.
And that thought triggered a follow-up thought in me at that same moment: What would a world that easily allowed special needs Moms to be truly happy actually look like?
A world that didn't make you dread moments in public, or when your child wakes up after the peaceful silence you knew as they napped. A world where you know who you are and like who she is, one where you fit in with everybody else. A world where the present is a gift instead of a chore. Where your smiles are genuine and instead of only well-choreographed.
Would I still gratefully accept every opportunity to head to bed early in the evening with heavy eyelids? Would I still fear what latent misfortune lay inside of my tomorrow? Would I fight desperately with myself just for the drive to exist and stay here for the benefit of my children? Would I still crumble into a trillion pieces daily and pick them each up off the floor by hand?
I, of course, can't be too sure; I will never claim to have all, if any, of the answers.
But what if such a world won't ever happen?.. Not because it's impossible for a world where Mothers like me can be genuinely happy to exist. But what if this ideal place is my individual responsibility to create for my own enjoyment? What if it is actually an Inside Job stemming from changes within myself instead of from me trying to forcibly manipulate my environment?..
I've made up my mind that the construct of this world from my dreams is another job of mine. And the work required isn't the type of labor that my hands and muscles can do. It will more resemble:
Me directly asking for the help I need instead of just wishing for it to appear
Prioritizing self-care, even beyond convenience sometimes
Me being the gentlest with myself and not appointing someone else to do so
Leveraging the aid that can be found in my Support Network
Enjoying the blessing of the Motherhood that I've been given at every opportunity
Sharing my feelings when they get to be too much to contain
Stabilizing my mental health with the resources I have, and securing more resources as needed
I could go on, thankfully!
The Part I Didn't Share Yet
That night, after I returned home with my daughter's hair products, I couldn't stop thinking about Walmart Dad. What was his secret? How had he found that ease, that comfort in his own skin, while navigating a world that isn't built for our children?
The answer didn't come to me right away. I made dinner, helped with Learning Time, survived Bath Time, and collapsed onto the couch next to my husband late that evening. But as I sat there, half-watching whatever show he'd put on, it finally dawned on me: that father in Walmart wasn't necessarily happier than me. He wasn't free from worry or challenges or exhaustion.
He had simply made peace with himself.
And maybe that's the real inside job – not creating happiness by force, but making room for it by accepting that this life, with all its messiness and unpredictability, is ours. That we are exactly the parents our children need. That we don't have to perform perfection to be worthy of peace.
What I'm Learning:
Boundaries create freedom: Saying "no" to what drains me creates space for what fills me up.
The power of "good enough": Perfect motherhood is a myth that steals our joy. Good enough motherhood lets us breathe.
Comparison is the thief of contentment: Every special needs journey is unique. Mine doesn't need to look like anyone else's to be valid.
A Question For You
What would it look like if you gave yourself permission to be happy exactly where you are today – not when things get easier, not when behaviors improve, not when you finally "figure it all out" – but right now, in this UnCommon Motherhood?.. What do you feel is holding you back from this?
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