It was a Thursday afternoon as I waited at the bus stop for my youngest daughter’s bus to arrive. The ground was soggy and the air chilly, which matched my mood. It had been a long day.

As the bus arrived, I looked up to see my fourth grader smiling at me through the window. She exited the bus and we both waived goodbye to the driver. I gave her a big hug and asked how her day had gone.

Walking back down the muddy road talking, the conversation turned to the following day. I gave her the heads-up that the I would have a meeting in the afternoon, so we wouldn’t have our usual hour together after school. I gave her the option of either taking the bus home and leaving immediately for the meeting, or I could pick her up from school and we could play a game at a coffee shop before my meeting.

“What’s your meeting about?” she grilled me in an already disapproving voice. This was her way of letting me know she was not happy that I had scheduled something during our regular after-school time. I hesitated, knowing the answer would add to the tension that was suddenly in the air. I was meeting with an educational coach who specialized in working with parents of twice-exceptional children. A meeting that was about helping our eldest daughter, and also about my work with advocating for those with Dyscalculia.

“Well, it’s for work.”

Unsurprisingly, she blew up, stating loudly, “WHY IS EVERYTHING ALWAYS ABOUT (Sister)?! OR YOUR WORK - WHICH IS ALSO ALL ABOUT HER?!!!”

I took a deep breath. It had been a long day for me already, and I didn’t know if I was up for this sort of emotional outburst. And yet I also knew it was important that she express her hurt to me, and that I could take it in and hear her out.

I took another breath and dug deep. “I know it’s really hard. I know it must be so annoying that I have all these appointments and meetings about helping sister or my work. I know you want to know that Mommy and Daddy spend just as much time thinking about you.”

She was too angry to hear my attempt at empathy. She picked up her pace, stomping ahead of me with a scowl on her face, roughly forcing her feet through the mud.

We usually stop by the mailbox together and see what’s in there, but she turned towards the house, marching inside. I stopped at the mailbox alone, wondering if I had energy for the afternoon. When I entered the house moments later, I could see her trail. The boots, coat, and backpack had been dumped on the ground and she was not in sight.

Not too much later, she appeared, coming down the stairs in her fluffy teal robe which was wrapped around her school clothes. Usually she needs longer to recover from such an outburst, so she surprised me by walking into the kitchen her shoulders drooping, “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

Despite my tiredness, we hugged and snuggled for a while. I don’t always respond so well, and I wonder if I found it in me because I had recently been thinking about my own aversion to expressing anger, and how I wanted to be more open to expressing this emotion.

I told her it makes sense that she’d be so angry. I told her I wonder many times how it will be for her that I’m pursuing a vocation in helping parents navigate learning disabilities, which is connected directly to her sister.

She responded, “I have my speech thing (she has a IEP for speech therapy), but that is getting better and soon it won’t be a problem I have. But Sister will always have her Dyscalculia and her allergies, and will always need help.”

“Yes, that’s true,” I told her, “You also have your own problems and fears and places where you need Mommy and Daddy’s help, even if they aren’t the same needs as your sister. Your difficulties are not any less important.”

It’s hard knowing how to support a child when the other child seems to need so much more support. There is no easy answer or quick fix on this one. I can’t deny that much energy and time is given to supporting her sister, or that I’m in a work that is all about her sister’s difficulties. Covering up or denying that reality will only make it worse.

I can only hope that by remaining with my youngest even in her difficult emotions, I can provide a place of safety where she can work through her hard feelings and we can stay connected. She needs to hear that I love her and think about her and her specific needs.

If you want to learn more about dyscalculia awareness, education, and support, you can receive a new article from me each Saturday. Privacy respected, no spam, unsubscribe anytime.