To be attached.

I used to dislike babies. It's true. I never knew how to handle their vulnerability, their affection. I always felt really awkward and incompetent around them. They spit up, they pooped, and were perpetually sticky. I'm not an evil person, I just lacked maternal instincts at the time. The uncertainty of their movement paired with the fear of dropping them on their head was enough to keep me away from babysitting all together.

Over the years, this has changed considerably. I think working in the multiple disabilities classroom had something to do with it. My comfort level with those who could not care for themselves was tested quicker than I would have liked, and I was forced to be nurturing with absolutely no practice whatsoever. This provided some hilarious, albeit frustrating moments. I am forever thankful to the students of that classroom, for the grace that they showed me on the most difficult days, for their patience. The unwavering trust they placed in me was always surprising, and little by little they managed to bring out my soft side. It was there I learned the value of attachment, the need that we as humans have to depend on one another. 

Before this time, it was hard for me to be attached. I didn't want to have to be close to anyone, to require help. I wanted to be self-sufficient, strong and able to take care of myself. But here's the thing--attachment is a need that we all have, it's like water to survive. You can not separate love from being human, being alive from relationship. They go hand in hand. If we want to experience happiness and light and hope, we are going to have to be willing to deal with uncertainty, sadness, and failure. 

There is a quote that says, "the deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain". And I have found this to be true. If I wanted, I could avoid people all together. I could be alone, I could be safe.

I would be increasingly unhappy. 

The relationships I had with my kids in the MD classroom were tough, messy, and undeniably draining. And yet, looking back on my moments with them, I realize they were some of the most fulfilling ones. We fought for life together. We trusted each other because we had to, and we learned to  co-exist despite our lacking qualities. We were attached.

Because they often could not move by themselves, I moved for them. I knew when they were hungry, when they were in pain, when they were bored. I knew exactly what their cries stood for, their funny noises. I knew when they didn't like people, and when they liked people too much. I learned to be an extension of who they were, to act on their behalf. And (for better or worse) they had to depend on me to know them. 

Isn't this what attachment is all about? Being known and knowing, no matter what is brought to the surface? Because I can tell you, they saw the side of me that I am not always proud of. They saw my lack of patience, my selfishness at times. Yet they remained steadfast in their affection, equally joyful to see me no matter the circumstances of the day before. Our love was blind to flaws--we cared for one another because we were human, because we saw inherent value despite what the world said about our ability to be successful. 

To be attached is to be vulnerable. It is not safe, and a positive outcome is not always guaranteed. It takes active courage, constant reminders that we will be let down by those we love. It takes sacrifice. But if we can push past the fear, I am convinced that we will be rewarded with the richest of loves. 

By the way...I like babies now.