A Calm Moment

We are having a calm moment in our household.  It is our moment to breathe in, look around, and not deal with any crises.

I am grateful that I can enjoy it.

Our little guy has a new doctor who connects with him in a way his psychiatrist could not.  Our Zoloft journey is continuing successfully.  Each day, I see in him less anxiety and more attempts to communicate.

Our sweet girl got some much needed one-on-one time with me last week, and my husband and I celebrated our 18th anniversary yesterday.

As I take my breath, I can see how people get addicted to drama in their lives, though.  In this calm moment, I am needled by the buzzing flies of cultural and personal guilt awareness.  I see all the issues that get pushed aside during the rough spots.

• How can I give back more to my community?
• How can I decrease my carbon footprint?
• How can I eat better and exercise more?
• How can I be a better friend, sister, aunt, mother, teacher, wife, human?
• When the hell am I ever going to finish Anna Karenina?
• Are my teeth as white as they could be?
• Will I ever care about fashion or own a pair of heels?

I see how it would be easy to start complaining; how tempting it would be to look for a cause or an injustice or...any distraction. That is not what I want.   

This is my Life.  It is imperfect, messy, unfashionable, sincere, and has a carbon footprint about a mile wide.  And I will enjoy every blessed minute.

I will not squander this gift of time.  I will not invent problems out of the business of everyday living.

For all of you reading that are in my Life, I thank you from the bottom of my heart and I love you.

Slippery

I had the pleasure today to talk to another momma a little further down the path. It helps me so much to hear about someone else's journey and experiences. A topic that popped up often through the conversation was the idea of acceptance, specifically acceptance for WHO my son is.

I want that very much. I want to accept my handsome little guy for exactly who he is. In fact, I want the same for my daughter, for myself, for my marriage, for my Life...

I feel that acceptance for me is like a slippery fish. I feel like I am rooting around in murky water trying to capture this acceptance. (For the mental picture, envision "River Monsters" instead of "Hillbilly Handfishin'", please.)

I'll think I have it in my hands, holding it almost tangibly. I will be convinced I know what acceptance feels like, what it looks like, the weight of it. Then, it is gone through my fingers, and I am on the side of the road crying to "Born This Way".

I have to admit that I am not sure what the practicality of acceptance looks like...
How many occupational classes do you sign up for if you "have acceptance"?
How much do you dare hope for drastic improvement?
How much speech therapy coaching do we work on at home daily?
How much do I challenge him?
How much do I comfort him?
How much do I give him?
How much do I give in to him?
How much do I require from him?


Usually, I end the blog with my answers and my ideas.  Not this time...

In My Spirit

These past few years, I have been finally able to grow comfortable inside my body. Lately, I have felt the calling to become comfortable in my spirit.

Years ago, I was lucky enough to hear a sermon titled "Faith Is Not Belief". I will not summarize it here; there is no way I could do it justice. (If you are interested in reading its entirety, it can be found in the book Invitations to the Dance by Michael Brown). This sermon was a significant catalyst on my path. It helped me recognize that I did not need to spend so much energy searching for ways to define my beliefs. I saw that faith does not necessarily need a belief system. I spent the next few years relieved, but embarassed. I took that same energy and wasted it being defensive about my newly found "faith instead of belief". I still felt sheepish admitting to friends and that I had no church home, feeling like an errant child playing hooky. I think it is time to let that go.

The truth is that I do not know the exact nature of the Divine; I cannot map out the edges of my soul. There are mysteries of Life I fully expect to gaze at questioningly for the rest of my life.

And.I.just.don't.know.what.I.believe.

That un-knowing is NOT a tragedy to be overcome.
My un-knowledge is NOT a problem to be fixed.
These mysteries are NOT gaping holes to be filled.

I love and respect my friends and family with strong religious beliefs. I do not want to convince anyone of anything. I am just ready to accept that, although my spiritual journey might look like (and even be...who knows?) aimless wandering, this is exactly where I want to be. I am much too stubborn to be on any other path.
My un-knowledge suits me, and I suspect there is peace deep inside it.

My Week

I am a little hesitant to write about last week.
It was a painful inoculation into the world of living with mental illness.

I learned a few things that, unfortunately, many people already know too well.

• psychiatry is much more an art than a science.
• there are no quick fixes.  This is a long journey, and we need to prepare ourselves for that.
• OCD can wax and wane, even on the correct kind and amount of medicine.

It was a trying week, definitely.  We made it through.  We have a short term plan (upping my son's medication), and a long term plan (signing up for an anxiety reduction class through the local Easter Seals).

Though during the worst moments, oddly, I was most worried about leaning too much on the people around me.


I am the type of person who, whenever I get something I really want, will immediately start imagining my Life without it.  This is the first time I have had a support network of such caring, authentic friends.  Sometimes that scares me. I very much do NOT want to lose them.  And, of course, they are loyal and wonderful; listening to me while I cry...or worry...or rage...or apologize...

I want to be a good friend.  I want to enjoy the luxury of letting someone comfort me, while not crossing into the gray area of "the friend always in crisis." I also want to support my friends without crossing boundaries or being "hover-y".  This does not come naturally for me.My love for my friends is genuine, but I sometimes feel like I am faking knowing when to give my opinion and when to just listen; when to tell it like it is and when to just validate feelings; when to challenge and when to just be there.

Mainly, I very much realize how lucky I am in my Life, and I never want to take the people I love for granted.

I Surrender, part II

It is time.

I surrender to the word autistic.

I am too tired to fight anymore.  I give.

I have been running from this word as fast as possible for two years.  I realize now that I cannot outrun this word with a piece of paper from Easter Seals.  There will always be people in my son's life who label him as autistic. 

What is scarier than the word autistic, is the knowledge that no one actually knows for sure.  We just can't at this stage and age.  
He is speech-delayed; he has a fine motor delay; he has anxiety; and, I just found out yesterday, he has a gross motor delay.  Those are the facts.

The cause?  The depth? The breadth?  The future?  Those are the guesses...


I am not ready to say my child is autistic.  That may be denial.  If so, I am in good company (his pediatrician and Easter Seals among them).

...But I am tired of fighting the ghost of someone else's guess.  As of today, I will let the word autistic live in my universe.  I will not run away from it.  I will not fight it.  I will just let it sit beside me.

I Surrender, part I

I want to always be striving to be a better person. 
I want to work hard. 
I want to keep growing, and letting myself be uncomfortable. 

I do realize, though, that sometimes it is better to surrender.

I surrender to the fact that I will always be overweight according to someone's chart.

At work, we have these "health advisers" that come once a year to evaluate us.  And it is an evaluation.  We actually get grades for the answers to a questionnaire and our blood work numbers.  We do not have to participate, but we get monetary compensation for doing so. 

When my youngest was one, I decided that I wanted to (finally) get out of the overweight column. 

At the first meeting (four years ago), I weighed 139 pounds and was told that I needed to be 123 pounds in order to be a healthy weight.

The next year, I weighed 122.  I was quite shocked (and angry), when I was told that I needed to be 113 pounds in order to be a healthy weight.

I skipped a year.  I went back (last year).  I weighed 114 pounds.  I was told that I needed to be 109 pounds.  So, I have been plodding toward that goal.

So, to recap, our health adviser told me to get to 123, I did.  Then, they said, "no, you need to get to 113."  I did.  Now, I am supposed to get to 109.  Isn't this a symptom of an abusive relationship? 

I know "abusive relationship" is a bit of an exaggeration, but yesterday, if you asked me why I was still trying to lose weight (and friends have in the past few months), my answer would have been "Because that lady with [our health adviser] said I needed to."

I did talk to my doctor.  She said that although she wouldn't tell me I shouldn't lose weight, I was at the point where I would no longer be losing weight for health reasons.  But the fact that some person at some company would give my health a "C" grade because of the number on the scale still bugs me.

...I know...that's messed up...

So, as of right now, I surrender.  I will stop trying to change my Life and my body to gain approval from a stranger. 

Now...where'd I put those cookies?

Pit Stop

On my journey toward inner peace, I had a pit stop today at "sobbing behind my van out of the line of sight of my son"...not a fun place.  We had just left the psychiatrists's office, and I had gotten a shock.

I had thought that the Easter Seals' Autistic Diagnostic screening was irrefutable.  I carried around the piece of paper saying that he was not on the spectrum much longer than a healthy  person should.  The doctor disagrees with the team at Easter Seals.  She thinks he is on the spectrum as PDD-NOS (Pervasive Developmental Disorder - No Other Specified). 

I felt like I had been sucker punched.  I am still reeling really.  It was not even a possibility I had imagined.  I keep waiting for this situation (someone telling me he is autistic) to not hurt so much or to not scare me so badly.

Clearly, in the words of Aragorn, that day is not today.  I am not sure when it will be, but I am sure it will come.  My son's challenges are just that...challenges.  I know that to view his particular struggles as a tragedy would be disrespectful to him and to Life.  I have to have faith that we can handle what comes our way because I NEED to have faith that he can handle anything that comes his.