A New Anniversary

I can't believe it's been a year. A year ago I wrote this and I pretty much decided to completely change my life. I was naive and scared and I had no idea the roller coaster I was in for.

I have no regrets.

Change isn't easy. You don't just wake up one day and think "you know, I think I'll make my life harder today!" But starting over, for me, was first a realization. Then that realization grew and one day I did wake up and said "I'm ready." And now, looking back, I realize that I wasn't ready at all! There is no way to prepare yourself for a total life upheaval. There just isn't. You take the step and feel the air under your feet and hope beyond hope that you land softly.

So, I think the thing people want to know is how the kids and I are doing now.

Me? I still find myself in awe when I describe myself and my life. A year ago I didn't even have my own bank account. Now I just started a new job at one of my favorite places in the whole world (Starbucks. Of course.) I had to learn how to pay bills, along with how to shop at Home Depot and how to kill spiders. And I learned the pride that comes with seeing that paycheck and watching it provide for your needs. Sounds so simple, but it really isn't. Last year we had a Christmas tree with presents all around it. And every one of those presents was provided by some amazing people who love our family. This year, there will be one present for each kid. Those are the presents that I bought and picked with care, and I have to say that I am bursting with excitement over the upcoming Christmas morning. While I am beyond grateful for what we received last year, I am so very proud of our "pauper" Christmas. And I have no doubt my kids will smile just as much.

My new job is coming with two big advantages. One is that I will have insurance. I have not, in my adult life, had dental or vision insurance. When you have my faulty teeth and eyes, that is a major problem. I could weep with relief. The second advantage is that they will be paying for the completion of my degree. Yes, finally, I'm finishing that up! I've already got a semester under my belt and I'm loving it. Yes, the deadlines might kill me and finals gave me an ulcer, but I'm loving it, I promise!

And those are the labels that I find myself wearing. A part time employee, a full time student, and a full time mom. Because even when you share custody, the mom thing is always and forever. I am still getting used to the custody part. While I'm not yet officially a divorcee (which sounds like such a cool word, very misleading) we do have a parenting plan in place and I'm glad. The kids get great quality time with each of their parents and I think they are thriving. While this isn't what anyone plans and hopes for when they first have kids, it isn't as horrific as I'd once thought. My little loves have consistency and they have a Mom and Dad who love them. It isn't all sunshine and rainbows, but it never is. It never was. The progress that they have made in the past year is just astounding to me. A year ago I was worried about regressions and possible behavior problems and speech troubles and all the things that might happen. The road hasn't been bump free but these kids are rocking life right now. I'm so proud of the people they are and the people they are becoming.

There is also this big part of my life that you don't hear me talk much about but that doesn't make it any less. I love a woman. And she loves me. She has a little boy with autism and I love him too. I want everyone that reads this to know that just typing this tiny little paragraph makes me smile like you wouldn't believe.

I didn't know that life could be this beautiful and this hard and this rewarding. I'm so very glad I took the step. I know I'm one of the lucky ones. If you are thinking about changing your entire life, think hard. Because it is hard, in case I haven't mentioned that enough. But for me? Worth it. Oh so very worth it.

Belated Birthday

For those of you who didn't notice, I had a birthday this past weekend.

For those of you who did notice, I'm sure you're thinking This is a grown woman, when will she shut up about her birthday already? Soon, I promise you.

Last year I wrote a little diddy about what I wanted to do before I hit thirty. I have another year to go, but it's fun to look back and see the things on that list that I can cross off. But even more fun is to look back on the past year at all the things I've done that didn't make it on that list.

- I got a job. Like, a thing where I show up and someone pays me for doing things pretty decently. I hadn't had a job outside of the house since the day I went into labor with Diva Girl, and I was so nervous. Nervous no one would hire me, nervous I couldn't do the job if someone did hire me. But I found a great spot for myself with really wonderful co-workers and the most understanding boss in the entire universe. Not too shabby.

- I filed for divorce. Big, scary, grown up thing to do. Not a fun process to say the least. But it needed to happen.

- I figured out what I like. It turns out that for many years I've just sort of absorbed what other people liked and never took the time to figure myself out. And you know what? I'm pretty awesome and pretty lame at the same time. I LOVE pop music, winged eyeliner, rum and coke, high waist A-line dresses, and trying new places to eat. I still don't like driving.

- I've grown as a Mama. I used to always be afraid that I was a bad mother. I'm not anymore. I love my kids with all of my heart and have had to do a lot of hard things for them this year, including some of the things listed above. The time I do spend with them now is more precious to me. And maybe they were even a wee bit too dependent on their Mama. Watching them grow is a beautiful thing.

-I got meds. You guys, this is really one of those things that people don't talk about but I go there anyways. It turns out that crying a lot and being kind of mean and not wanting to do anything is not really me! That is Depression/Anxiety Mamasab. The real me is here! The real me still cries over ridiculous things, but not all day long, and she is actually this really motivated and humourous person who likes sunshine and rainbows and singing really loudly in the car. I feel like myself. Meds don't magically make your life better, but the right ones can enable you to handle your life better.

- I got my nose peirced. Wanted to do that since I was 15. Also, I did get that tattoo and I will get more as soon as humanly possible (in other words, I need mo money.)

-I made a bunch of new friends. Met a ton of new people. That isn't an easy thing for socially inept me, but I'm so glad I did it.

-I kept a handful of old friends. The people who have been through the tough stuff with me and are still around? You are priceless. Many people either dropped me or had to be kicked out of my life because they were downright destructive. But I fought for some friendships, and they are absolutely worth it.

- I went back to school. Third time is a charm, right? But seriously, this is my time. I'm still pretty sure I must be crazy to take this on right now, but playing it safe hasn't been in my vocabulary this year.

-I loved. And have been loved in return. And that is the best gift I could have given myself.

Next year is the big 3-0. I can't possibly top the major spoilage that happened this year, but I'm thinking I can't imagine anything better than a big party. Who's in?

Me smiling the big birthday grin I had all weekend

Should Be

I should be doing schoolwork right now.

The kids are all in bed for the night. The house is quiet and the laundry is caught up on but all I can think of is all the things I should be doing. The dishes. The writing assignment. Sweeping.

There is always something to do. There are always expectations to live up to. The should be train of thought can, and often does, quickly derail into the should have.

I should have cooked dinner instead of driving through at McDonald's. I should have taken that kids to that free event on Sunday that I wimped out on. I should have gotten that picture schedule done last month, the kids would be doing better if I'd just done that. I should have finished that assignment before the due date. For that matter....I should have finished school the first time around. Or the second. And I should have come out of the closet ten years ago.

Should.

I don't want to live a life of should bes or should haves. Should is nothing but a burden. Just over a year ago, my life was ruled by should. I felt suffocated by it. At some point the should's of society and religion and family became the voice in my head. Sure, I bucked it sometimes, if it felt safe enough to do so. But there were many many times when I simply operated under the guidelines that I'd developed over the years of what a good wife/mother/christian/student/worker should do instead of what was best for myself or my kids or my sanity.

Don't get me wrong, we all have to live up to our responsibilities. The kids need fed and watered, the house needs cleaned, and if I want to graduate (finally) I need to do my school work. I'm not saying that I'm advocating abandoning your obligations. However, I'm done beating myself up over the little things I do or don't do. If I want to drink a white chocolate mocha that has as many calories as a full meal, and read a book that has nothing to do with schoolwork, I am not going to pay for it later in guilt. And I'm not going to beat myself up for the big things that are in my past. I can't change those things, no matter how much I wish I could. So laying in bed thinking about what I should have done won't do anything but make me sleepy the next morning.

There are things I can do, things I will do, things I flat out won't do. But maybe I'm kicking should out of my personal dictionary. And I'm going to sit here in the silence and do a bit of online window shopping and netflixing before going to be bed. Because I can. Guilt free.

Blank, Not Boring

I've come and stared at this blog every day for a week. I click on "New post" and look at that big blank space. Then I walk away. Because filling that space as seemed both alluring and very, very scary.

Writing, for me, has been about vulnerability. Sharing a piece of yourself is nerve wracking. It's like saying Hello, here's my heart, please try not to stomp on it. Add in the extra layers of being in the middle of the divorce process and not feeling like I could really say anything about anything, and you've got the biggest case of writer's block that you ever did see.

So, what's an autism mom blogger to do when she doesn't feel like she can write about her kids? There is so much more to talk about, but I'm not quite sure what to do with it, how to begin the conversation. I always thought of this blog as an autism blog, but maybe it isn't. Maybe it's just a my life blog, and my life is full to the brim of many, many more things. I still get daily views on my coming out post, and I'm pretty sure there isn't just a bunch of autism moms coming over to peek at that.

I attended an event last week that featured one of my favorite writers and human beings on the face of the planet, Glennon Doyle Melton. She is the reason I keep coming back here and staring. And she is the reason I am actually writing today. Because she made me realize that I need it. I think everyone has a way to tell their story. Some people draw, some people take photographs, some people cook, some people film, some people tweet, some people dance, and some people do sporty things. It may not always look like story telling, but anything can be, really. I hear that there are even some people who are really good at verbally expressing how they feel. Weirdos. But this seems to be my way.

So. Hello. To old friends, and new. Welcome to a new chapter. Stick around, it's bound to be interesting. Because a lesbian mother of three children with autism, who works and is a full time student and is going through a divorce, can't possibly be boring.... right? I'm sure I'll find something to write about.

OK

His eyes are huge, framed by these long gorgeous lashes. And he looks up at me, face all innocence and voice like a little cartoon character. "It's ok buddy!"

He'd been bringing me the jug of milk and he'd lost his grip. The jug dropped to the ground and it made a loud thunk and I saw emotions flitting across his face in the flash of a second. First, surprise. Then for the briefest of moments, panic. And finally, by the time he looked at me, calm had kicked in. "It's ok buddy!"

He knew the words to say. He knew that his Mama would know it was a mistake. He comforted himself with the words he'd heard us say so may times. "It's ok buddy!"

And it was ok. No harm, no foul. I picked up the milk, poured him a glass, and his world was right again.

But I can't get that moment out of my mind. Today is a hard day. I'm in my head this morning, I'm worrying and overthinking and making mountains out of every problem. And just when I think that I want to curl into a ball and cry, his little voice pops into my head. "It's ok buddy!" And somehow, the words meant for him are now comforting me. I can just imagine him here, patting my back and giving me the kisses that my little Rascal is famous for. The picture, the memory of that little voice saying such simple words, brings a smile to my face.

Yup. It's ok buddy. Thanks.

Tirelessly

Oh, how I've missed writing. I've missed talking into space and occasionally hearing something back. I feel a bit like this safe space got jerked away from me, but today when I thought about it I realized that it is only because I let it be.

So.

Today I have a bit of a rant. A rant against a word I hear, time and again, that drives me crazy.

You hear it in speeches, you hear it when people talk of their admiration of someone. "So and so has worked tirelessly..."

We need to retire this word.

No one is tireless. No one. No autism parent works tirelessly against the maddening and frustrating systems of healthcare and schools. No advocate works tirelessly to stand up and speak out. The progress makers and law changers and life embracers all get tired. They aren't some special brand of better human.

The word has been used to describe me before. Though the person meant it as a compliment and a testament to my hard work and dedication to my kids...it felt like a ton of pressure. I felt put on a pedestal that I knew I would come crashing down from in only a matter of time. What would happen when I did get tired?

What I've found out is that we all get tired. We all need a support system and a pat on the back. We all need people to vent to and cry to (and people who will kick us in the butt when we need it.) We need to know we can get tired and it is okay.

Let's work tiredly instead. Working tiredly means that it is hard, and you want to give up, but you keep going (and by keep going, I mean that sometimes you stop for a good cry and a nap and ignore the issue entirely for a little while until you are ready to deal with it again.) Yawning all the way. Yeah, working tiredly is more my speed. And I have a feeling, if you're reading my blog, that it is more your speed too.

Today is my break. I'm healing from sickness and I'm in need of a little heart and soul work. So I took a luxuriously long shower and primped to my heart's content. I spent at least ten minutes trying to get a perfectly winged eyeliner look. I'm ignoring the dishes in the sink and the laundry in the basket. I'm getting a few extra kids cuddles. I'm prettying my body and my soul today. Because I got tired, and it is okay to admit that. Tomorrow is a new day and I will tackle it when it gets here...but today belongs to the repair of the weary.

Keep on keepin on, friends.

My eyeliner game is on point today. Just in case you didn't notice.

I'm Not Lost

Well, I didn't mean to fall of the face of the planet. But as you can imagine, I've been dealing with quite a bit after dropping my big coming out bomb. And, unfortunately, my laptop died and I haven't had a computer for a few weeks. Let me tell you, I have missed sitting at a keyboard and typing.

I think there has been a collective intake of breath and a question hangs on everyone's mind- Now what? What are you going to do?

I've been asking myself that question for weeks, months, years. I never saw myself here. I never saw myself with three kids with autism, facing a divorce. I never saw myself coming out of the closet and being vocal about my uncertainty in the religion I was raised in and professed for my entire life. This was not the plan.

But then, I've made a lot of plans in life and few of them panned out. I'm not really interested in thinking of a ten year plan at the moment. What I am interested in is figuring out what I want, which isn't quite the same thing. I'm interested in continuing to learn about myself and then following through on what I know that I want. What am I passionate about? What kind of life do I want to live? What kind of home do I want to create for my children? These are the questions that I find myself laying in bed at night, answering in my head.

Here's what I've got so far.

I am passionate about people. About changing lives, in small ways and on a large scale. I want people to think of me as a helper. In the year to come, I want to continue doing my job, which is providing women with a space to relax and pamper themselves and just plain feel good. I want to help change the laws in my state, both in the realm of autism insurance reform and lgbt rights. I am eager to help my parents as they begin a non-profit to provide financial assistance to families affected by autism. These are all things that challenge me and push me out of my comfort zone, but I think are completely worthy of my time and effort and discomfort. To know that you have helped people...is there any better feeling or purpose?

I want to embrace all the other things I'm passionate about. Reading good dystopian novels or young adult fantasy. Watching my nerdy shows like Doctor Who and Sherlock and Firefly (you can't rewatch it too many times). I want to keep trying new foods but also come to terms with the fact that I will never be Betty Crocker. And dancing. There must be dancing, there has been far too little dancing in my life.  I know people use the phrase "gay lifestyle" a lot. I don't really know what that means. The lifestyle I want involves nerdy fandom, poetry, red lipstick, cute dresses, dancing, late nights with kids who don't sleep, snuggles with three little loves, binge watching netflix, crockpot meals, holding hands with a woman I love, liquid eyeliner, IEP meetings, and writing in this very blog. I just want a life that embraces all the things that make me, me.

Part of what makes my life good are the three little ones who look at me as their Mama. I spend a lot of time thinking about the life I want to create for them. I want their home, or homes, to be a peaceful haven. I want to teach them about being strong. I want to create a better world for them. Then I want to be sure that I teach them how to navigate this big crazy world that is so much harder for them than I could possibly understand. All three of them have birthdays approaching and I find myself swinging back and forth between nostalgia and looking ahead. It's true that the days seem so long and the years feel so short. Their futures are a mystery to me, much as my own is. I think we will all just have to hold hands and step into our futures together.

Yes, I've got a lot to figure out. I used to feel like that was some kind of weakness. That not having it all together would mean that you are falling apart. But I don't feel like I'm falling apart, I feel like the opposite of that. I'm growing up and taking responsibility and saying things with more certainty now than I ever have in my whole life. Even if the words are "I don't know", I can at least say them with confidence and security in who I am. And that, my friends, is a wonderful thing.

Coming Out

Well, I did it. I threw open the closet door and am now dealing with the fallout. (For the two readers who don't also follow me on facebook....I'm gay. There, you are all caught up!)

And trust me, there is a lot of fallout involved.

So why did I do it? I didn't have to go public. I didn't have to tell my whole world, which mostly consists of varying degrees of conservative Christians, that I'm gay. I could have stayed quiet, kept only those close and supportive in the loop.

Announcing it was a choice, and it was a very deliberate choice.

The first reason was because I have lived a lifetime hiding, sometimes even from myself. I'm done. I have no desire to keep quiet about a very important part of my life. I have no desire to hide who I am. I am proud. Never thought I would say that, but I am. I have probably watched this video a dozen times in the past few weeks, and there are a bunch of parts that really resonate within me. But the main thing is this: "No matter what your walls are made of, a closet is no place for a person to live."

Watch it. Trust me.

And within that reason is another. I wanted people to love me for who I really am. I didn't want to sit and wonder...would that person still be nice to me if she knew the truth about me? Would this person still be my friend? We all want to be loved and to be liked, it is only natural. I don't just want my mask to be loved. And now that I am out, I realize that I also don't want to be liked in spite of being gay. There have been those who have revealed that this is clearly repulsive to them, but hey they still "love" me. Sorry, that just isn't enough for me anymore. Love me, love all of me.

Maybe the hardest reason to verbalize is the fact that I also came out because I wanted people to understand that what they say matters. As a kid, the word "gay" was synonymous with "disgusting", "unnatural", "sinful", "abomination", and "repulsive". I heard it from the living room couch and the church pulpit and the desks in my classroom. As a scared teenage girl, I just wanted to be loved and I never wanted my friends and family to use those words to describe me. And so I repressed as much as humanly possible. I slid into a life of trying to please, a life full of depression and self hatred. What you say has an effect on the people around you, and you may not even realize who you are talking to. You may not realize when you use a gay slur around your buddies that you are driving a knife into one of their hearts. You may not realize that your evident disgust over a couple holding hands makes your friend terrified to be honest with you. These things matter, your words matter.

Two days ago, I got the words "I am significant" tattooed onto my arm. I got it as a reminder, not only of this moment in my life, but as reminder that I don't want to go back, even when it is bound to seem easier. Because it is easier, in some ways, to live a lie. It is easier to make people I love happy, to be able to see respect and admiration in their eyes. Being honest comes at a price. But the price of life as I have lived it has been sacrificing my feelings of self worth. I have felt small and scared and disposable for most of my life. For the first time I feel strong and significant and happy with who I am as a person. Again....a closet is no place for a person to live.

In the midst of all of this, my kids have been a bright light. They don't know what it means to be a heterosexual versus a homosexual. They don't care. They love me, all of me, fully and completely and wonderfully. I am their Mama. They are the definition of acceptance, of every kind of person. They could care less what the color of your skin is, what you worship, or who you kiss. The world has so much to learn from them. In the end...I have no regrets, because life has brought me them. Life has brought me here. And here is not a bad place to be.

This One's for You

It's been quiet here in my blog. It has not been quiet on the homefront. The past two months have been the most chaotic and intense months of my life. There has been a lot of personal growth and a lot of just plain scary life stuff.

And it has been killing me to stay quiet. At one point I realized that I had to write, so I did. And maybe one day I will publish the posts that I have saved. But right now I'm not quite ready to put that much of me and my life out on display, which is really saying something for the woman who puts everything out there, from my struggle with anxiety to crazy vaccine theory stalkers to the process of getting my kid diagnosed with autism.

To come on here and just  talk about the latest goings on with the kids would have felt somewhat disingenuous. And even now I don't quite know what to say. I just know that I felt the need to not just write for an audience of me. I felt the need to reach out and grab a hand. I felt the need to say "I'm here and I need a friend."

And isn't that the beauty about this? This blog has kept me connected to people I haven't laid eyes on in years and people who I have never met in "real" life. It has made friends and family aware of our struggles and our triumphs. It has kept my thoughts and my words alive, it has captured childhood and motherhood and marriage. There were times when I thought of the blog itself as a sort of friend, but that isn't right....it's all of you. And sometimes my words here haven't gone over well and I've been lost in the good opinion of others. There have been those who don't approve of what I've said. And there will be those who won't approve of the changes my life has undergone in the past few months. But beyond that, I know that there are others. The hand holders, the uplifters, the dance partners. I'm gonna focus on you.

I don't need a flurry of well wishes and concerned messages. I'm not looking to be questioned. It's good enough to just know that you are out there. Wishing me well and loving me. That, my friends, can keep a girl going. And that's what I've got to do- keep going.

Love to you all.

Celebrate the Small

I do it all the time with my kids.

Licked a fruit? Celebrate!
Said a word? Party time!
Went to the bathroom? Let's have a freakin parade!!!

With a kid on the spectrum, you tend to celebrate a lot of small victories, because they are no longer small at all. The hurdles are high and it takes all that they've got to get over them. And when they make the leap and land on their feet, I'm there to applaud and rejoice and be proud.

So why can't I do that for my own bruised self?

I was abundantly vulnerable sharing my struggle with anxiety with you all. I don't know that I've ever received such an outpouring of love and support. You told me that I'm not alone. But I still find myself going through a whole lot of mental self abuse.

I make a phone call. And instead of celebrating the fact that I did it, I berate myself for struggling to make it in the first place. Big Deal, Anxiety Me says, So you did something that every normal adult does all the time. And I feel weak and childish for even feeling a moment of pride in the accomplishment.

And if the call doesn't go well? Oh, then I may as well call it a day.

Why do I do this? Why can't I take pride in overcoming my anxiety? Why do I make it another way to beat myself up?

I don't have an answer. But I do know that every day I celebrate victories for my children. I see them struggle so much, so seeing them succeed is even sweeter. Maybe I need to take a lesson from myself here. Maybe it is time to celebrate the small, for myself. Maybe, just maybe, I deserve it. I'll try to get that through to Anxiety Me.

The Things We Don't Talk About

You guys know I'm all about being real around here, so get ready for a big old dose of my reality.

I have an anxiety disorder. (Not sure what that means? Hop over here and get a quick overview)

Yes, it's a mental health disorder. Which means that people generally don't talk about it. And no, it doesn't mean that I'm just a little stressed out with everything (ahem, the three kids) and so I have anxiety.

It started around 2nd or 3rd grade for me. I called home from school several times a week with stomach aches, begging to go home. It got to the point where I had to practically be bleeding from the head to be allowed to go call my mom because I had stomach aches every single day. I know they must have thought I was faking it. But I really did have those stomach aches every day, they were a symptom of anxiety...I just wasn't old enough to understand that yet. I came to just think that's how things were, that I was supposed to walk around feeling like there was a ball of lead in my stomach.

The panic attacks started in puberty.

I've had a brief reprieve from anxiety, a couple of years where the knot in my stomach and the constant worrying were gone. But almost two years ago, it started creeping back. And that is why I am writing about it now.

My anxiety in the past few months has been the worst it has ever been in my life.

My anxiety manifests itself in a fear of calling people on the phone, generally. Yes, that may sound silly to you. Which is why I tend to not talk about this. But "simple" things like calling a doctor's office or a new friend can take a huge amount of effort on my part. This is always, always there...but when my anxiety is "down" I can manage it and make the calls without too much extra effort. When my anxiety is mild, I may have to work up to making the calls. When my anxiety is high, I can't make them.

That's how it's always been.

Well, these last few months have been a whole new level of crazy for me. I've always been able to call my mom, she is my best friend in the whole world. Well, it got to a point where I couldn't even call her. Then, I started being unable to answer calls. And then? Lately, I've been almost completely unable to answer texts and emails.

You have no idea how deeply embarrassed I am to even admit this. I know this makes no sense. I know I should be able to do these things.

The hardest part is that it has been affecting, well, everything. Mainly, our finances. Because, guess what my business requires me to do?? CALL PEOPLE. Every day. Not doing that has made my business pretty much dry up and completely go to dust. Which means that I haven't been able to bring in money. Which has increased my anxiety, because we kind of need that money to, you know, feed the kids. And the more anxious I get about being unable to do my job, the less I am able to do my job.

I have never felt more scared and helpless. It's like being stuck in a loop of self destruction.

So, why am I choosing to go public with such a private struggle? Well, two reasons, really:

Because I know I'm not alone. Maybe for you it isn't anxiety and phone calls, maybe you suffer from depression or some other mental health disorder. Even though I know I am not alone, I need to feel like I'm not alone right now, and I bet someone else needs that too.

And because I'm not above asking for help. Yes, I am in therapy right now. But, to really put myself out there, I need help restarting my business. For my local friends, if you think you can be of any help in that area please let me know. Otherwise, I want you to give me a call. Maybe not today (not sure I could handle 100 phone calls in one day!) but sometime in the next few weeks. I am going to work on answering my phone again, and making calls (so if you get a phone call from me soon, know that you are special to me!) My therapist says I just have to start facing it and break the fear cycle. May sound simple but I'm breaking out into a sweat just writing about it.

So, there you go. I've got issues, you guys. But while I may be afraid of picking up the phone, I don't ever again want to be afraid of talking about this. Because it is real and it is me and it should be nothing to be ashamed of.

Now, give me a virtual hug, I'm going to go eat some ice cream, writing this post has stressed me out.

The image I will be thinking of whenever I get on the phone this week: The road to wellness has a sunset of course

The Halfhearted Hippie

Have you ever been bitter about something for years without even knowing that was the emotion you felt until it hit you like a ton of bricks?

Well, if you haven't, just pretend with me. I'll start from the beginning, I suppose. 

I've always been fairly "natural minded". I have no idea where the inclination comes from. But I'd picked out the midwife group I would use prior to even becoming pregnant, at 19 years old. I knew I wanted to do things naturally for birth, and of course my research crazy self went on to discover breastfeeding, cloth diapering, attachment parenting...and when I started out as a young mom, I was so very proud of myself because I thought I was doing the very best for my baby. I mean, everything I read told me that by doing all these things, my kid would be healthier. As Diva Girl grew, it seemed like she had that promised health. She was rarely ever sick, never needed antibiotics. Her development was perfect. She happily munched on all manner of organic veggies (I was so incredibly obnoxious, I'm sure, bragging about how much she loved broccoli.)

And then? Shortly before her third birthday she was diagnosed with a rare autism spectrum disorder, Childhood Disintegrative Disorder. 

I felt....cheated. I was doing everything right, how could I end up with a child with, you know, "issues"? So then I thought- I can fix this! I read and read and saw people using diets and vitamins and I thought- YES! Up my crunchy alley!

Only, she didn't get better. She just ate less. And still lost skills and words.

So, we stopped. I mean, I still went on to have two homebirths and nursed the boys and that kind of stuff. But any time someone would suggest something "natural minded" to me, I would pretty much ignore them. A little part of me would just think- yeah, right, like that would actually work.

And I never really realized that somewhere along the way, I'd become this incredibly bitter person. I was so angry that I did all this research and invested so much of my time and effort and money and belief into a "natural lifestyle" only to be let down by it. And then, the almost daily barrage of people "informing" me that they or their cousin's sister's best friend's daughter had cured their kid by doing GFCF/going all organic/cleansing toxins from vaccines/using supplements. Each suggestion was like an annoying kick to my wounded self. I became defensive of my previous attempts at some of these things and of my current penchant of feeding my kids gluten laden nuggets and milkshakes. So somehow, all of this swirled around in my brain and I became this really inwardly nasty and closed off person from almost anything anyone would suggest to me to help anything from a cold to sleepless nights.

Of course, eventually I realized that I'm not looking to cure Diva Girl, especially after Rascal and Vlad came along with their own diagnoses. And I am sure that there are families out there that have been helped by the things I listed above. But my family isn't one of them. And that's ok. 

So I need to let it go.

I need to not get insanely defensive when someone recommends garlic and honey for my cold. I need to not go all inward eyeroll when anyone mentions GFCF. I need to let go of the bitterness. Because really, we are alright. Actually, my kids are fairly fabulous. Plus, they probably could use a good probiotic and multivitamin. And I kind of miss being a hippie sometimes. Maybe now, though, you can just call me the halfhearted hippie. 

A Writer?

Everyone keeps telling me that I'm a writer. I've never thought of myself as one. I'm just a girl with a blog, with an "interesting" life.

I started blogging, years ago, to talk about life with Diva Girl. Mostly just out of town friends and family read it to keep up with her, but it was very much for myself. I loved writing about our daily life, knowing that I could look back for years to come on those early days. As the diagnosis came, I went silent for a while. And then? Then, I started blogging to deal with it all. It has been the best therapy I could ask for. 

Over time, we have added more kids. More special needs. And more than just family and a handful of friends read this. 

In the last few months, I've gotten comments from many telling me that they love reading this blog. It always comes as a surprise. And they say "You are such a great writer!" Ever since diagnosis number three, I've even been told that I should start writing a book (HA!)  And I just kind of laugh and shrug. Because I can't help but think they are just being polite, giving a compliment they don't really mean. I mean, I'm not a writer. My husband is a writer, working on both fiction and non fiction, as well as his blog. My dear friend A, who is working on a trilogy- she is a writer. Me? With my little posts on how my daughter is a cat and birthday parties and head colds? Not so much.

But then, I find myself realizing that I really do love to write these little posts. In the last week or so, I've thought of several different things to write about. I just can't seem to get my thoughts organized and written down. I can't seem to be able to get a grasp on how to write about these subjects, since I am feeling rather emotional about them. I thought to myself- maybe I'm just done with this whole blog thing. Maybe I don't really have anything left that I want to say, maybe I just need to keep all this stuff to myself. But I realized that I didn't want to quit, because day after day I click on "New Post" and try again, often writing a sentence and then deleting it immediately. So today, as I stared at the blank space, a phrase came to mind. Writer's block.

Huh.

I guess it's time to stop fighting the title. I may never write a book. I may never write a post that gets pinned or makes the rounds on facebook. Maybe I don't use big words and start to many sentences with "But" and "And" and suck at sentence structure. Maybe I overuse bold and italics. But I love to write. I love to share my thoughts and feelings and experiences with people near and far, friends and strangers. 

Thank you for reading. Thank you for making me feel a little less alone and a little less misunderstood. Thank you to my Autism Moms who read along and commiserate. Big hugs to my friends who read to understand my life and my kids. Many of you know that I've been all about a journey of self discovery lately. Thanks for helping me discover one more thing- Like it or not, I'm a writer.

Free To Change

I've always been a rather opinionated gal about certain things. Opinionated and, um, enthusiastic.

When I first started having kids, I was practically a hippie (not really, but that's what people tend to call us natural minded types.) I think all I could talk about during Diva Girl's first year of life was breastfeeding and natural birthing and vaccines and cloth diapers and baby carriers. I plunged head first into what was essentially a new culture to me.

Then autism came along. And while I was still having babies and caring about all of those things above, my focus switched. I inhaled books and studies and therapy ideas. For a solid three years, my focus was on autism, and early on I formed just as many strong opinions on how to be an autism mom as I did when I was focused on being a good attachment parenting mom.

Oh, how time changes things.

I think I may be both a less and more judgmental person now.

I gave up on cloth diapering with Vlad. When he weaned himself at 14 months, I was relieved. I am even reconsidering my stance on vaccinations (insert gasp here.) My kids eat chicken nuggets more than is possibly healthy. And for a woman who was allllll about attachment parenting and had planned to homeschool, I am more than happy to wave goodbye to all three kids every Monday morning. Getting in the highest  amount of therapy is no longer a priority. I go days without reading anything autism related, and even actively avoid reading the latest "Scientists discover the maybe, thinly possible, not actually proven link to the cause of autism!"

Admitting some of this is hard. Nobody wants to be the person who shouts an opinion from the mountaintops, only to recant later down the road. It makes me feel like a flake.

But the truth is, change is good. Change means that you are a growing, living, learning person. I'm still a judgmental person because I judge the person I used to be, and those who I meet who are like that. The ones who know it all. Who think that being right is better than being nice.

Honestly, I'm still there. I have those moments. You know, when someone says something on facebook and I see it as my duty to let them know just how wrong they are. Ugh, I can be utterly obnoxious.

I am learning. Learning how to change without being embarrassed by it. How to look at how other's are doing things differently without feeling as though it is a statement against what I am doing. I'm learning how to check out of the grocery store without being embarrassed by the dichotomy between the organic baby spinach and dino shaped chicken nuggets. Embracing being a happily public schooling attachment parent.
Learning how to adapt. And how to own up to my shortcomings both past and present.

I'm sure I will be passionate about something again, only to change my mind later on. Feel free to not point that out to me. Just love me anyway, flaws and all. I'll try to give you the same courtesy.

When They Are Well

I've been quiet. Too quiet.

Why?

Well, for one thing, things were chaotic for a bit. I moved a bit growing up and I never considered it to be such a major life event. When we had little enough stuff to throw into boxes in a couple of days, moving was not a huge deal.  Now, however, with three children...it was kind of a massive undertaking.

But that isn't the sole reason for my silence.

See, everything has gone fairly smoothly. The kids transitioned to the new house extremely well. They are adjusting to their new schools surprisingly quickly. And I have found myself without anything major with the kids to worry about.

What am I supposed to do with myself now?

I'll tell you what I did. Took a good long look at myself. And then I had a mini break down.

Guys, it turns out that I have some issues. And when I'm not 100% focused on my kids, these issues decided to pop up and say "Hey there! We're the stuff you've been repressing for a while. We're coming out to play!"

As it turns out, throwing myself into my kids is just another form of escape. I know I'm not the only mommy out there to do this. I mean, there is always something to worry about, to agonize over, to research and implement, when you are a mom. The laundry list of serious concerns for an Autism Mom is about a mile long. And how easy is it to hide behind that? To use that as a reason to put off dealing with your own inner struggles. But if there is one thing I've learned in the past month, it is this: My kids are my world, but they are not my identity. There is a woman behind the Autism Mom label. A woman with a past and a future, hopes and fears, passions and loves. I'd already been working on that woman for a little while, and I think that the stillness of a happier home I found more to deal with than I was quite prepared for.

And yes, I'm being purposely vague. There are some things that are still not fit to be shared with the whole of the internet. But I will say this- don't you worry about me. I'm okay. The thing about taking the time to really look at yourself, is that while it is terrifying...in the end, it leads to a richer life. A muscle, stretched and worked over time, becomes stronger. That is my hope.

So, thanks kids. You're doing alright. And so will I.