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.

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

Letting Go

Eight more nights. Eight more nights of sleeping in this apartment, typing from this couch, listening to the whir of this old washing machine. I can't wait.

We will be moving into a house. A real house, no shared walls. Windows on all sides. A yard, a driveway, a fence. All the things we've never had. With the new home, we've been blessed with new (to us) furniture; couches and a dining room set among other things. 

I am terrified.

Why? Well, I'm not exactly a good housewife. I'm a pretty lousy one, at best. I have little to no idea how to decorate a home, how to make a place look....well, like anyone would want to live in it. See, we have been in survival mode for years and years now. I've never considered anyplace that we lived to be a real home. 

In case you didn't already know, this is our past home history:

-Married while in college and lived in what was essentially the "family" apartments on campus. Tiny. We furnished and decorated like college students, which is to say minimally and poorly.

-Hit rough times and moved in with my parents for almost two years.

-Spent several months basically couch surfing...essentially, we were homeless.

-Amazing friends took us in. We lived in their unfinished basement for almost a year.

-Back to the apartments at the university.

-Moved up in the world into where we live now- a two bedroom apartment. Furnished with whatever free furniture acquired over the years.

So, for a while, we've just been happy to have a safe place to lay our heads. We've never had enough room for all of our stuff. We've always had more kids than our space could reasonably hold. And these kids come with so much...so many therapist recommended toys and therapy related tools. Add in our addiction to books and my business products, and we are bursting at the seams. So somewhere along the way, I gave up. The mess always won, so why really fight it? Yeah, I sweep the floors (that I can see) and wipe the counters (some days), but overall I just kind of manage the mess, not conquer it. 

*Sorry Mom, I know this must be killing you to read*

I've known for a while that I have a problem with possessions. It goes hand in hand with my obsession with money. Almost everything I own was given to me. When you are poor and everyone knows it, people tend to give you things. And trust me, I am grateful. But, here lies my problem: It doesn't matter that I don't like jeans with holes in them- they fit me and someone gave them to me for free and I can't afford to go shopping. So, I end up with a closet bursting with clothes that I, at best, like okay, and at worst, don't hate too much. But I can't get rid of anything because I can't afford to replace it if I ever miss it! Go through this same mental song and dance with kitchen wares, kid toys, books, and just about any other item you might find in your home. I've had a tight grip on all of this stuff because I might need it. Or, sometimes, I held on because it fit some expectation I had. As though by possessing a certain toy, my children would show some new magical interest in imaginary play, or by owning an array of cookbooks, I would become a competent cook. 

So, I'm letting go. I'm shedding the drawers full of clothes that only "kind of" fit me. (As an aside: Prepare to see me wearing the same outfits. A lot.) I'm lugging away bins of toys that came highly recommended but have only been chewed up, lined up, or thrown. And the impractical items held onto for some imaginary future need? Gone. 

I feel lighter already.

I'm ready to step into a new home and not immediately clutter up the kitchen counters and dining room table. I'm ready to find a place for every thing. I'm ready to have a home I'm proud of. And bit by bit, I want to work towards replacing things that I loathe but hold on to out of necessity, like our not even close to full set of dishes or our threadbare sheets. I'm ready for my home to not be a place that so obviously stresses out my children and myself. I want to create a haven for our anxiety ridden spectrum family.

I know this won't solve all my homemaking problems. I still will be seriously lacking in practical storage. I still have zero home decorating skills (and a zero budget to decorate on.) And I still have three messy children that always come with plenty of stuff. But this is a start, a step in the right direction.

Goodbye stuff. I won't miss you.

Change Looms

In the next couple of weeks, my life will completely change.

Two weeks from today, we move into a new home. Three days later, Diva Girl starts Kindergarten and Rascal starts Preschool, in a completely new school. Eighteen days after that, Vlad starts attending an autism therapy center.

There will be so much newness. New therapists, new furniture, new clothes, new schedules, new routines. And as much as I love all of these new things, as good as these changes are- it's a LOT to handle. I fare only slightly better than my kids on adjusting to change.

Will there be meltdowns? You bet. Will there be anxiety? Already there. But I keep reminding myself that before we know it, we will be settled. Settled into our new home, with space and a yard. A yard. Our days of 2 bedroom apartment living will be over! The kids will be settled into a new school, a school with a spectacular reputation, a school that I hope and pray they love.

The best part of it all? I will have three hours, Monday through Thursday, without kids. Which I will absolutely need, since the moment I pick up Vlad, life will become absolutely insane. Between the three of them, there are 6 hours of speech, 4 hours of OT, 7 hours of behavior therapy, and other random appointments every week. How we will find the time, outside of school, I have no idea. But those three hours? They are mine. I can nap. Clean my awesome new home. Work my business (yes, I have a business on top of all this.) Have coffee with a friend. Talk to my husband without interruption from tiny people, before midnight. My mind is spinning with all of the possibilities!

So yes, lots of change is on the horizon. And while I don't love going through it, and I'm sure my kids won't either, I know that change is good. I just have to take a deep breath and brace myself.

3 hours a day. Light at the end of the tunnel.

The Line

There's been a lot going on in my world.

I could tell you about the various why's- the meetings, the sick kids, yadda yadda yadda. Instead, we're going to talk about the result of the chaos.

I'm tired. So very tired. I'm half asleep as I write this, and I doubt I will bother doing too much proofreading before posting (aren't you glad I do my very not-best for you?) And this tired isn't just from Vlad deciding to scream for 2 hours in the middle of the night. See, I am having a lot of time laying in bed, wide awake, worrying.

I worry about everything. What's going on now, next week, next year, next decade. And it all seems to come flooding in at midnight, while I try to get a decent night of sleep. The days are filled with meetings and therapies and work responsibilities, and the nights are filled with thoughts of them.

Thanks for the silver hairs, worrying!

I know I need to relax. Maybe I should pencil that into the calendar. My husband, my therapist, my friends...they all tell me how stressed out I am, and that I need to calm it down. And during those moments at midnight where I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest, I think that maybe they are right.

But I feel guilty. I get out of the house and go out for coffee, or dinner with the girls, or just OUT, much more often than The Husband. I probably get away from my kids far more than many of my friends with typical kids. I spend money that we don't have to go out with friends. I spend a ridiculous amount of time on facebook. I'm a slacker in the housewife department.

So, where is the line? Or, is there a line? At what point does my search for sanity start to hurt my family? Sometimes I feel like I toe that line, but then I realize- I am not at a point where I am doing well. Insomnia due to anxiety is not healthy. And THAT can't be good for my family.

I just don't know what the answer is. Do I go to a doctor and try to find the magic pill that will ease my anxiety? I would guess the success of that would be dependent on whether my issues are situational or neurological. Do I make a point to step away a bit more and try to find happiness through little moments of light conversation with friends and dinner dates with The Husband? Those aren't exactly easy to attain either.

I know I need to be well. Heck, my job is basically preaching to women about the fact that they need to take care of themselves. But it's just so much easier said than done. It all seems to be a trade off...take care of me at the expense of them. I get time out of the house and The Husband endures hours of screaming. I spend the evening decompressing and the laundry piles up. There is just no winning, it seems.

Things need to change, that much is clear. I can't get any more high strung. And life isn't likely to calm down anytime soon. Seven days until Vlad's big evaluation (not that I'm counting.)

A problem without a solution. Another thing to worry about in bed tonight.

Sick Day

Today is a Sick Day. Of course, Mommy's don't actually get sick days off. So today looks like a no-cooking, Disney movie watching kind of day.

My sinuses are making me wonder if my head exploding is a real possibility. My throat hurts so badly I don't want to talk or swallow or drink anything. My nose is both stuffy and running at the same time. I am a total whiney baby right now. Physically, I am a complete mess. And I can't help but wonder if my body is just a reflection of all the inner turmoil I've been feeling. A manifestation of all the stress and anxiety.

Yesterday someone asked me if I am okay. They are concerned because I haven't been my usual goofy self. And the honest answer to her question is "No."

Going through all of this is hard. Over-analyzing everything that Vlad does or doesn't do is hard work. Taking care of several children with special needs is stressful. Not having enough time or money or help or sleep is not exactly fun.

So no, I'm not okay right now. But you know what? I'm going to be.

This is just one stopping point on the journey. I have to go through it. I need to go through the stages, I have to let myself feel it all. There is no suppressing and stuffing down emotions here.

Some days are physical sick days, like today, where I lay on the couch and let my body heal. Other days are emotional sick days, where I lay on the couch and let my mind and soul heal. That may involve some deep breathing to calm my anxiety, or some Ben and Jerry's to....well, it makes me happy, and that's what matters. Either way, you have to take the time to let yourself heal. I promise, I'm not wallowing. I'm just dealing, as best I can.

I'm going to be okay. A little hot tea today, a little ice cream tomorrow. Time goes on, the journey continues, and we're all going to be okay.

My Nerves

There are times in life when I feel like Mrs. Bennett in Pride and Prejudice, crying out to everyone around me "Don't you know what this is doing to my poor nerves?!"

Right now is one of those times.

A lot of changes in what feels like a short period of time makes me slightly insane. I have random times when my stomach suddenly hurts and I think of one more thing that I have to do, or buy, or follow up on. Another form to fill out, another meeting to have. I keep waiting for the crazy train to slow down. Maybe I should just accept that it never does, that I'm a permanent passenger. Heck, I guess I'm the conductor.

In twelve days, Rascal starts preschool. In our local school. The one that I swore I'd set my hair on fire before sending my kids to. Oh how quickly things can change! I'm as confident as I'm going to be that this is the right thing to do, the best choice for him among the choices we currently have. But even then, I'm far from confident that this will be easy. There is always that constant doubt, at every turn. Are we doing the right thing? What is best for him? What is best for her? What is best for the family? Is it even possible to do the "best" for each child, or must we accept that no one situation will be perfect? No, I will never be 100% certain of anything we decide to do. I'm not sure it would be wise if I were.

So yes, my nerves are shot. And with us only months away from that all important 15-24 month period for Vlad and Diva Girl entering Kindergarten, I don't see my nerves getting any time to recover any time soon. In times like this I realize that I have to reach out and steady myself. This comes in different ways every day. A dinner with my husband. Coffee with my best girl friends. Diving into a good book. Bible study with my church. These things anchor me, they keep me sane. They remind me that even in the midst of change, some things remain constant: Love, Friendship, Imagination, Faith.

If you don't have some anchor points in your life, you're going to end up drifting in a sea of anxiety. So tell me, how do you handle the stress of change and uncertainty in your life? What calms your nerves?