Mapping the Way Out.

The buzz, like the sound of a street light on a dark night, starts out as kind of the base beat of life around here. The buzz was annoying at first. It’s there sometimes, and not, at others. I got used to the buzz, like a vibration on the ride I call my life. With the vibration is a depth of love that defies description. And because of the love, pretty soon, you don’t even notice the little buzz that used to annoy you.

To minimize the tension from the buzz, there is routine. Routine is sacred. It ensures things get done. Lunches are packed. Teeth are brushed. Medications are taken. It’s done in the same order almost every day. Predictability. Stability. Necessity.

Of course, some days are different. Little changes are okay. I can improvise, as long as it’s not too much. Throw me a nerf ball and I’ll catch it. I will adjust. The little boy may balk slightly but things settle, relatively quickly, back to the norm. I cannot even see the disruption in the water… Throw me a medicine ball and, even with a large wave, the water will settle. I can handle going under for a bit longer. It’s all good.

But when you shoot several, basketball-sized disruptions at me? I will dodge, catch, dive and hold my breath, as best as I can, but eventually, I’m going to tire. I will become weak. A number of the fibers that hold me upright will break. I may bend. The routine that ensures stability disintegrates.

I’ll hold it in. I want to yell, to lash out, to explain what I’m feeling or why I forgot. But no one wants to hear excuses. They want stability. Dependability. I can’t give them that with “reasons”. And so, I don’t. I have come to the conclusion that we all have disruptions, changes, disappointments and disasters we have to live with, and no one needs to hear my rants to add to their own.

Holding it in makes me feel full. But it’s not the kind of full as in fulfilling, content, satisfied. It’s the kind of “holding in” that hurts, in an achy way. Usually, I find one or two people to listen. They can sympathize. I can pull the plug on this pent up emotion, and let it go.

Sometimes though, there’s a clog. Or I won’t talk about it. And that’s where it all goes bad. Those pains and pent up disappointments start chipping away at that glass half full. At the love. At the beauty of life. Shades are drawn around the pain. And it grows.

It grows til the day that the little boy has no school. And not just his stability, but my routine, is broken. He decides it’s a good day to refuse to eat in favor of play. It’s a day without predictability. And the little boy and his mommy need predictability. The little boy does not pen things up. He starts to yell. And cry. And kick things. He spits food and water on his own clothes. He wrestles for control. And the mom with the pent up feelings and pain has been holding it in too long. She yells. She puts him in time out. And the waterworks flow. He cries. So much snot comes out that it’s like a river. His eyes are red and his cheeks swollen. Mom feels like the worst human being alive.

And in that moment, mom realizes she left the boy’s swim gear in the bag on the bed at home 30 miles away and swim class is in two hours. The boy is a mess. The mom is debating whether to forget swim. But the boy has made so much progress. Swim is expensive. Missing a lesson is not an option. Mom puts him in the car and drives him for an hour to retrieve the swim gear and bring him back to town for lessons.

The boy does not deserve to be yelled at. He needs predictability. He got no warning of the day off. He got no schedule for what was to happen. The mom feels awful. She sinks even further. She determines she is unworthy of the special child she parents. She wonders, momentarily, if he’d be better off without her…

This was the map of my trip to depression. It happened so slowly that I saw it coming but it happened anyway. I needed support. Someone to turn to, to talk to, to comfort me. But the little boy’s dad is busy. He has work and grandma is seriously ill. The mom’s parents are struggling and not an option. The mom has no siblings – no relatives, close by, to turn to – she is isolated and alone. And so, the mom knew she needed to study the map to find the way out.

This stuff is not for “friends”. Because, in my mind, I need to be there, in the flesh, to support friends in their time of need – but there is no time for mutuality in my routine. There’s no extra time at all. There is no time to do any more than the baseline of required activity to make it to the next day.

So my only option is to figure it out myself. To let it out, even if it is just on paper. The tiniest flaw, that I hold in, can grow. When I am weak, that mistake can grow out of proportion. When I am tired, with no outlet, seeing my little boy cry, I want to stop the pain. Because I blame myself, I ponder whether cutting myself out is the cure.

But that is not the cure.

The cure, I figured out, after a while, is within. It’s self acceptance. It’s believing it’s okay not to be perfect. The cure is knowing I’m not alone and the world is full of little mistakes.

The cure is to learn to forgive myself. And so that is where I will begin.

Advertisements

About solodialogue

I'm a lawyer and the mom of a 6 year old boy with autism. I work part time and spend the rest driving here and there and everywhere for my son's various therapies. Instead of trying cases, I now play Pac-man and watch SpongeBob. I wear old sweaters and jeans and always, always flat shoes to run after my son. Yeah, it's different but I wouldn't change it for anything. The love of my child is the most powerful, beautiful and rewarding aspect of my life.
This entry was posted in Autism and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

14 Responses to Mapping the Way Out.

  1. I’m sorry you feel like this. I’m glad you are saying it out loud. I know exactly how you feel. You are so brave and strong. I know the boy is lucky to have you. We all yell and give time-outs and feel overwhelmed. When is that Hawaiian vacation? Hang in there. {HUGS} We are here for you.

  2. It all gets so overwhelming, doesn’t it? And at the point when it’s the most overwhelming, that’s also when you feel most alone.

    I feel for you Karen. I really really do. I’ve been struggling with a bit of this myself lately. And as the holidays come, you just know it’s going to get worse… more disruptions, more expectations, more meltdowns…

    I know it’s not the same thing as a friend who can stop by for a cup of coffee or to take the kids somewhere while you decompress, but you know how to get ahold of me. There’s no reason either of us should try to do this thing alone.

    • solodialogue says:

      You are a rock for me Karla, always. Sometimes, the laundry needs to be aired out, you know? And you being here means you have held your hand out and helped pull me back up. Much love to you. xo

  3. Teresa says:

    It’s humbling and insightful to find out that we are human. On to a new day full of routine and smiles. XX

  4. Denise says:

    Forgiving ourself is the hardest of all! Treat yourself like your best friend, love her, accept her, and yes, forgive her. Take her out to tea and start all over again!
    Lots of Love heading your way!

  5. Lana Rush says:

    This right here is what makes me so glad we’ve all found each other. Karla’s right – it’s not the same thing as a real person right in front of you with “skin on” but at least you know you can write it all down, get it all out, and hear from “your people” – those who truly understand and can empathize, sometimes offering assistance, but most times, just a shoulder to lean on.

    And honestly, a lot of those people who are right in front of us just don’t get it like we do.

    There are countless times that something you or Karla or Lizbeth or Allie have said that randomly pops into my head right in the middle of a “moment” with Lily. And while you’re not physically in front of me, many times, your words are in the front of my mind.

    Yes, it’s overwhelming and some days are better than others. But I am so grateful for the opportunity to share it all with you – and I’m honored that you share it with me.

    xoxoxo

    • solodialogue says:

      We do have a very special community that supports each other always here and yes, those people who are in front of us, don’t get it. I love how we all pop into your head at the times you need us with Lily! That’s so true for me as well. But, if I don’t share it honestly here, where can I? This is an amazing place this internet group and I, too, am grateful for every one! Lots of love to you, my dear Lana. xoxo

  6. Lisa says:

    I know this all too well. The pushing down feelings. The gradual buildup. The inevitable explosion. So much is put on us as parents…and somewhere–not sure where–many of us have picked up the misconception that we need to be perfect. It is not fair!

    I am glad that you have an outlet. I know blogging helps me, too. And our community?! I couldn’t ask for better. You help me see the things I am doing right, and you help me when I am struggling. I hope I can do the same for you.

    Forgive yourself. Find a little something just for you that makes you happy–and indulge. The boy loves you. We love you. Love yourself. ((Hugs))

    • solodialogue says:

      Your son and my son have so much in common that you always help me see things I don’t always think about- like the You Tubes of the ceiling fans!! Once in a while I find that I am so hard on myself that I “go under” for a bit too long. I don’t want to stay there and writing helps so much! Thanks for being here, Lisa! I may not say it enough but I appreciate this community with every breath I take. xo

  7. Huge hugs of support to you. Thinking of you and your journey. 🙂 Sam

  8. Karen, self-acceptance, forgiving ourselves and being able to say “I am doing the best I can” are so important. They are all points on our journeys as parents and they rarely feel satisfactory when we are beating ourselves up. As parents of our special needs kids, it is really important to know when we are breaking because accepting the moments when we are not able to do it all allows us to do the toughest thing of all: ask for help. Parenting will involve depression and days we are ready to break. Being able to talk about those things tells us you are still in the game.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s