“It has been good for me to relearn my shortcomings and learn to let things go. It’s been good for my family to learn the world (or Mom) doesn’t revolve around them all the time. Reaching for my dreams has sparked a fire in me that makes me happy. “
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It’s a right of passage for everyone. If you grow old enough, you’re going to find those pesky gray hairs- everywhere!
I found my first one a week before my 20th birthday. Thank you Mom for those genetics… At about 28 I started dying my hair. At 42, 43? 44? I have considerable gray but compared to some of my friends who have gone completely gray I still have a lot of natural color.
Gray takes getting used to.
It takes acceptance and self love.
And I’m just not there yet.
At the beginning of the pandemic when no one could get into their hair stylists, I toyed with the idea of letting it go natural. Several friends have. But I just couldn’t. I found myself at the grocery store buying color to cover all that gray up.
Fast forward 3 years and my hair stylist seemed to be ghosting me and once again I found myself toying with the idea of letting it go natural. But I just can’t. Instead I’m dragging myself out on a Saturday morning sitting for hours to get my hair done. I don’t know when I’ll be ready to accept the march of time showing up in my hair.
To all of you who have chosen to show off your gorgeous gray locks, I salute you! You are brave and beautiful!
I’m going to hide mine just a little longer. Maybe one day I’ll call it good and rock the gray streaks that frame my face like Morticia from the Adams family. Until that time, I’ll put in the time at my stylist’s.
I haven’t been writing as much about my son and his special needs. There are a lot of reasons for that. Part of it is because as he grows older I have come to realize that it is his story to tell and he deserves to have that right to share when and if he pleases.
At the same time, I have a story too, and I think it’s important to share my story and be honest about what it is like raising a child with special needs. This story hasn’t ended even though I share less about it. This story is part of who I am now.
The end of May marked the end of school for my children and they are out for the summer. Their Dad and I both work so they are home alone and are probably loving that we aren’t there making them get up before noon as they are teenagers now.
About seven years ago, we started using doorknobs with key pads. At that time our son was really struggling. It was for safety so that when things got out of control his sister and I could escape to a room to be safe. We also use them on our pantry because he cannot control his eating. He has access to plenty of food, but having a place he cannot get into ensures there’s some food left over for the rest of us. These doorknobs have worked REALLY well for us.
As I said, my children are home for the summer, and my daughter didn’t want to get out of bed yet and get the Cheerios out of the pantry that my son wanted for breakfast. So she told him the code.
SHE TOLD HIM THE CODE!
We started using these doorknobs when the doctors were telling us to send our daughter to live with someone else so she would be safe. During a time when she was thrown into a coffee table with glass that broke and had bruising all over her torso. During a time I had to go have X-rays to ensure my back was okay after being kicked right after back surgery.
This has not been our story for the last couple of years. He’s much calmer and more in control. Food is still very much an issue, but safety is less so at this time.
But what I didn’t realize is the psychological comfort those doorknobs provided me, knowing there were places he couldn’t get to, where we could be safe. This loss has triggered my anxiety big time. It really caught me off guard. Add to that, it was during a time when my husband was out of town, the one person who could control our son when he got out of hand.
I DID NOT FEEL SAFE.
Nothing in my son’s manner caused this. He was doing his usual things and not being threatening in any way. But this was my response to the situation.
Because of trauma.
My trauma response was to immediately feel threatened. For my anxiety to spiral out of control quickly.
This is my story. My response. It isn’t wrong or right, it just is.
Knowing this, I can name my reaction for what it is. I can understand that my reaction is a normal reaction due to my experiences.
I give myself grace.
That being said, it’s also okay to know that I might have to take more of my emergency meds for a while. That things that normally don’t trigger me anymore may start triggering me again. It’s something I have to work through. Whether we get new doorknobs that he doesn’t know the code to, or I learn to let go and breathe, or something else. I will work through this.
This is my story and I choose to tell it.
“As parents of special needs children, we are preached a religion of self-care. We are told repeatedly we have to make time to take care of ourselves or we won’t be able to take care of anyone else. That’s all well and good, but when I was in the thick of the worst of special needs parenting having no idea what I was doing or how to make it through?
I wanted to punch every person who said that to me.”
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Tonight when the demons in my head want to take over, I’m reminding myself that I am amazing and I have accomplished things that I dreamt about for years.
I graduated college. I have a BA in psychology. Other people had that. Not me. But now I do.
I’m getting my Master’s degree in Social Work.
I am a published writer.
Yes, my brain and other people are tearing me down and screaming at me that I can’t do anything right.
But the evidence?
The evidence is that I have survived 16 years of special needs parenting. And that is an accomplishment.
I survived 19 years of being a military spouse. Not everyone does that.
I crawled my way though years of severe back pain and 2 surgeries. And I came out the other side.
Anxiety, depression, people who don’t like me and think I’m worthless?
You won’t win.
I will get back up.
I will NOT give up.
I might have to stop and regroup. Give myself breathing room and take my meds.
That doesn’t mean I’m weak or incapable.
It means I am smart enough to recognize when I need help. I’m strong enough to get back up. My brain and the naysayers don’t get to win.
Because I am enough!
“A couple of years ago, I took a college class entitled Death, Dying, and Bereavement. It was a fascinating class. We talked about different types of death, bereavement, and the act of dying. One of the topics covered was whether people should have the right to choose their death when they are terminally ill. I learned something really important from that class.”
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“I’ve been thinking a lot about the antagonist and protagonist lately. The antagonist makes things happen, decisions are made. Will the protagonist live up to their morals or make a mistake and have to try again?”
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“Two and one half years.
That’s the amount of time I have left until my son turns 18. Every time I think about it, terror grips my heart.”
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I have seen your heartache. I know the person you are. You are people I dearly love, who I know have hearts of gold.
My heart cries out for you because of what you have been through!
This one has a child who is transgender.
Another was sexually assaulted by a man in authority and then told she deserved it.
Yet another, questions the very existence of God because of the many trials that they have gone through because why would a loving God put her through that?
Another just never felt close to God and no matter what he does, he feels nothing.
Oh, how my heart bleeds for you all!
I see your pain and anguish.
I don’t purport to know all the answers. I wish I did. I’ve had my own path to walk with things I have had to plead for help and understanding.
My path hasn’t been yours.
But with everything I have been through, with the answers I have found, this is what I know:
God knows the answers.
And even more than that, he understands.
I think one day when we are able to have a conversation in person with him, he’s going to clear up a lot of confusion for all of us. He’s going to know that one person dealt with life long depression which made it extremely difficult to feel his presence. He’s going to take that into account.
He’s knows the horrific experiences you went through and the effect they had on you. That you were blamed and told you deserved it. That for your own health you had to separate yourself from the church. I believe he has compassion and love for you and he’s going to understand that you did the very best you could.
Sometimes we get so caught up as Christians on things we think we are supposed to do, that we forget the core principal of the gospel of Jesus Christ is love.
We forget that those who have made different choices than we have, deserve love and respect.
We want to grade someone else’s sins greater than our own, and regard them as less worthy. But we don’t get to make that call. Only God does.
So when all is said and done, and judgement is given, I think we’ll see a lot more of those people who left the church, unable to walk our traditional ways, with God. Even if I’m wrong, God says to love him and love others, so I’ll keep walking that path and keep reaching my hand out to you in friendship.
Just because you left the church doesn’t mean God, nor I have to leave you.
So we’ll be right here loving you.
“Mental health is a scary issue for many people. There is so much stigma attached to many of the diagnoses. Adults frequently are afraid that they will lose their jobs if anyone finds out. This leads to not getting help, and not being able to talk to anyone about their mental health isolating them from the world. Which in turn, can lead to more mental health issues like depression and anxiety. ”
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