New Year, Not New Me

Somewhere along the line, I stopped making New Year’s Resolutions. I mean, it might have started by renaming to the more palatable concept of “#goals”. Somewhere in the midst of recovering from an eating disorder, I could no longer deal with the idea of calling them a “New Year’s Resolution”. That was an idea that was too interconnected with the idea of losing weight, dieting, “healthy” eating, or other triggering ideas. But goals? Goals were good. For the next few years, it seemed that they were the same every year. Read the Bible. Go to church more. Make a list of things that when I list them out when someone asks me, they’ll think I have my life all together. I’m totally an Instagram mom that does quiet time every morning while drinking a warm beverage…right? Then, last year I think I downloaded a habit tracker, but by January 3rd, that had gone out the window. The fact of the matter is simple. After 34 years of being a super strict, legalistic, moralistic rule follower… I don’t want to listen to people telling me what to do anymore.

I’m tired of it. I’m tired of the rules. I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of pretending that I like it all. Deep down inside, I just want to scream “Screw the rules!” (Well, actually it’s a more graphic version involving a few choice words that I’m not going to use on this blog on the chance that my parents read this someday because maybe there are some rules that still matter to me. Maybe.) I think my husband would probably say it’s my PDA showing. Let’s dig into that.

PDA. No, not the ew-gross kissing stuff. The PDA that is commonly known as Pathological Demand Avoidance. About two years ago, I came across this idea and realized that it fit my autistic daughter perfectly. I dug into researching it. It’s commonly used “to describe a person's tendency to obsessively avoid or resist demands, often to the point of causing meltdowns or outbursts.” Suddenly, I had a name to put with the reasoning. More importantly, I had something to Google that might could help my child I was struggling with. I’m sure I’ll write more about my journey parenting a child with a PDA profile someday, but today we’re actually talking about…me.

You see, the more I dug into PDA research, the more I told me husband about it. Then one day, he called me out during an argument (not a very smart move on his part) and accused ME of having a PDA moment. I was caught off guard at first, but things kind of clicked and now it’s a joke. A joke he frequently uses during our arguments. Our arguments that normally happen when we have a breakdown in communication (#neurospicy marriage problems) and he’s placing some sort of demand on me. Don’t start thinking that the military officer in him is carrying over into our marriage and he’s walking around bossing me around. It’s not that kind of demand. It can be as simple as “Honey, can you wash the dishes?” because he’s headed out to mow the grass or “Honey, Otter wants to snuggle with you.” after he’s read the girls a bedtime story. For some reason, after masking for years and firmly believing I liked rules…I actually don’t like being told what to do.

I don’t really like the label of "pathological” though. It just doesn’t vibe with me. I tend to prefer a different definition of the acronym- pervasive demand for autonomy. That seems to fit better with how my presentation goes. When I first realized that my husband might be right about this whole PDA thing, I thought that maybe it was a new thing in my life. Ever since I started thinking that I might actually be autistic and that it might explain my entire life, I stopped masking as much. Masking is when we (autistic people) ”unconsciously suppress or hide their autistic traits and behaviors to fit in with societal norms.” It’s something I’ve known that I’ve done my whole life, I just never knew that it had a name and that everyone else didn’t constantly weigh out how people would respond to their every action.

For me, rules equaled safety. If I followed the rules, then everything would be okay. For a long time, the reigning thought in my head went something along the lines of “if I follow this rule then I’ll be safe/It will be okay/Nobody gets hurt/I will get to Heaven/etc.” There was more than a little OCD tendencies in my life growing up. Anxiety was a part of who I was. Sensitive was a part of who I was. Yet, in the end that didn’t save me. It didn’t protect me. Pain was still there. It was just hidden and I masked and I acted my way through life. It didn’t make everything magically work out. So, then, when everything fell apart- I just made up new rules. Maybe these rules would work better. If I _________, then I’ll get the job. If I ____________, then I’ll be a good mom. If I _______, maybe my husband will love me more.

I’ve realized that renaming the rules to resolutions to goals to habits…it’s all the same in my brain. I’m either going to obsess over them and drive myself and everyone around me batty with my rituals OR I’m going to do the complete opposite and go all PDA, quit in a firestorm, demand that I’m right and all knowing…and have a meltdown. I’m a black and white kind of person. Gray is not exactly a color in my world, yet. I’m working on it.

So this year, I’m saying screw it all. I’m saying that whatever happens, happens. Maybe I’ll actually read my Bible this year because there’s not the overwhelming pressure of “I have to do it or else'“. It would be great if we make it to church more, but Sundays and people-ing can be hard sometimes, so maybe we’ll just aim for online church. Learning a language is good, but I already know how to tell someone my name and ask where the bathroom is in Spanish…so I’ll probably be okay here in Texas. It’s a new year, but I’m still me. I’m learning to love myself how I am, quirks and all. I know that in the end, it will all work out. I know that in the end, God wins. My ability to perfectly follow the rules doesn’t really impact that.

I kind of feel like this is ALL over the place, but it’s what was percolating around my brain tonight, so here we are.

Starting Again

 I think one of my biggest fears has always been the fear of being insignificant, of feeling that I wouldn’t leave a mark on the world, or that the world would be better off without me (Ooooo, dark thought. No worries). But around the time I graduated college, I went through what I now refer to as “the dark ages” where my life pretty much seemed like it was falling apart- and while I documented some of that on the blog, it was probably a more sanitized version of my life (because social media is fake and we all act like we have it all together when everything falls apart). Then, I got married (super quick- we dated for a month, were engaged for four), moved away from home, and had a beautiful baby girl a week before our first wedding anniversary. Life got busy and crazy and the idea of journaling or blogging…didn’t seem like what I wanted to do. So I didn’t. That's the reason there's like two blog post on here.

Let's catch up, okay?

I’ve been married almost ten years now. We moved again- this time to Texas. 

My husband deployed. It was in the midst of a stressful season of parenting Cakes. We were about to start ABA therapy for the second time. The first time (I think my first post here was one that) didn't really work out. But at this point, she was seven and we were dealing with some behaviors that had us stumped at what to do next and ABA was really our only option due to “noncompliance.” But, I really didn’t want to because I have concerns about ABA (I’ll share those another time). Due to the deployment, we relocated for six months and did not pursue therapies. But, I read a couple books about girls with autism. The first I read was Aspergirls by Rudy Simone. It changed my life. As I read it, I realized that I was reading a book that was not just about my daughter- it was about me. It explained my life, my universe…my everything really. It explained why things had seemed so hard. It explained why I didn’t get the jokes and the sarcasm. I started to realize that it’s not that everybody hates me and is annoyed by me- it’s that I can understand facial expressions and nonverbal communication the same way everyone else can. Suddenly it makes sense. I’m not broken. I’m just autistic.

Realizing my own neurodivergence has changed the way I approach my daughter’s autism diagnosis. It’s changed the way we parent. It’s helped my marriage (when two autistics get married- there’s gonna be communication problems). Embracing my neurodivergence has changed the way we homeschool. I look back and I think “it all makes sense now!” My hope for my daughters is that they will grow up knowing and won’t have to wonder why things are so hard. Life is hard. It’s not fair. But, we can find a way though the hard- together. We try to embrace our quirks and we make our quirks work for the good. It doesn’t always work. Some days (most days) are long, hard, and tiring. But a common theme prevails. Life is hard, it doesn’t seem fair, but we can do it together.

So yeah- life is hard. Sometimes I’d rather not share the hard with the world. But maybe the difference I’m called to make in the world is to show our hard- the good and the bad. Maybe I’m not called to be the picture perfect influencer. Maybe I’m just meant to share our everyday life and what’s percolating around in my brain to get it out.

There’s hard days and good days. Most days are a mix of the two. In the midst of it all, may the glory of God be shown in the story. In the end- He wins.

MLK, Dragons, and Dumbledore

I read something the other night that has stuck with me for a bit and thought I'd share it.

It's rather simple really- it's that Martin Luther King Jr. had a mom.

I mean, it makes sense. Somebody had to birth him. Obviously, somebody raised him. Someone taught him. Someone loved him. Someone poured into him. Invested in his life. Helped teach him and guide him into the man that he became.

From that thought- what am I doing to raise my children into the adults I want them to be? I mean, sure- at 2 and 5 years old, they've got a long way to go. We're still working on potty training- a long way from speeches inspiring millions. But, how can I show love to my children? How can I teach them to love others? What are my long term goals for my girls? I think this differs family to family. For me- my main priority is to teach them to love God and to love his people. I've based this around the teachings of Jesus and a core belief I have that if we love God and love people- nothing else matters. Everything else will work itself out. I've centered our 5 year old's homeschool curriculum around this idea. I mean, sure- I want my children to learn academics. Reading and writing and math and science are all important.

But if they go to Harvard at the expense of Heaven, does it really matter?

If they are top of their class and have hearts of stone and don't love others- have I still succeeded? I don't have the all the answers on how we do this- but it starts with love. It starts with loving our kids. It starts with not just telling them about the love of God, but showing them.

Adding on to this- I think sometimes we like to hide the darkness from our kids. It starts out with the best of intentions- we want to protect their innocence. I mean...do you really want to teach your children about human trafficking and terrorism and all the terrible horrible things in the world? Maybe we can just keep them safe in a little bubble for a little while longer. This was something I really wrestled with when coming up with Sadie's around the world study we are doing for homeschool this year. I mean, we could just read books about the world and look at a map and pretend to fly on an airplane and it would be great! But- that's not how I want to raise my child. I want to give her a heart that longs to help people in need. A quote I came across describes it perfectly to me:

The world is rated R, and no one is checking IDs. Do not try to make it G by imagining the shadows away. Do not try to hide your children from the world forever, but do not try to pretend there is no danger. Train them. Give them sharp eyes and bellies full of laughter. Make them dangerous. Make them yeast, and when they’ve grown, they will pollute the shadows. -N.D. Wright 

How can we raise dragon slayers if they don't know the dragons exist?

That's why we talked about Malala and how under the Taliban, little girls couldn't go to school in Pakistan. That's why we talked about Afghanistan. That's why we read books like the Librarian of Basra and talked about the war in Iraq and read books about bombings in Lebanon and talked about communism in Russia and Cuba. It's why we talked about the Holocaust and concentration camps at Hanukkah. That's why we talk about homeless people and halfway houses and addiction. If we don't talk about the darkness, how can we defeat it? How can we spread light in the shadows if we don't stray from the extremely well-lit areas? We use these stories to talk about redemption, grace, love, and perseverance through hard times. We use these stories to talk about how "Happiness can be found in even the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light" (Thanks Dumbledore.) We talk about what we can do to love others...on a 5 year old level.

My oldest child is only five. I might be screwing her up. If it's because she loves people too much, I'm okay with that.

Five Things I Wish Others Knew About Being an "Autism Mom"

(I wrote this at the beginning of the month to share on Facebook about our daughter's autism diagnosis since April is Autism Awareness/Acceptance Month, but I thought that it would be fun to share here on the blog since one day it will probably get lost to the Facebook abyss.) 

1. My child is autistic. It's not the plague. Your kid isn't going to catch it. Yeah, she's socially awkward- but so are her parents (I mean, have you met us?). She's a pretty cool kid once you get past the obsession over pedestrians. She likes playing with other kids - on her terms, in her own way. She might need time to warm up or she might not. She loves big and once she meets you once, she's probably going to call you her friend. At softball practive, she might play a game of catch or she might build villages in the dugout. Just meet her where she's at and chances are she won't want to leave when it's time to go. 

2. My child is autistic. That doesn't mean she's sad or angry all the time (she's generally a happy, cheerful kid!). She probably won't hurt your kid (any more than a neurotypical five year old might accidentally do)- and she's pretty sweet most of the time. She's happy. She laughs. She tells jokes (that really aren't funny, but just laugh along anyways). Yes, I'm sure she's autistic even though she smiles. She can be a joy to be around. Yes, we have hard days. But, we try to find the glimmers of hope in them. 

3. My child is autistic. It's a spectrum disorder. I read once that you won't meet two autistic people that are exactly alike. She doesn't fit in a nice, neat little diagnosis box. That's why it took us until she was 4.5 years old to get diagnosed. We were happy that day. We knew what was coming and it was a relief to be heard. She's smart and learned to read when she was two. She talks up a storm (even though she didn't really talk until she was almost 2- making up for lost time, I guess). She doesn't flap her hands- but she does have other stims (I don't discuss these publicly for her privacy- it doesn't add anything). Please don't compare her to your neighbor's fifth cousin's uncle's nephew. They aren't the same. I get it. That doesn't mean that either one of them is less autistic. That doesn't negate the fact that they both have struggles. 

4. My child is autistic. We homeschool. She's not autistic because we homeschool or because I didn't put her in preschool or MDO (if they'd change potty training policies, I would have sent her YEARS ago. But have you TRIED potty training an autistic toddler? That's all I'm saying on that topic). We do therapies (now- it took the diagnosis for insurance to cover them. I've been fighting with pediatricians for years for a referral). We tried ABA. It wasn't a good fit for us. I didn't find it abusive- my daughter liked it better than the K4 program we tried (that we kind of got asked to leave/kind of decided to leave). She loved her RBTs and BCBAs- we couldn't find an incentive that worked for her. She picked up some behaviors. It did help reduce her stimming (there are certain ones that we are trying to stop- we do allow ones that aren't harmful). It wasn't for us- but it might be for another child. No judgement here. She does speech therapy and occupational therapy (OT) and they are probably her favorite hours of the week because she loves "going to play". 

5. My child is autistic. We don't support Autism Speaks. Pleasem please...don't give them your money. We don't support finding a cure, a genetic basis, or a genetic test for autism (we do support therapies and helping our child reach her full potential). Autism is a part of the way that God created my daughter. I love my daughter the way God made her. If I knew while pregnant that my daughter would be autistic- I still would have chosen to have her. I do not support the idea of adding autism to a genetics panel during pregnancy and choosing to terminate due to the diagnosis. I do not support eradicating autism. To me, that would be like someone saying "Let's eradicate everyone with brown hair!- hey that sounds like Hitler. Let's not do that. Don't be Hitler. Autism is a trait of my daughter- maybe it wasn't as obvious to us as her blonde hair at birth, but that doesn't mean that she wasn't made that way by God for a purpose. 

If you have any more questions (or kind comments)- please feel free to ask! We do keep certain parts of our journey quieter publicly to protect our daughter's privacy and try to focus on sharing the positives on social media, but I am open to sharing more in depth about our struggles to help other parents who are starting the diagnosis journey or who have questions regarding their own children.