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.