Suspended-but not Alone~

25 May 2023 Leave a comment

by cindythea in thoughts Tags: , , ,

The above image is of a suspension bridge connecting a chasm within the Black Hills in Western SD. It connects a gap from one set of property lines, across a ravine of rocks, trees, and limbs to a more wooded area, giving way to a beautiful golf course. The suspension bridge spans about 200 ft , is about 4 feet wide, and more than a little wobbly.

I hate heights- I mean really, really, really dislike them. Not the “I hate sub zero windchill” kind of dislike- but the kind that churns my stomach, elevates my blood pressure, and renders me sometimes incapable of coherent thought. I feel weak, unsure of myself, and my own good judgment seems to fly out the window. For all my bravado, when it comes to heights (and those blasted snakes, spiders, mice, rats and other creepy crawlies) and I am faced with fears like this, I become almost incapacitated, paralyzed with all sorts of images of danger running through my mind. I envision all sorts of scenarios–losing my balance, plummeting to my death, the definite Indiana Jones bad guys that are surely coming out of the darkened forest to impale me on the end of their dagger thingy on their way to secure the Holy Grail–( I do not have access to, nor do I know where to find said Holy Grail). I imagine the security of what I was walking on giving way and I am tossed to the ground (after free falling millions and millions of feet at what could only be Top Gun 10 G’s speed), and I am left there-cold, broken, missing my water bottle, with my phone lying just out of reach ( and what’s that sound- oh yes- the intrepid mountain lion or bear coming to eat me while I wait for rescue), alone.

Is that really going to happen- prolly not ( but….there’s still time!), but the idea that something so scary COULD happen is what often stops me from beginning a process or taking a step in first place. The reality of the situation is far less damning than what I am concocting in my head and I foster this idea that I have to tackle what I deem terrifying on my own. If I could get out of my own way, I could experience so much more-

Anyone else out there terrified of the terrifying?

I’ve been thinking about this as I recall a couple moments that occurred recently. The above picture is of an actual suspension bridge some 30ish feet above a ravine. That is a real rickety and wobbly bridge and ……wait for it…….I walked across it- 4 times! Well, technically 2 times (to and from my destination), but still I was on it 4 times! That’s a pretty big deal. I can look down and see the rocks and tree limbs, I scan for the RIP tombstone I am convinced exists, and when it wobbles back and forth, I catch my breath ( reminding myself that “Weebles Wobble, but they Don’t Fall Down!”) and utter a prayer, and let’s face it, more than a couple expletives. I was on this bridge with 3 other people- a brother type, a sister type, and a fatherly type– incidentally, the 2 males in our party took up the front and back end of our trek across DOOM. Could I, would I have done this alone? Most definitely not. There is the lesson- ( I am, after all, a teacher, so everything is harkened back to some sort of lesson) and yes, the second I say “there is the teaching moment” my kiddos would roll their eyes and groan- (she turns everything into a teaching moment- Yes, Yes I do– get used to it!) and it’s a musical too, but I can’t dance across this dang bridge.

The first steps were tentative-wiggly-fraught with hesitation-I watched the stride of the person ahead of me-concentrating on the next forward movement. The next few steps were stronger-with a little more confidence. Then I came to a section that had pieces of the plank missing-the voice ahead of me warned me-threw me a caution to be careful. They did not fix the situation-did not piece together the partial plank, but instead gave me a heads up as to what to expect. (it is the unknown that often catches us and throws us for a loop). I crossed the damaged area-noting that the flaws gave the whole walkway more character. This part differed from the others-gave me something new to consider, a challenge to overcome, and I did. So did the others that were with me. We grabbed on to the rusty metal pipe that’s attached to a bit of chain and wended our way across the expanse. There were moments where I caught my breath-wondering if I could indeed put one foot in front of the other-could I truly take on this scary ( and of course, death defying) big big bridge?

On my own-not a chance. Without seeing those feet ahead of me and knowing that there were people behind me-counting on me- bolstering me, I would never have set foot on that wooden walkway. Without realizing it, those of us on the bridge that afternoon were demonstrating exactly what I think many of us know deep down–we CAN do hard things- we can surpass our expectations- and we do this because as a whole we are better together! We can draw strength from each other and push further and do more-together!

It dawned on me as I was writing this that the story of the bridge is not just my story-there were 3 others with me on that journey-at least one other who was as nervous as I was. They needed me not to bail. Maybe, just as I was keeping my eyes fixed on the figure ahead of me, they too, were watching and needing me to pull through so they could too. So, we ventured forth-over the rickety board gap, further away from the security of the lawn we left behind towards what we could only see just before us. The look down (wait, don’t they tell you NOT to look down?) threatened to catch me off guard-but the promise of something waiting for me just ahead was enough to keep me moving-(if you’re not moving-you’re likely being passed). Crossing the finish line, so to speak, brought me back onto solid ground-the smiles, the affirmations from those of us that had bested our fears was exhilarating-we did it- we did it together!

Then-wow, oh wow…..the trees, the landscape regions, the examples of growth all around us- This-THIS is what we brave the hard parts to find- (ok sometimes the hard parts find us first)-I discovered a piece of the world I had not seen before this walk-if I hadn’t braved this moment, my eyes wouldn’t have taken in green-life-the smiles from those gathered-the smiles that confirmed that they were proud of us. I wouldn’t have heard the affirmation nor taken the next steps of learning from a long respected patriarch of an incredible family. The walk that ensued, the conversations that took place, the sharing -none of that would have happened.

Later that weekend I invited someone else to walk that same path with me-the fear was palpable- no one believed we’d be able to do it and certainly not just as dusk threatened to overtake our outing. No way did we think we’d make it- no way did we believe we would take the big step to venture into an unknown. But….we did. (remember I said I walked that bridge 4 times- here was trip number 2 into the abyss) And……we did it!

This time I took the lead-this time I made sure that I was the voice or the feet that someone else could follow-and it feels amazing to provide support to another-and it is amazing to watch another be brave and do hard things. It feels even better to know that we can do hard things-together.

You see, we were never meant to walk these paths alone. I am a fierce independent and I pride myself on doing everything on my own. I like it-I like knowing that I think I can take the world on and conquer it-all on my own! ( but wow-when realizations kick your bum, they really kick it!) What I rarely admit to anyone are the instances that I foster a healthy dose of my own terror-the moments that I don’t step forward and make a move because the fear of the unknown is too great ( and let’s face it, I don’t really like doing the chicken dance). So that fear grips me-takes hold and chokes out the goodness and growth I might have otherwise experienced. (nothing ventured, nothing gained) I used to think that was ok-that it was just fine to not know what I might be missing-but catching glimpses of vistas I have yet to see offers me too much to walk away from- See when you get a taste of amazing, you want more. When I realize that hard things can be accomplished and they are made easier with someone (or multiple someone’s and a faith) there is something that makes me want to walk more bravely, take on harder issues to see what can be tackled-how we can inspire each other to be better and more than we thought possible.

Now that does not mean that the initial walk across and the walk back wasn’t scary it was ( and in the dark it was even scarier)- but waiting at the edge of our return was another someone ready to see us through to the other side.

I think that’s what part of this life is about- it’s about admitting the hard truths-facing them-reaching out-knowing that we are all in this- I’m capable, we’re capable of so much more. All those things that we yearn to have and achieve-they can be realized-we can, I can- We can do this—–together. So, there’s the bridge-there’s is the path forward-it’s the risk we take-not knowing if we’ll break into a million pieces. But what if, what if in our Humpty Dumpty brokenness, all the people gathered to piece us back to whole? So, here’s an extended hand-I offer you my strength when you need it- grab ahold and we can take the next brave steps-together.

Are you with me ?

A New Normal?

24 May 2023 Leave a comment

by cindythea in thoughts Tags: , , , , , , , ,

May is mental health month and it is an area of focus that is near and dear to my heart for obvious reasons. I have a son who wrestles with mental health obstacles, many of my family members and loved ones do as well. I battle my own skeletons of anxiety, dysthymia, and PTSD response. I spoke to a good friend last week after they read my most recent blog where I talked about my son and some of the struggles he has encountered in this, his first year in college. It was after that conversation that I felt compelled to keep writing, to attempt what I deem the impossible- to write unabashedly and transparently that which is on my heart in a way that invites others to find themselves within the words should they choose to do so. It feels impossible because I am a consummate perfectionist and creating anything that is less than the standard I set for myself (which in itself is almost unattainable) is unacceptable. That means that anything I write must be 100%, iron clad, perfect with impeccable grammar, a quantifiably large number of big words ( cause you know they make me sound smart) and created without error from the first draft-(after all, I am just as good as Hemingway, right–NOT!!!) The more I listened to their conversation, the more I realized that maybe what is needed is good ole fashioned realness-in its raw, gritty, often muddy, not perfectly tied up with a beautiful bow kind of insight. Maybe instead of glossing over that which hurts and trying to put a pretty pirouette on it, I could peel back the layers and walk the walk I challenge myself to in my head ( my head talks to me, like a lot!) Maybe there are others who are thinking similar thoughts, journeying through common grounds, and could use a moment of “OMG, that’s me!” So, yeah-let’s see what we can unpack here.

The above quote comes to me after 2 weeks of soul searching as the result of interactions with a loved one and what they bring to the table in my world. I have spent years (ok decades), beating myself up for the stories of my past that are not lily white and purely perfect. I come from some tough stuff- I harbor some pretty deep hurts and tell myself some awfully damaging stories that are directly related to my family of origin and my adopted upbringing. I have told myself for decades that those skeletons from my past render me inferior to most people-that once they knew who I really was and the source of all the insecurities they would run screaming for the hills ( but the hills ARE alive with the sound of music after all….). I have looked in the mirror, loathing the image that I saw each day, wishing for a different narrative, hoping that one day the clouds would part and the sun would come streaming through to illuminate a new path. (insert Wizard of Oz Yellow Brick Road reference here) I believe (d) that the dysfunction I experienced and in some cases helped perpetuate meant that I was garbage and unworthy of love. In reality, things happened in my world- trauma (multiple ones) occurred and caused massive chasms of pain in my soul- some have lessened over time, some will likely never heal completely and yet others will rear their feisty heads at times and demand that I pay attention to them. What I am realizing is that those traumatic experiences do not have to dictate who and what I am-not to myself nor to other people. Biting that off and chewing on it is proving quite the task.

My friend and I spoke of what it feels like to be loved- to be truly seen, heard, and cared for just as we are- festering ickies and all- reactions that are sometimes unpleasant and all the things that make us who we are–the good, the not so great, and the downright putrid. We both expressed a massive sigh when we discovered that until the moment we were united with the person who can show us that kind of love-we’d both been holding our breaths so to speak and now- now finally we are beginning to know and embrace what it feels like to breathe- (did you know that consistent breathing is good for your health?- huh, who knew, right?) That we didn’t know what it was to kinda feel alive until such time that we in a sense found the “one whom my soul loves” What a feeling that is.

Words are vitally important to me-they, in my opinion, have the power to elevate and build or to topple and destroy. They leave a lasting impact and I often am analyzing for both their individual message and the collective communication they bring. I am hypervigilant (to an extreme)- and not just because I am a female and that tends to be an MO for many of us. I am hypervigilant due to a heightened need to be aware of my surroundings at all times. It is a state of constant tension-of being on high alert- ready to fly or fight any danger (real or perceived) that may occur. It is a massive trauma response and is closely tied to our friend, PTSD. It is absolutely exhausting–and yes I used the absolute there on purpose- it sucks. It turns normally benign situations into danger zones and conversations become filled with landmines that both parties feel like they have to sidestep in order to avoid a blow up- it twists reality into a writhing mass of insecurities that threaten to choke the life out of the good that is present (see the really cool snake reference there?) That vigilance causes me to question, doubt, OVER analyze, and negate that which is good-reducing it to a sodden pile of waste–then I think it is too squashy and grotey for me to pick up, so I run or I avoid or I deflect. I am a master at it-and it also sucks.

That’s the thing though-when people enter your life with a desire to do nothing but love us for who we are-something happens-something dislodges and things you never thought were lurking below the surface come rushing forth and engulf you in emotions. The person or persons who can handle that and love us through that are treasures indeed. I have such a person (and people)- and it is discombobulating at best.

“Love,” Andrew Lloyd Webber says, “Changes everything.” Oh my gosh, how true that is. Breathing-leaning in, acknowledging, and accepting that kind of love here on earth and even in the Divine can be such a difficult task-but oh, when I recognize it-I want to run full force towards it. My friend and I talked about how we view ourselves in the midst of such love-“it’s like I can admit that I like the person who is loved in such a way”. I am right now in conversation with 3 of my best friends, planning a trip to see P!nk in concert and I am flabbergasted that they want to include me-that they deem me ok enough to love and journey with on the daily. I spoke to another “sister from another mister” today about my own insecurities and doubts about myself and there was no judgment-no anger-they did not condemn me- I’m like- “what???” There is a significant emergency contact in my life who calls me beloved-believes I am beautiful in any light-delights in my weirdness, whose quirks don’t irk, and despite my best efforts to blow crap up-stands in the midst of rubble around us and steadfastly declares, “I am not running”

What the hell do I do with that? You may be saying-uh—-you accept it and revel in it. Careful, careful though. You see with all that goodness comes all sorts of bells and whistles that scream at me that there must be danger lurking somewhere-there is certainly a shoe about to drop (where ARE Dorothy’s slippers anyway?)-there is a constant feeling that what I am seeing and experiencing can’t possibly be real (who knew you could gaslight YOURSELF). Readers-this is sooo sooo sooo exhausting and inspires me to want to crawl into a hole and cry. I want to bawl for all the amazingness that I am experiencing as it is mixed with a fervent fear that I am about to lose it all and it will be all my fault. That one day my friends, whom I call brothers and sisters, loved ones I adopt into my fold, my darling significant emergency contact will all one day wake up from the hazy hallucination and discover that loving me is too much work-(that’s not a drug trip I want!) I ache for the years wasted in disbelief and self hatred, for the narratives that have shaped my self image and threatened to engulf what I know to be true about myself.

What am I trying to say with this blog? I think I am saying— I don’t know shit. I don’t know how to do this-I don’t know how to sit amongst the amazing and admit that I have to embrace the suck that this journey is taking me on right now. You see, because I have such incredible people in my life (and there are many-I can FINALLY admit that), I want to heal-I want to know what soundtracks sound like without the interference of constant static-I want to enjoy breathing-I want to explore needs, wants, desires, and figure out how to vocalize them. My own counselor is overjoyed at the emotional quandary in which I find myself-she believes this is where the truest Cindy will reveal herself ( and stop talking in the 3rd person) and show a transparent strength that has been sitting there this whole time-she believes my best days are yet ahead of me and that to get there I have to walk this most stinky part of the road- Loving others is easy-oh, so easy, cause I can concentrate on the needs of others and put them first. It is accepting the love of others that is proving so hard and so so so painful- painful enough that I feel almost consumed with how to perform perfectly so that I don’t lose any of it- and yet, there’s the rub ( and Shakespeare makes an appearance-Well, hello William). If I am insistent on performing perfectly I will lose it because there is no way I can be perfect ( knowing there was only 1 perfect person to walk the planet). I can’t get this 100%-and people don’t want that. People want the real-the icky squishy, vulnerable, and perfectly imperfect me so they can Velveteen the crap out of me. At least that’s what I want to offer others-and secretly it is what I yearn to receive for myself- What am I saying- I know what I am being called to be about and what I am being asked to embrace on multiple fronts and it scares the hell out of me- Yet- And….yet…….And YET—I want it more than I can articulate, I am not sure how to do this though and that is prolly the most scary of all.

Anyone else out there feeling like that? (cause it is such a relief to know I’m not alone–) (Insert “You Will be Found” from Dear Evan Hanson here—hahahaha earwormed ya, didn’t)

YOU, you are NOT alone! And maybe, just maybe, I’m not either.

The Wheels on the Bus….

12 May 2023 Leave a comment

by cindythea in Uncategorized

I have tossed around this blog for quite some time and this morning got up the nerve to ask my oldest if it was ok that I write about the topic in my head and on my heart. He agreed and told me that he trusts me- that is a huge compliment for a mom to receive from a 19 year old son. So, I endeavor to talk with transparency that which has burdened my heart this spring with as much candidness as I can, while also doing my best to honor him, his journey, and his trust in me.

I love and rue the above pic. It is hanging on a banner in an event center on a college campus and was present last week at their graduation. I cannot imagine how many hundreds of people saw this and other banners- The pic is of my oldest son, my college freshman, drumline, communications scholarship recipient, psych major extraordinaire. Seeing this fills me with such pride-pride at a young man who has faced such incredible odds and beaten them (for the most part) and found niches for his talent and focus that will carry him far into the future. I am filled with admiration for him-for a penchant for music I could only hope to have-a natural ear and a creative element that drives him to listen to a song maybe a couple of times before he is able to replicate it-then after he’s replicated it, he can ad lib and beautifully change up the melody and make it his own. He astounds me with that ability. He has a way with words and writing that I can somewhat attribute to my influence, but he has a voice and a style that is all his own-with a keen insight into people, his own mind, and mental health that far exceeds a typical 19 year old young man. I see all of that in this pic- I see a fellow Jackrabbit- and I am a proud alum. I sat in the stands-stood at the pre-game pep rallies this past fall-cheered as loud as any mom (ok prolly louder) who could not be more proud of seeing their baby doing what they were born to do. (Insert well placed GO DRUMLINE Bellow here) I see all of that and more.

I also rue this pic. I rue what it represents to me. I know where this was taken and I know the circumstances-I know this commemorates my son participating in what was a banner first semester of college-one whose events could not be replicated, even if we tried. He was part of a band that attended the Macy’s Day Parade-a band that marched the football team to an undefeated conference season and then saw them win a national championship-that band played for their Jackrabbit players and alumni in Texas- He was part of a nationally recognized drumline, and as a freshman had a place on that drumline and he felt like he belonged-and he did. That band played in Texas in January- he did not. I rue this pic because while this banner hung for graduation, my son should have been there potentially playing in the ceremonies or just returning home from his spring semester. He was already home- he had been home for more than 2 months, having withdrawn from classes in early March.

This past week, I stood at my youngest son’s tennis match in my hometown and talked with other moms who had kiddos in that freshman year. I answered the question as to how he was doing to the best of my ability- “Did he enjoy his first year?” You bet he did. He had a blast. He found a place that accepted him and embraced him for who he is. What I didn’t say was what had happened in the midst of him finding a place. You see, about a year ago, as we faced his senior year winding down, there was avid talk of him going to Colorado State University in Fort Collins- one of the reasons he stated for wanting to go was, “mom, they have a lagoon on campus. I can get a kayak and float around in my kayak, smoke pot cause it’s legal there, and be in college at the same time!” Just what every mom wants to hear- to be sure- my son does not and has never smoked or done a lick of drugs or alcohol. Welcome to a teen messing with their parent- While I desperately wanted him to spread his wings and fly- something stopped me from pushing this agenda- in fact, his father and I opposed this move and his psychiatrist did too. We felt that with the obstacles he faces, he would be better served going somewhere closer to home- I was thrilled when he chose to apply and was accepted at my alma mater. His father had taken grad classes and had been speech coach there and I attained a stellar education as a Jackrabbit. #Go STATE! I was stoked, he was stoked, his father was stoked, all the peoples who know and love him were stoked. I knew that this was a safer choice-that if, when he was in college, the wheels started to come off-we could get to him quicker than if he were in CO.

Wheels on the bus indeed. They fell off- they crashed- but they did not take my son out with them. Whew.

My oldest wrestles with co-morphing mental diagnoses: ADHD, high generalized anxiety, depression, & multi sensory disorder. This is down from a TIC disorder and an Oppositional Defiant Disorder. We have run the gambit of meds and therapies- he has felt the brunt of ridicule, judgment, scorn, and his own frustration. He has bumped up against limitations, hopes crushed, and victories as well. He was and is on an educational IEP- nailed his ACT to pull a score most in the SPED world rarely see, he is a 3 time national qualifier in speech and debate activities, and notched numerous accomplishments in that world all 6 years that he competed. He amazes me. He frustrates me. He scares me. His illness and subsequent behaviors anger me.

He skated through much of high school doing enough to get by and often pulling the grades to pass and sometimes surpass expectations by the skin of his teeth- it was never whether he could do the work that was the problem- (ok well math subjects not included here) it was always the organization, focus, and motivation factor that presented the biggest challenges. He would neglect to hand in work-barely completing assignments and sort of study (if at all) for exams- He knew enough to get by and could masterfully BS a BSer.– that is until mom- a BSer in my own right- called him on it and did my best to hold him accountable. Most of the time it worked and I could right the bus before the wheels fell off completely- I functioned – let’s face it- I OVER functioned for him-often saving his butt from certain failure-most of the time. There was one occurrence where a college dual credit course did not make it off the burning pile-he promised me that having been burned, he had learned.

Yah, right. His illness and subsequent behavior angers me.

He enrolled and began his semester and I had to take a hands off approach. He is after all, a young adult, in college and laws dictate that I am hands off- that and he needs to learn function on his own and lean into being an adult. I was watching- not hovering- but attentive. I asked the questions- I inquired about the grades, I watched and waited-and hoped. Things didn’t add up- holes began appearing in his stories-vague answers gave way to what I like to call the “duck, dodge, and deflect.” I began to question even more- to doubt stories-to be at odds with a significant other who had not had the experience with my son that I did-I wanted to believe- Just before he would be attending the band trip to Frisco, TX, I played “bad cop” yet again and forced the answer. He was sitting with having attempted more than 14 credits his first semester and had not attained enough of a grade point average to warrant keeping those credits. The reason-? He just didn’t do the work-stopped or attended class haphazardly, and lied to himself, student services, me, his father, and anyone who would ask. He lied to himself-but he knew exactly what he was doing.

It crushed me, but I was again reassured that THIS was the lesson he had learned-he had fallen far enough-the cost great enough to sit with him and impact his behavior in the future. His plans to attend the national championship were doused as he opted to stay home and prep mind and academics for the spring semester. I was hopeful-I was trepidatious.

His illness and subsequent behavior angers me.

He knew he needed to land this semester- and with many of the classes as re-takes from the fall, I thought maybe this was THE last time we would deal with this. I hoped, I prayed, I cajoled, I prayed some more. I cried silent tears in moments and places I told no one-I battled my own insecurities, my own misgivings about whether I had done too much or not enough for him. I raged at a set of diagnoses that would not let my son travel down the path we knew held his destiny. Mid terms came- I asked, I researched, I questioned, I waited for the truth. It did not come. He knew this semester had to go well so that he could remain in school- another academic hiccup would prove an institutional invitation to not attend again- we wanted to safeguard that.

Bad cop mom engaged in conversation with student services where he had signed a sheet allowing them to talk to me. “we don’t know how he’s doing. we don’t get straight answers from him. when he’s here and working, he’s a dynamo-a delight- there’s no question he can do the work…..when he does the work” “No mom, I am doing really well this semester- I think I have 3 A’s and a B- I need to catch my one C up, but I can do that.” Come to find out-all grades were sitting in the tank-all of them- the repeated classes, the one in which he had a scholarship, his majors class-all in the tank. “Mom, I don’t think he can pull his way out of this-we don’t see a path forward for him if he doesn’t make a big decision soon.” “No mom, I think I’ve got this-I can make up the work and pull ahead in the next 6 weeks.”

But…….”But they don’t have to accept late work-they don’t have to excuse 12 absences, they don’t have to allow you to retake 9 of 10 quizzes that were missed-they are there to serve the students that are attending classes and communicating with them.” He relented. He listened. He made the call, “Ok, you all are right, I have to do what is best for my academic career….I am choosing to withdraw. I plan to come home in about a week.”

The day he sent in his withdrawal meant that he had 24 hours to vacate campus-24 hours to pack up-to say “see ya later” to dorm friends, his band directors, and his speech coaches. 24 hours to exit and try to think of what to do next.

His illness angers me.

We chose to petition to have him withdraw from campus for both semesters and hope we could salvage grades and credits for a time when he could return with a fresh focus and drive to succeed. To do that, we needed the information from his psych Dr to help illuminate what was taking place for him. On the surface we have a young man who looks like it’s just a lack of motivation- underneath is a far different story. Underneath we have a 19 year old with the emotional maturity of a 15-16 year old -You see ADHD robs the host of maturing mentally at the same rate that they do chronologically and biologically. That 19 year old operating with a 15 year old maturity combined with a 145 IQ makes for an interestingly and maddeningly difficult combination. You would expect a person with that kind of intelligence to be able to make wiser decisions- to be able to see the impact of behaviors-or the lack of them. He can’t. His Dr came through and on a day when I had some major conversations already going, I received the info that he would not pull any grades out spring semester and the letter I read was the icing on the cake. Not only did it cite the ADHD and anxiety ridden young man we knew was there- it also spelled out a diagnosis I had never before seen. Autism Spectrum Disorder-

His illness angers me

Gut punch. Gut wrench. Gut sob. How had I not seen? How had I not known? What didn’t I do to help him? Insert all the mom guilt here-and so much more than that! Insert anger, fear, regret, embarrassment, helplessness, and more fear. What do we do now? Where do we go from here? What does his future look like? How do I be ok with this? The lies-oh the lies he told- the deflection, the avoidance, the covering up, the skewed view of reality–all are hallmark indicators and coping mechanisms of the ASD student. They deflect and avoid to keep from seeing the truth and facing the harsh light of day-to-day life that becomes so heavy and burdensome that they cannot stand to be in it. They neglect to see how their behavior impacts not only daily life, but also relationships, connections, and obligations that they have agreed to engage in. There is so much guilt about what they are doing that they become consumed in their own failure- relinquishing their power to the inner monologues that scream at them that they are worthless-incapable of reaching the goals they set and hopelessly failing at the expectations that they or others have for them.

Gut punch

Seeing those words, doing the research and reading the attributes is sobering-so is seeing the statistics of those with ASD and co-morphing illnesses. I am scared-no, I am petrified and I feel like a failure.

But.

It’s not about me. I have to keep telling myself that. And, most of the time, I can compartmentalize that and admit that I cannot fight his battles for him- it is not my job to over function- yet I cannot and WILL not leave him alone in it. Rumor has it that according to his student services advisor “We wish we dealt with more moms like yours. We don’t see one as supportive and caring as yours come through very often. Either they are too involved or they go completely radio silent- your mom- you couldn’t have picked a better one.” I hear that and I smile, but it’s little consolation to a mom’s heart that so badly wants to see her baby set his goals and blast every single one of them out of the water. I know the fight is just beginning- and it will often mean uphill battles-battles that I cannot fight for him.

So.

How do I let him go to fight them? How do I wrestle with my own inner monologues that scream at me that I should have done more- seen more- fought more- been more aware? How do I swallow my own pride when a year earlier we stood on the same campus with the VP and the President meeting and greeting him- a Fine Arts Department that gave him a personal tour-the same Fine Arts Department from which I graduated sang his praises and welcomed him with open arms? The same school that snapped a pic of an incredible percussionist and blasted that on a banner and social media platform for all to see also approved his withdrawal.

So seeing that pic hurts in a place that I can’t quite describe. The pre school song “The Wheels on the Bus”- that takes on new meaning as I contemplate just how badly they fell off- but yet the bus has not come skidding to a halt. We have time- we have people and resources- we have the chance for him to take a beat and breathe. For that I am grateful- it’s the other junk-the emotional stuff that is hard to wade through and admit. It’s knowing that May is mental health month and there are battles and wars that millions of people wage every day -every minute of every day and we know nothing. We see nothing, we hear nothing, we notice nothing-often because it’s not obvious, or it’s covered up, or we are all walking through our own stuff at the same time. Whatever the reason- it doesn’t matter–it matters that we’re here- he’s here and alive to live, breathe, and walk through another day. He has a plan for the summer- he has accepted a job as a summer camp counselor out of state and he has been digging fiber optic cable ditches for the past few weeks. He’s doing grunt work and earning a paycheck. He’s learning and doing the work–of that I am proud. Of him I am proud-

But oh, oh how I dream and pray for my baby boy. I pray for his future-I pray for decisions, motivations and ambitions to drive him. I also fear his future- and I think I am willing to admit- maybe for the first time, I mourn some of the expectations that I have had for him-and I mourn a journey and a path that does not look like it did a year ago- and the murkiness of that future drives up a level of anxiety in me that is tough to articulate. I mourn missed opportunities for him-I fear judgement he may receive- judgment I may receive-

Have I mentioned?

His illness angers me?

cindy a heidelberger,