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Feb 1, 2011

I Am Enough

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I survived Blissdom.

Actually, it would be more accurate to write I thrived at Blissdom. More than once during the conference I found myself saying, “This is bliss.” From the beautiful setting of the Opryland hotel, to the chair massages and manicures, to the lobster bisque provided in the expo area, to seeing and spending time with so many women I love and respect, it was a wonderful experience.

The first post I write post-conference is always hard. I’ve been surrounded by so much talent for days that I’m both inspired and intimidated when I stare at the blank New Post screen. So much I want to say, and yet so much anxiety that I could never say it as well as others and never will be able to match them in their gift for the written word.

This time, however, I had the privilege of listening to Brene Brown during the opening keynote. Thanks to her wise words I was given a new outlook on being vulnerable, and found comfort in the simple phrase, “I am enough.”

Because let’s face it: I’ve never been enough. My entire life has been filled with not being enough. I was a smart child, but I wasn’t quite a genius, so it wasn’t good enough for some who were supposed to have loved me. I was socially awkward, which wasn’t good enough for my peers. I wasn’t enough for someone to love with all of their heart, and so I was cheated on in relationships. It was easy to internalize all of those messages into one great big feeling of inadequacy, knowing there was always someone who was better at anything I did.

Those feelings of shame are good at building a protective little cocoon around a bruised and battered ego. But in doing so, the real person gets buried deep behind the protective walls, barricaded against vulnerability. Turns out, though, being vulnerable can be kind of freeing. Being vulnerable lets your unique light shine through to everyone. And in listening to Brene Brown speak, I came to a conclusion that I’ve been working towards for years now: I don’t have to live up to the expectations of others, or live in anyone’s shadow. I can be enough for me and for those who matter the most to me.

I want to be more vulnerable, to worry less about how others see me and more about how I see my progress towards my own happiness. It’s a big step to take, having hidden so many of my quirks for so long as I tried to conform to everyone else’s ideals. But I have a very quirky autistic daughter. Cordy is quickly reaching an age where she will become aware of just how different she is. I don’t want her to suffer through shame as she forces herself to conform and then fails to reach the gold standard of “good enough” to everyone else. I want her to be happy with herself, and that will be a hard message to teach if I can’t walk the walk myself.

It’s not too often that you come home from a blogging conference with a new outlook on life. I’m looking forward to what I can discover about myself.

Dare to be stupid. (Thank you, Weird Al.) Dare to fail. It’s time to stop being scared of what others will think. Welcome to my blog, folks. I don’t promise enlightenment from reading this, and I don’t even promise you’ll like me. But that’s OK. I can’t be everything to everyone.

I am enough.

Filed Under: Blissdom, Cordy, me me me ·


Jan 18, 2011

Illness & Rare Moments of Clarity

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When Cordy’s teacher called me on Friday to tell me that Cordy was complaining of a sore throat, I wasn’t convinced. Cordy had been practically vibrating around the living room that morning, excited about going sledding with her class. I figured she had simply burned out on excitement and was claiming a sore throat to be given the chance to rest after expending so much energy.

The teacher wasn’t convinced, either, as Cordy went from complaining about a sore throat to happily eating a snack. Cordy had no fever, so her teacher wasn’t inclined to send her home, and I agreed. Cordy had a great day and came home happy.

Saturday I was gone for most of the day visiting a friend, and when I left everything seemed fine. When I came home that night, I was given the report that Cordy had fallen asleep at the table in a restaurant for lunch, and then refused to eat anything for dinner that night. When I peeked in on her, she was curled up in bed with her PJs on and an adult-sized fleece jacket over it all.

It wasn’t until early Sunday morning that my fears were confirmed, when I heard a low moaning sound coming from her room. When I went in she was tossing back and forth in her bed, saying she hurt all over. She was hot to the touch, too. No doubt, she was sick.

Cordy has the strongest immune system I know. She’s only been sick a handful of times, often avoiding the common colds and stomach viruses that go around. While I’d like to claim credit for good parenting and teaching her about proper hygiene, I know that isn’t likely the reason – after all, she’s a 6 year old with a sensory fear of water. So when she’s sick, I get concerned.

She spent most of Sunday either on the couch or in her bed. All food was refused, but she did drink a little bit of juice for us. Medicine helped the fever for a little while, but it always came back quickly. I could only sit by her side and hold her hand, telling her to rest and that she would feel better soon.

The worst part was her realization that she was sick, and that sickness can lead to death. “Mommy, am I going to die from being sick? I don’t want to die, I want to live,” she cried to me at one point. I held her tight and assured her that she would be fine and that everyone gets sick sometimes.

But something else happens when Cordy gets sick – she also becomes amazingly clear-headed. Instead of the random thoughts that come out in a rapid-fire string of consciousness, she can hold long conversations and remain focused on the topic at hand. She doesn’t get easily upset over little things, and she doesn’t have the same low threshold for sensory overload. She’s quieter, more still, more deep in thought and more aware of everything around her.

I can’t describe it well, but it’s as if the fever somehow blocks her autism and lets the child that is tangled up in it shine through. And while I’m always concerned about her when she’s sick, I also took the time to marvel at how different she is during these moments.

By Monday morning she was still weak, but starting to feel better. And by Monday evening, the Cordy we know and love was asking to eat dinner.

I’d never wish for Cordy to be sick, but I’ll admit that when she is sick I do take advantage of those rare quiet moments with her, comforting her, holding her hand, stroking her hair, and remind myself how grateful I am for all that she is, whether sick or healthy.

Filed Under: Autism, Cordy, love · Tagged:


Dec 27, 2010

Christmas Gift Hall of Shame

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On Christmas night, after everyone was gone, the wrapping paper bagged up, and the kids put to bed, I (of course) went to Twitter to see how everyone else spent the day. I found myself quickly reading through a hilarious list of worst gifts of the year. Some were embarrassing, some were funny, some were just plain odd.

And then I realized I had nothing to contribute.

We had a really good Christmas this year. We saw a lot of family, had a great meal, gave some fun gifts to everyone, and received some really nice gifts in return.

Quick tangent: Cordy even handled the day better than she ever has. When the room got too loud, I noticed her slowly pushing herself deeper into the sofa cushions, as if she was trying to disappear entirely. A few family members drew attention to her, and she closed her eyes to block it all out as I reminded them that this was her way of coping with the sensory overload, and it was best to not engage her at that time.

Soon she had had enough and quietly slipped upstairs to her room. When I went up to check on her, she told me that she went to her room because she needed some quiet time. Wow…I’ll gladly accept that response to being overloaded rather than her previous response of having a massive meltdown. And after a little while, she came downstairs again, ready to join in and play with her toys some more.

OK, back to the story: Both Cordy and Mira had several fun toys and books to choose from, and Aaron and I received gift cards to several of our favorite places. There was no gift Hall of Shame, no WTF gift of 2010. I found myself a little sad about that fact.

In the past, we could always count on my Great Aunt Dot to provide some weird, off-the-wall gift that she purchased on the 90% off rack at Macy’s for Christmas. Sometimes it was a tin of stale, outdated cashews, or a bunny that said “Happy Easter” when you pressed it’s ear. Sometimes it was a bag of toilet paper with one roll missing from the pack or some gaudy piece of costume jewelry with the price tag still clearly attached, red lines showing the markdowns. Sometimes it was a map of Millersburg, Ohio with no explanation.

As a kid I hated opening all the weird stuff from her. I didn’t even like her all that much – she was mean and liked to tease me. Later I learned to laugh it off and remember it’s the thought that counts, and as an adult I understood that the teasing and the gruff exterior were how she dealt with a lifetime of disappointment. She died just over two years ago, and since then Christmas gifts have never been the same at our house.

So this year I once again pulled out one of her last gifts for Cordy and played it for everyone just before we sat down to eat. (Thankfully, Cordy isn’t scared of it anymore.)

Aunt Dot’s Gift from Christina M on Vimeo.

A family friend who joined us this year looked at it and said, “Shouldn’t you take the price tag off that?”

“Of course not,” we replied, “That’s just how Aunt Dot gave it!”

We may no longer have her with us, but when we see that deer (moose?) in a bathrobe singing “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” while it rocks in the chair, it’s like Aunt Dot is still celebrating with us in spirit.

Filed Under: Cordy, holidays, memories · Tagged:


Dec 23, 2010

A Fair and Balanced Christmas

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I thought I had most of the Christmas shopping done long before today. But then when I paused for a moment to do a quick recap of the gifts I have for my two cherubs to unwrap on Christmas morning, I realized I had made a grave error.

Mira has over twice as many gifts as Cordy.

It’s not like I intentionally tried to stiff my older child. Mira is just far easier to shop for, thanks to being very outspoken about what she likes. I know that if I find anything involving Thomas the Train, polar bears, or the color pink, she will squeal with joy and proclaim it the Best Gift Ever.

(Until she opens the next item that fits one or more of those categories, where she will yet again declare it the Best Gift Ever. She never leaves a gift giver disappointed by her reaction.)

Cordy, on the other hand, is a little more difficult. She wants a blue bunny. And maybe a superhero sticker book. Her requests are very specific, and not always items that can be obtained. Guess wrong when presenting her with a gift and you’ll be met with the silence of indifference as she sets it aside and never glances at it again.

So it was an honest oversight that I picked up significantly more gifts for Mira than Cordy. Which means I get to join the crowds today to find at least one more gift for Cordy.

Sure, I could hold back a few items for Mira, but if I did that it would be holding back all of the toys/games, because the polar bear clothing can’t wait until her birthday in May, when it will no longer be winter and she’ll likely be near the end of this clothing size. And even though I know she’ll love the clothing, I can’t make her open only clothing from Santa.

Thankfully, both of my girls don’t have expensive tastes, so I’ll only need to find a good book or an interesting small toy to make up the difference. Sometimes the least expensive item is often Cordy’s favorite. But they’re both old enough now to notice if one has significantly more presents than the other, so I have to at least make sure the gift load is balanced.

My mom was lucky – she never had to deal with the issue of gift equalization. I was an only child, making Christmas an easy task for her – if Santa brought me only one gift, I had no one else to compare it with. But possibly because I grew up as an only child, it’s also not a topic in the front of my mind when buying gifts for my children.

(For the record – I’m not saying I wish I had only one child. They just don’t cover this in the hospital when you give birth to your second child.)

I suppose this will be good training for the years to come, because while they will only notice the number of packages at the moment, I’m sure in the future I’ll have to dodge the “You spent more on her than me!” teenager whine.

And that will be the day I give them equal gift cards and let them pick out what they want.

Filed Under: being a mom, Cordy, family time, holidays, Mira, sisterhood ·


Dec 7, 2010

Roller Coaster of Autism

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Raising a daughter with autism is a lot like riding a roller coaster. One minute you’re climbing high, watching your child make huge gains and seeing nothing but the blue sky above you when it comes to success. Then the next minute you’re hurtling downwards, out of control as you watch the ground come at you quickly, closing your eyes to block out your fear of all that progress crashing down with you, but quietly wishing you’d hurry up and hit bottom already. Then suddenly you pull up again, grateful to be released from the free-fall, wondering if you can stomach the next curve.

The past few weeks have been rough for Cordy, and as a result rough for us as well. After coming off the high of finding out that our daughter is excelling in academics and hearing so much praise from her teachers, we’re seeing a totally different child at home.

It’s hard for me to put into words what’s different about her. She’s…moody. The slightest verbal correction sends her either into a fit about how she’ll never get to do [insert activity she was doing] ever again, or sometimes a panic attack that we’ll hit her or send her to jail for some minor offense. (For the record, we don’t hit her. Just wanted to make that clear up front.)

She’s always been someone who sees only black and white with most issues, but lately everything has been even blacker and whiter. There is only one way to do things, and you can’t tell her otherwise. Any change in direction and suddenly it’s like the world is splitting apart at the seams.

She’s stopped sleeping again. She goes to bed at her normal time, but when I leave for work I’ll often still hear her talking in her room. On nights when I’m home, I sometimes wake up at 2am or 3am and still hear her talking to herself in her room. And yet she still bounds out of her room at 6:15am. Occasionally she’ll crash hard in the middle of the day – about a month ago there was a tornado warning while she was at school, and apparently while they crouched in the school hallway, sirens blaring, she fell asleep. But there seems to be no pattern to her sleep cycles.

Cordy has also started destructive behaviors – she’s unraveling socks at an alarming rate now. She insists on wearing socks at all times, but she has been putting holes in at least a few every week, sometimes completely unraveling the sock down to the bottom of the cuff. She’s also scratching herself raw at times and picking at her lips, sometimes until they bleed.

What bothers me the most is that Cordy wants to be alone even more lately. She comes home from school and usually within the first 15 minutes, she’s either absorbed in an activity book, or she disappears to another room to “make up her stories.” She likes to create stories, but she insists on making them in private and then she doesn’t like to share them. If anyone should come into the room, she gets upset and demands they leave. Peeking in on her, I often find her pacing back and forth, flapping her hands and talking to herself, usually quoting lines from TV shows. This is often what she’s doing in the middle of the night, too.

Sometimes I get so frustrated that she won’t let me into her world. If I ask her how her day went at school, she responds, “Mom, I don’t want to talk. I just want to watch TV.” If I ask her how she’s feeling, she whines and tries to avoid me. When I ask her to tell me one of her stories, she tells me that she doesn’t like to tell them to anyone. I feel like I can’t get through to her, and I sometimes worry that feeling will create a divide between us. I know I shouldn’t take it personally, but when your 6 year old keeps telling you to leave her alone, and you go an entire night in different rooms, it starts to have an effect.

Many of these behaviors have been with her for some time, but over the past few weeks they’ve intensified to the point that sometimes she’s incredibly difficult to live with. I can’t pinpoint what’s causing these changes, either, which leaves me feeling helpless. It’s quite possible the overstimulation of the holidays is affecting her, but I don’t know how to tone it down any more to keep her happy. Something at school could be affecting her, too – she never seems as happy when she gets off the bus anymore.

I really had no point to this post. I just needed to get this off my chest and admit that while I love my daughter, I’m having a hard time dealing with her lately. She was so happy earlier this year and now I feel like she’s morphed into some sullen emo teenager who is angry that we never let her do what she wants and never leave her alone enough. I want my smiling little girl back (I have tears in my eyes as I write that because I know what a little ray of sunshine she has been) and I want her to be at least a little more interested in her family.

I understand social interaction is hard for Cordy – such is the nature of autism – but I refuse to let autism take her away from me. I’ve been crazy busy with work, but I’ll somehow find the time to do more for her if needed. But what is there to do? I have no idea what steps to take next.

Back to that roller coaster image, since I have no idea how to even end this stream of consciousness: my eyes are currently squeezed shut tight and I’m hoping this is just a small dip in the ride and soon we’ll be on that upward climb again. Because right now the ground is a little too close for my liking.

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Filed Under: Autism, Cordy, daily life ·