Fat Girl Running

I swam a mile today. I hadn’t swum in over two weeks for multiple reasons. Let me back up. I have two neuro-spicy kids. The younger one started 4th grade two months ago and it’s not going well. He has had both in and out of school suspension, as well as multiple parent meetings and write ups. The school is working with him and with us, but it’s been a lot of homework both night and first thing in the morning (because he refuses to do work in class). It’s been a lot of emotional support and snuggles and rebuilding our relationship with him so he feels safe at home. Which means we’re all exhausted, anxiety is running high, and there’s no time for any exercise.

Today I finally got to swim again. The pool is an amazing place to think through a lot of things. The peace of the water, the rhythmic breathing and strokes, the counting laps, so devine. I was slow, I took too many breaks, but I got it done. and I came to a conclusion. My kids and I deserve our space. I am a slow swimmer, but I can take up a lane just like anyone else. My kids deserve to go to a regular school, attend church and sunday school, be in sports and clubs, just like anyone else. No apologies for who we are or the fact that our responses are not ‘normal’ responses, that our ‘weirdness’ makes others uncomfortable, or we feel like imposters. Everyone deserves space. We deserve space. You deserve space. Take it. Own it. It’s yours.

As you may know if you read any other posts (does anyone read my posts?), I have been swimming with a group on Monday mornings, in hopes of improving my swimming. We did an underwater video of ourselves swimming, to better evaluate our stroke/technique. I was really self conscious about this, as i am generally self conscious about anything in the exercise realm. However, other than an arm position and hand comment, the coach didn’t have a lot of feedback. No news is good news, right?

But of course i can’t just let it go. we’ve been swimming for 3 months now, and sometimes I feel like I still suck. I needed to know if that was just my insecurity, or actually true. So I asked,”do you think i’m getting any better?” he responded with,” do you feel like you’re getting any better?” “Yes, but i’m not watching myself, i can’t see myself swim.” he said,” you have a very smooth stroke. You don’t make many mistakes. you could kick more when you pool swim. You’re just not an aggressive swimmer.” Not like that was bad, just that this was a fact.

And as he said that, it was a ray of knowledge imparted to me. I’m not an aggressive swimmer. Or an aggressive biker, or an aggressive runner. I’m not aggressive at sports. I’m ok with that. I like doing things at my own pace. I challenge myself, but in small chunks. Trying to be better than my last time, or tackle this hill, or run for this much time. Aggression leads to life altering injuries. Your knee gets massively fucked up for life. I don’t need aggression.

Where this bothers me, is that my friends are faster. again this doesn’t really bother me, except that when we ride bikes together, or when we used to run together, they don’t want to go at my pace. Again, fine, but then we’re not doing it together. It’s like when the experts talk about group play vs parallel play in children. If you run an 8 minute mile and I run a 15 minute mile, we are not running together. Yes we are both running at the same time, but not together. So now the answer is, instead of them going slower or getting ahead and waiting, they just don’t invite me.

I don’t know what solution I am looking for. I myself don’t mind going slower for other people who are slower than me (yes it happens!). I’m not saying we need to bike together at my pace every day, but once every two weeks you can’t do a slow roll pity ride? Because i’m not aggressive, i don’t understand the need to push, to go faster all the time. Just take a minute and chill.

And I wouldn’t mind also if we all biked or ran separately. But it’s a group of people who all generally hang out together. Then 4-5 of them ride together and 3 run together, and I do everything by myself. I’m left out, and it feels like it’s because I’m slow, and I’m slow because I’m fat… do you see where I’m going here? I’m left out because I’m fat. There it is.

So somehow that has to not bother me. I have to let go of my friends non-inclusivity, not be hurt by this, see it as a reflection of them, not on me. Then I need to either find another group to ride with, or be ok with riding by myself and knowing that they are riding together and deliberately excluding me.

I want to clarify, these are nice people overall. They do good works in their lives and jobs, they help people, they are usually nice to me. It is mostly only in the athletic arena that their biases and selfishness shows through. And I have to think it’s because they are not the ones being left out.

Sports can bring out the worst in people. I hate competition, I hate competitiveness, I hate aggression. I don’t understand wanting to go fast over wanting to ride with my friends. But I also know a lot of people, specifically athletes, are like this. I can work on inclusivity in my own life, my own activity, and let the athletes be who they are. I am not aggressive, and that is what it is.

I’m going to start this by saying, i’m not here to debate my parenting or tell people what they should and shouldn’t do. I am relating a heartwarming story about my amazing children.

If this is the first post of mine you are reading, then let me give you some context. Both my children are ASD level 1, and have anxiety and have a history of issues at school and with other people. I am terrified for when they grow up, the world is a cruel cruel place. BUT.

Last night I got home from swimming and then picking up my oldest from violin. I was starving, and everyone else had eaten. I go to eat my portion, and all that was left was about 1/3 of a serving. So I take some deep breaths and go to make myself some other food. All the pots and pans were dirty. In order to cook something else, i would have to first wash the dishes. I stood in my kitchen trying to keep it together. My youngest saw something was wrong and came and gave me a hug. Then I lost it and started sobbing. My older son was doing homework at the table, and my husband was downstairs golfing in our basement. My older son looked up and said,”What’s wrong mom?” I stuttered out something about hunger and dishes and food. He said, in a calming voice,”as soon as I finish my math I’ll wash the dishes.” My youngest said,”Mom do you need to go be by yourself?” I hiccuped in agreement and went into my bedroom and sobbed uncontrollably for about 5 minutes, full on tears and mucus and cries of anguish that could no longer be contained.

Then, because I’m a parent, I pulled it together and went back to the kitchen. My youngest had loaded the dishwasher. I microwaved my 1/3 a meal and hand washed the frying pan, and fried 2 eggs to go with it. then I poured myself a glass of wine, and my youngest gave me another hug, whispering softly,”I’m sorry you’re upset.” I said,”i’m not upset with you, just the situation.” He said,”I know. want to watch a movie together?” As we sat down to watch ‘Shreck 2,’ my eldest, without being reminded, finished his homework and hand washed the pots and pans, and started the dishwasher running.

I always worry about my kids. But when they band together to help me and support me when I need it, I feel like they might be ok after all.

As I was spinning away on my home version of a fake peloton (my fake-a-ton as i call it, cheaper basic spin bike with my phone streaming the peloton app), the workout was almost done. The instructor was revving us up for the last hard push, and I was sweating and huffing in true spin fashion. Then the instructor said something that resonated deep within me. She said,”You can do hard things. Somewhere out there is an alternate version of yourself who can’t do the hard things you can do.”

This hit hard for a few reasons. When I exercise, I feel like an imposter. I don’t look fit, I don’t come from a family of athletes, I’m slow, I’m fat, etc. This idea that there is another me out there is true. I’m the one trying to infiltrate the fit and healthy groups, when really i want to sit on my ass with a good book and some snacks and wine. That is the doppelgänger Elizabeth. The one who can’t finish a spin class, who can’t swim 2,000 yards, who can’t hike 4 miles in the woods. She’s inside me as well, and she is why I feel like a poseur every time I get on my bike, every time I get in the pool.

There’s the story of two wolves, the one who wins is the one you feed? I’m not trying to demonstrate cultural appropriation, i’m trying to explain what happens inside me. Sometimes the other Elizabeth wins. Sometimes I sleep in, sometimes a pandemic hits and I don’t work out for months. Sometimes my knee gets busted and I give up. Sometimes I binge eat half my cupboards.

BUT not now. now I’m swimming or spinning 5 days a week. I’m getting stronger so i can do hard things, like swim the circumference of a lake in a half ironman, or ride my bike 44 miles around our lake, or actually do a sprint tri this summer since i’ve been benched the past year. All goals for this summer. Is this who I am? Hard to say, but here I am doing it nonetheless, so apparently this is some version of me? And I will continue to feed her exercise and water and nachos and wine, and stay tuned for what happens next.

I am not an athlete. I never played any sports in junior high up until now. I don’t compete because I know I’ll lose. I do things to make myself stronger, I do things to prove to myself I can, I do things to be healthy, and to be around for my kids when they’re older. I am never going to be fast, I am never going to be anything but last.

That being said, I am trying to get better, hence the class. The class where i’m always the last one. That’s a hard pill to swallow any time, on any day, let alone at 6 am on a monday. This morning was particularly hard to get out of bed. My mom was here all week and she left. My kids have been off on school break all week and now have to go back to school. My youngest is autistic and does not always do well with change, so i was feeling extra bad about not being there this morning. It’s cold outside. I’m about to start my period. All the reasons to not show up today. But I showed up.

And it was hard. we did sprints, and i’m not a sprinter. We worked on breathing. I like breathing, but in swimming, breathing is the enemy. Breathing takes extra time, it ruins your form, it adds extra drag, it ruins your timing. Let me say it again, I love breathing, breathing is my favorite. When I get out of breath, like most fat people, I sound like a wheezing freight train. Add water and the need to regulate my breathing, and it’s kind of a panic situation. Coach wants us not to breathe as much. He says it’s all a mind game, we don’t need to breathe as much as we think we do. Hmmmm, tell that to my panicking brain and lungs, begging for oxygen.

In spin class, or when i’m swimming by myself, when i get more out of breath i just slow the pedal strokes down, or slow the arm rhythm down, or whatever. When i’m in this group, where we are all leaving the wall together, everyone can see me coming back, slow and last. They’re all done, all waiting on me. If there was one thing being a child of divorced parents taught me, or being married to my husband, for that matter, is that you should never make anyone wait on you. Never. The rudest thing you can do is take up space. The goal is invisibility. Be ready so that when everyone else is ready, they are not waiting on you. They don’t even know you’re there, they can just go. This class makes me do the opposite of that, and I think that’s why this is so hard for me.

Knowing this, recognizing this, doesn’t make the feelings go away, but it does give them context. It’s the first step to controlling them, and not letting them control me. Today i’m grateful for the opportunity to swim with this group. I’m grateful for a coach who encourages and instructs, without constantly singling me out as the failure, or yelling at me. I’m grateful for all the improvements that I’ve made, because as slow as I am, I’m still stronger and faster than 5 weeks ago. I’m grateful for a husband who gets the kids ready so I can swim. I’m grateful that i can swim, because two years ago it was not a guarantee that I was going to be doing any of this again. Trying for gratitude. Change the mindset.

A group that I’ve loosely associated myself with, has started a swim school. They meet every monday, at 6 am, there’s a coach and a lifeguard and all the things. I am the fattest person there. I am the slowest person there. I am the worst swimmer there. BUT I want to get better, and they let me come, and if anyone makes fun of me, they don’t do it to my face.

The water was freezing, the showers were freezing, and for every 200 yards everyone else swam, I did 150. But I showed up and I did it.

Then afterwards it was chaos. It turned into a ‘give a mouse a cookie’ situation. I got in my car and I was feeling bad about myself, and I was worried about my 8 year old. This was because he had a meltdown last night and I was worried that if he woke up and I wasn’t there, he would think it was because of the meltdown. Then as I was downward spiraling I realized I never took my morning medicine because I left my house in a half asleep haze at 5:35. I intended to go straight to work, but now I had to run home, if I didn’t want to be an emotional wreck until lunchtime. Home I go, running inside with my boots and coat still on. After living in places where wearing shoes inside is akin to manslaughter, it is physically painful to wear shoes into my house, let alone soggy winter boots. Then i had to hug my eight year old and play with him and assure him that I loved him very much, throw my pills down my throat, and head to my office. There I make my breakfast shake and my tea, and go to put on my makeup. Once I get in the bathroom I realize I left my cc moisturizer at home. basically 1/2 my makeup, and the moisturizer for my poor face that just spent an hour in the pool. I end up using my hand cream on my face (who makes up these rules about what lotion can go where?) and dust on some powder, and cross my fingers that I won’t have a major breakout by this evening.

Even though I was the worst person in the pool, I was still better than every other person who didn’t show up. I’m learning good techniques and breaking bad habits. Even though I forgot things and missed things, I still managed to get to work and ready before my first patient walked in. I’m grateful for an inclusive group where I can swim, and if people judge, they keep it to themselves. Yes I still worry about my child, but this is not always within my control. If I work on focusing on the present and not worrying about what I can’t fix right now, then I can be grateful for a group of active friends who challenge me to be more active. Already signed up for next week.

Incidentally I am also signed up for a spin class tonight. I’m not sure if I can pull this off, but I’m hoping they are far enough apart that I can recover somewhat in between. Here goes nothing!

I suck at being a mother to two autistic children. As a self diagnosed autistic person myself, I struggle to come out of myself and focus on my children. There are things kids are ‘supposed’ to do, that my children just don’t, and I don’t know what to do about that. My 8 year old can’t swim. He can’t tie his shoes. They think they want to go to amusement parks, but then get super overwhelmed with the noise and the people and the rides, and we end up fighting or leaving after spending stupid amounts of money. They don’t want to go to parks and play and climb. They don’t like animals or zoos. They tried to go to cub scout camp and made it a day before getting so anxious they vomited. They don’t like most cartoons or movies. All the things kids are supposed to love, they don’t. As a boy mom I was prepared for sports games/practices, band concerts, instrument lessons, playing catch, going to parks. But we have gradually quit all of that.

At home we do projects. Mostly led by them, ideas they just randomly come up with, like,”let’s write a children’s book about trees, and publish it ourselves” or “let’s learn how to code our own video game that actually works, and then burn it onto a disc” or “let’s take apart this old computer.” or “let’s make a movie, and learn how to do stop motion, and green screen, and edit.” Most things cost at least some money for supplies, downloading programs and require parental supervision, participation, and/or active involvement. I get anxious and scared every day, worried about what project he’s going to come up with now, is it going to be too complicated or costly and I will have to convince him that we can’t do it, in a way that makes sense to him and doesn’t cause an explosion? I literally cannot keep him occupied all day, bc it would require a full lesson plan of 30 minute activities, all day long, and I already have a full time job without that added in. And like I said above, it’s not projects like play with play-doh or make slime. It’s ‘let’s build a computer’ or ‘let’s 3-d design and print our own chess set.’ Every project is insanely complicated, and usually far above a 3rd grader level. So then he gets frustrated and angry, and throws and breaks things.

I’m not doing a good job describing this, and I don’t know how to explain it better. The summary is, I dread being alone with my kid because A) I don’t know what to do with them, and B) I’m terrified i’m going to traumatize him or he is going to physically hurt me. And I don’t know how to make this better. He sees two counselors and he’s on meds that no 8 year old should be on. I want my happy smiley kind energetic four year old back. I don’t know how to help him be happy. I’ve failed.

As i mentioned in my previous post, having two special needs children during the holidays means scaling back and not participating in a lot of things. It is very isolating and lonely. Also we have moved around a lot in our younger years, having amassed multiple friends in multiple locations. I know social media allows us to keep in touch much better than the age of letters, but there is something about getting mail. envelopes with postmarks from all over the world, showing up in our tiny rural mailbox. Beautiful scenes and notes and photos connecting all of us. The notes i read and treasure, remember happy times together. The photos i put together in a collage on the refrigerator, so I can see them all year. It makes me feel connected and remembered. Even in the midst of my solitude I am loved. It’s amazing the power of a cardboard rectangle and a 60 cent stamp.

When my husband and I were first dating, we didn’t want to upset any family at the holidays. our families were 4 hours apart, and instead of spending christmas with one or the other, we would spend christmas morning with one family, drive four hours, and spend christmas supper with the other family. This meant that neither family was satisfied, we were miserable, and no one could complain.

Then my mother-in-law died, and we moved abroad. Then we had a child. Then my father died. All in that 12 months from one Christmas to the next. We spent the next few Christmases flying internationally, spending time with each side of the family in days, not hours, but making sure we saw everyone and broke bread with everyone. Never having a moment to ourselves, never sleeping in our own beds. It was a time of upheaval, not just because of the deaths and birth, but because each international move, as traumatic as it was, was only temporary. We knew there was no point in putting down roots, because we were moving again in 2 more years. Christmas was something we got through, not something we treasured.

With our older son, it was all about the structure. As long as he ate supper at 5, had a bath at 7, read books at 7:30, and was in bed by 8, traveling didn’t bother him that much. With our younger son, he wants to be home. He wants his own bed. He wants his own space. Day trips are fine as long as he is in his own bed by bedtime. This makes travel even harder and more challenging, and more miserable.

The last few years I’ve insisted we not travel on Christmas. We can go over Thanksgiving, we can go before Christmas, but on Christmas day we are in our own house. It’s been glorious. We wake up in our own space, eat our own food, open and play with our own presents on our own time.

This year we ended up getting roped into Christmas in Indiana. It’s a long story involving my BIL and SIL never going to Indiana for anything, my FIL being blind from his eye-toxic chemo treatments, and them dragging him all the way to Philly to visit them instead of just visiting him like normal, dutiful children. We ended up tasked with driving him back. Our timing ended up being terrible, because there was literally the perfect blizzard happening the day we were traveling. If it was just us, I’d reschedule the trip. But my FIL is just possibly the most stubborn person on the planet, and when he decides to do something at a certain time, he’s going to do it. even in white out conditions with black ice and below zero temperatures. We were driving two cars, so there was no switching drivers. most of the time I was driving under 30 mph, i almost got sideswiped by a semi, cars and semis were going off the road regularly, I stopped counting. At one point I was crying but trying not to show Finn, because I didn’t want to frighten him.

Finally, 11 hours into this nightmare, we got a hotel. The highway was closed 20 miles ahead of us, we were being routed through Cincinnati, it was getting dark. Even FIL had to admit defeat for the day. we collapsed and everyone was safely asleep by 8 pm. The next morning I cried more, never wanting to drive through that again, but I girded my loins and got back in that car. we made it to Indiana, a day late, which meant our schedule was now abbreviated.

Poor 8 year old had held it together so well while traveling. Christmas morning he finally lost it, crying and screaming in a way he hasn’t in a long time. He would only let me in the room, no one else, and he wouldn’t let me touch him. He kept demanding to go home. There wasn’t anything to say, so I just sat there until he calmed down, and then we went to nanaw’s and grandmas and drove 4 hours to my stepmom’s.

Our drive back was uneventful, and took about 1/3 the time of our drive there. Still plenty of time to think. I remembered why we don’t travel at Christmas. I remembered how Finn always struggles visiting family. I remembered how each time we explained it away, he’s young, he’s tired, he’s hungry. All true, but only part of the puzzle. He’s autistic, and he struggles outside his home environment. This means every trip will be like this. Every visit, every holiday away from home, every vacation. Meltdowns full of screaming, throwing, hitting, horrible dark words. Holidays are not happy things for us. Everyone is posting happy pictures of amazing holiday joy. My 8 year old was telling me to go F@$& myself. This is our life. It’s hard not to mourn what it feels like we should have, even though it’s pointless. We don’t do Polar Express trips or Breakfast with Santa or Nutcracker ballets. We don’t do them, because just like in holidays past, it’s not about us. This time, it’s about him, and what he needs. And he needs his own home at Christmas.

Have you ever had a meeting at your child’s school? Not a regular parent teacher meeting, but one where you have to take time off work and come in and discuss your child’s behavior?

It is usually proceeded by THE PHONE CALL. You know the one, where you’re at work and you see the school phone number pop up on your caller ID? Your heart drops into your stomach and you feel the bile rise in your throat. You answer with a cheerful,”Hello this is Elizabeth?” Hoping against hope that they are calling you because your child forgot their lunch or did something super amazing. Then you hear the,”Hello Ms. Gattman.” in that ‘bad news’ tone. You choke back the vomit as you listen to whatever your child has done now. Then you schedule THE MEETING.

This particular meeting was actually the second meeting of the year, the first being after my third grader was suspended on the third day of school. Yes, suspended in third grade. On the third day. I’m not going to go into the particulars of diagnoses and accommodations and different interventions, or whether or not it’s even appropriate to suspend a third grader. The principal has been talking about suspension since kindergarten. He’s been itching for it. My son has an IEP and he’s in a general ed classroom with minimal accommodations up until now, and that wasn’t working. So this meeting was to go over the behavior specialist’s evaluation and recommendations, and to decide to put a behavior plan in place. (The one we’ve been asking about since kindergarten, and the director of pupil services kept saying, ‘let’s wait until it’s needed.’ Then he got suspended.)

These meetings are pretty much all the same. You sit there and listen to all the ways your child isn’t good enough and why they need all this extra help and what the school is going to do or not do to address it. Then you have to decide if you think that’s appropriate or not, and what else you want to ask for.

But I’m not a special ed expert, I’m not an autism expert, I’m not a behavior expert. Until now, my husband and I let the school and the ‘experts’ guide us. until the suspension. That’s where I feel the school failed us. This was not new behavior, but this was a drastically new consequence. As a medical professional, if a patient presents to me with a problem, then I either have the solution, or I confer with my colleagues and research to come up with possible solutions. At the school, the educational experts shrugged their shoulders and said,”he doesn’t fit in our normal box, we don’t know what to do.” This from the experts.

So where is the gratitude in this? I have to look hard to find it. The behavior specialist did a great job with the eval and the subsequent recommendations. There are several people on the committee who honestly have my child’s best interest at heart and who really do want to help him. It’s heartwarming to hear them speak about him, and know he has some allies in school. He will finally have a behavior plan in place, which was badly needed. All of this is positive, even in the midst of the negative. Keep on the sunny side, as Ma Carter used to sing.