Since having children, I feel like I’ve missed out on a lot. It’s not that I don’t love my children or don’t want to spend time with them. It is that since having kids, it is hard to find time for myself. And of course, in comes that thief of joy, comparison. I have friends who are exercising every day, reading books, doing art projects, volunteering, hanging out with each other. What am I doing? Learning how to play Myst and code with Scratch. I’m reading about autism and taking my kid to therapy. My parents never played with me, or not once I got to the age where I remembered anything. It’s therefore not what I expected to have to do with my children. As I was left alone most of my childhood, it is what I am comfortable with. As an introvert, sometimes it is what I need.
Some of my mom friends can leave their children to their own devices and their kids are fine. They can leave them alone in the house, and they are safe. I remember when my children were toddlers who needed constant supervision. I would watch people without children, or people with older children, sitting and drinking their coffee and chatting and not worrying about their kids. I was so jealous and I felt so left out. I was angry that no one ever came over to help or chat with me while I was running after my insane escape artists. I used to think, 1) I won’t forget the moms of toddlers when my kids grow up, and 2) one day my child won’t need this much attention. Well number one is true, but number two is still out of reach.
We went to a birthday party this weekend. It was at a pumpkin patch, and there were tons of people there. Finn wanted me to go everywhere with him, while my friends sat and chatted. Then we came back to the party, just to find everyone walk away to wander around the different activities. It is the way things go with an ND kid.
So, how to flip this? Yes I still felt left out, yes I still felt friends could have been more aware. But as I watched them walk away, I only felt a mild sadness, not the knife in my heart that I used to feel. This is my life, our life. I’m glad he wants to spend time with me, and I know I need to solidify this relationship if we ever want to survive teenage years. Over the past six months I have intentionally worked on building a companionship with my child, and the payoff is that he’s no longer suicidal, that he’s out of defense mode more often, and he trusts me and looks to me for safety and support. This is worth it.
Everyone says, “Decrease the amount of stress in your life!” Ok, sure. I’ll just uncheck the box that says ‘stress’ and then things will be all better! <sarcasm>
What happens when your stress is unavoidable? What happens when you have two challenging, neuro-diverse children who need more than you were prepared to give as a parent? Not saying that I won’t give it, just that when I signed up to have kids, I wasn’t prepared for/expecting this. And THIS includes a lot of extra work, extra anxiety, extra worry, extra research, extra advocacy, extra money, extra time off work. It includes a daily mental plan and trying to be 3 moves ahead of your child with autism so you can prevent a meltdown, get his homework done, his teeth brushed, maybe even a shower in there. Everything that we take for granted is so much harder for him, and he needs time to decompress. A lot of time to decompress. Adding to this, it’s not forgetting your other child. It’s getting the high schooler to his various events, talking through social situations, and helping him plan/think through a schedule, which is insanely hard with his adhd.
What happens when your (extremely bright, ‘high functioning’) child with autism struggles with emotional regulation, because he doesn’t understand his own feelings? And then he is unable to regulate at school? and then the principal, instead of trying to help your child learn to regulate, wants to expel him for being a discipline problem and a safety threat? He’s an 8 year old with a water bottle, let’s all calm down. It’s hard to send your child to a school when you a) feel like they don’t like your child and b) don’t feel that they can adequately support your child. Every day I feel nauseous. I’ve lost 30 lbs in 4 months bc of the stress. I have continuous pressure in my chest all day long.
So how do I flip this? What in this ridiculous mess am I grateful for? This morning, I sat on the couch and my 14 year old and my 8 year old sat on either side of me. We were all hugging and they said how much they loved each other and me. I am so grateful that, amongst our insanity, even with their different abilities, they love and feel loved, they are affectionate and helpful, they know they have parents who love and support them no matter what.
Oooh, suspense! No, nothing so fun. after a great first and second day with my troubled kiddo, the s@$! hit the fan on Thursday. He was suspended for two days for having a meltdown, throwing a notebook at another student and throwing his water bottle at the teacher. According to the principal my child ‘assaulted’ the teacher. That’s the verbiage used for throwing a water bottle.
These past few days have been a whirlwind of talking to teacher friends, special ed teacher friends, school administrator friends, my pastor, my regular friends, and my online autism parent group. It gets tricky when you suspend a kid with a disability, a kid whose disability likely caused the behavior for which you are suspending him.
So how do I flip this? There is nothing good about this situation. except… All of my amazing friends and family who rallied around to support us, help us write plans, gave us scripts and typed notes and legal and personal advice that had the principal glaring and the head of Special ed’s hands shaking in the meeting. All of the people who prayed for us, are still praying for us, who sent us positive energy, my mom who did reiki on my son from across the country. All of these people see the goodness in my child, the value in my child, the potential in my child. When I feel the world is against us and no one likes him, I can remember our battalion of warriors who came together to help us defeat the ignorance and fear that is often associated with autism. We still have a lot of work to do, and I know this journey is going to suck, but I have an amazing support team full of resources.
My kids had their first day of school today. My eldest is starting high school, which I still haven’t actually processed in my brain. My younger one just started third grade. I’m terrified. Terrified that he’ll have another bad year and he’ll hate school, terrified that he’ll melt down and hit another student, terrified that he won’t have any friends. I dread those phone calls that make my heart go cold, about how he misbehaved again. He was excited to go this morning, for which I was very glad. I took the day off work because I wanted to drop him off and pick him up, and i knew i would worry all day. I made it through drop off and cried all the way home. Not because i’m sad he’s growing up, but because i’m so scared for him.
So how do I flip this? When i got home, I did a quick spin class, and the instructor said something interesting. She was encouraging us to work harder, and she said, “not everyone can do it, but you can.” And i thought, ‘I’m so grateful that i can do this.’ A year ago i was still recovering from knee surgery and was still pretty gimpy. I was doing 20 minute recovery rides and taking ibuprofen the next day. Now i can push myself as hard as I can on the bike, and the only thing holding me back is me. The exercise helps me get out the fear and anxiety, and leaves me feeling much better. I’m grateful for a job that gives me time off so I can work out my anxiety and worry and stress. The circumstances don’t change, but it helps me change how I feel about them.
I’m heading out soon to pick up my younger one from his first day. I am hopeful he will hop into the car full of life, telling me about his amazing first day. When you are looking to the future, everything is possible and nothing is decided.
Today is my dad’s birthday. he passed away 13 years ago, from complications due to alcoholism, and I still struggle every year on his birthday and death day. He was a great guy. Great sense of humor, always willing to help out. He took me to buy my first car. But he was also an asshole. He made horrible choices when he was drunk, spending everyone’s money and breaking everyone’s hearts. I’m both sad and relieved that my children will never know him. To paraphrase Gilmore Girls, today is one of my dark days. So I’m going to try to flip it into gratitude.
I’m grateful that I got to know my father, that I had 27 years with him. He was adopted and always felt unwanted (through his own sense of low self worth, not through anything his parents did). I never had to struggle with that. He took me camping and fishing as a kid, and taught me how to shoot a bb gun. He taught me a lot about how I wanted to be as a parent, and about how I didn’t want to be. He taught me (unintentionally) about mental health and addiction, something i’m working on personally (depression/anxiety) and something i use daily in my job. Watching him taught me the dangers of addiction, how a substance can control your entire life, harming everyone around you, taking everything away from you, and eventually killing you. I am so grateful I had my father in my life. I’m going to end with a poem that perfectly sums up me and my dad.
I was on call all weekend for my entire medical office, which made for a stressful weekend. it ended with a call waking me up at 6:10 this morning, a police officer informing me a patient died and asking if I would sign the death certificate. What a way to wake up. My anxiety has been riding high since then, I have a prn (as needed) medication I can take, but in true health care fashion I put off taking it as long as possible. I have a constant pressure in my chest, and I feel like i’m on the brink of tears. My hope is that i can shift that focus with a little gratitude:
Today I am grateful for my job. A place that aligns with my values, a place where i can learn and grow. A place that is understanding of people’s needs and families’ needs. I’m grateful for a paycheck every two weeks, grateful that money is not a stressor for me, I’m grateful for insurance and retirement and all of those things that a lot of people don’t have or struggle for. I’m grateful for an hour lunch when I can go for a walk or do yoga. I’m grateful for sick time and pto. I am grateful.
Today, I am grateful for my church. I was raised mennonite, and church and God was a huge part of daily life. It’s an integral part of who you are, not just what you do on Sunday morning. Fast forward to having two children, an agnostic spouse, and moving 8 times in 10 years, and suddenly church has become more do-it-yourself. The thought of trying to find a church that doesn’t make me feel awkward, that doesn’t offend me, that doesn’t guilt my partner for not going, is too overwhelming. That’s why when I stumbled upon st Luke’s, it was amazing. they accept me, my weird children, my non-believer husband, all of us. Then my brother died, and I fell into the pit of despair. St Luke’s let me come every Sunday, sit by myself, cry my eyes out, and never asks, “you’re still not over it?” or, “Do you need anything?” or “everything happens for a reason.” They let me sit with my grief, for as long as i need.
I’ve been struggling lately. Not just normal, hard to get out of bed, feel like i’m treading water kind of struggling. More of a, crying every day, wanting to run away, kind of struggle. i feel like i’m not enough for my job, not enough for my kids, certainly not enough for my husband, and definitely not enough for my friends. I used to be the one who volunteered. The one who could always help. The one who made meals and brought cookies and watched kids. Acts of service is my love language. It gives me a sense of purpose. Now i do nothing. I forget birthdays, I can barely make meals for my own family, I’m the one asking for help.
As I was talking about how I’m struggling daily to one of my friends, she mentioned starting a gratitude journal. She wasn’t being dismissive or belittling. The idea is to change one’s mindset, focusing on anything positive when all the world seems stark. the first few days I just opened a document on my work computer. But I don’t use my work computer at home, and I wanted to be able to work on this project at home as well. Then i remembered my blog. No one reads this anyway, so what a perfect venue for my daily gratitude. So today I’m grateful for the anonymity of online blogs, where I can express exactly how i feel. Anyone could see it, but no one will. I know I won’t write every day, but i’m shooting for 4 days a week. Hopefully it helps. Here goes nothing.
It’s now been almost 13 months since my injury, and 10 months since my surgery. I struggle to describe it, other than this has been so very humbling. Anyone, the healthiest, strongest of all of us, is one slip and twist and fracture away from having a complete life change. After surgery, the surgeon laid out a basic timeline of when I could start different exercises. Biking at 3 months, running at 4, swimming at 6. Ridiculous. I was carefully riding an indoor exercise bike at 3 months, but I was not about to try to clip into my road bike with my brand new tendon still working to fuse to my bones. I was walking several miles, but I was not about to attempt to jog on my still swollen knee. Also let’s just mention, after not running for 7 months, I had a) gained 15 lbs and b) lost the very little athleticism I had. I already was a slow, wheezy runner at the best of times. Also, running has a bit of a bounce and almost like a mini jump to it. That was not happening at 4 months, and maybe not ever. To summarize, I was not doing any of this, I was angry at my body and frustrated with the world
Then the six month mark came, and I got to get back into the pool. I was so excited because swimming is something I loved before my injury. Floating, no impact, the rhythmic strokes almost like a mantra, getting into the zen zone, just me and the water; but alas, this was not that. It felt as though I had forgotten how to swim. Nothing came easy, I couldn’t find a rhythm, I felt nauseous because I had forgotten that I needed to take meclizine, a medication for motion sickness, before I swim. I struggled to make it 700 yards, less than half the distance I was swimming before the surgery. It was awful. I had lost my last hold out, even swimming had been taken away from me. To add to the insult, that night my knee was angry. Sore and swollen, I had to ice it and take an anti-inflammatory. It turns out my surgeon actually knew what he was talking about, even the mild instability of the knee in water was enough to piss off everything in there. I was ready to give up and stop exercising and let my body turn to mush.
But memories are strong, tricky things. The pull of the water, the memory of how good it used to feel after a nice swim, made me keep coming back. The next swim was better. I was slow, but the rhythm came back, I remembered my medicine, and I made it significantly farther, and faster. Bit by bit it came back. Now I’m up to swimming 1600 yards, just over 0.9 miles, and I’m faster than I was even before the injury. It’s the only workout I enjoy, the only thing I feel like I can actually do semi-well. Like all sports, I’ve never actually been trained. I’m sure my arms are too floppy and my kick is wonky, my fish-like gasping looks ridiculous and let’s not even talk about how I look in a bathing suit. When I’m in the water I feel like I’m part of the water, like it could pull me under and absorb me, in all my imperfections, and one day I’ll just be part of it, a selkie watching from the water, no longer human. In that same way all my worries and stresses soak into the water for that period of time.
I wish I could swim every day. I wish I didn’t have to squeeze it in between my children’s activities, and I wish it didn’t mean more work for my husband or waking up early on Saturday morning. It makes me feel selfish and guilty. But I think it’s important that our children see their parents taking care of themselves, and exercise is crucial for my physical and mental health. For now I swim twice a week and do what I can, allowing the water to absorb my struggles and lift my burden, two times a week.
The time has come. 13 months after my injury, as I’m leaving swimming one night, I see a flier advertising the ‘kick cabin fever’ indoor triathlon. My spirits rose! This was my first triathlon I’ve ever done as a team and by myself, and one that my group of friends has done regularly. Last year it wasn’t held because of covid, but this year it was back in business. I knew I could do it, because it’s time based, not distance based. It’s how far can you get in 15 minutes for each event. Swim, bike, run. Then your total distance is added together for your final score. Even if I walked the entire treadmill part, I could still finish. And the cherry on top: the proceeds go to our county’s suicide prevention services. Knife in the heart, I knew I had to do it, both for me, to prove that I could, and for my brother, who I had lost to suicide this past summer.
I pushed the poster out to my triathlon friends, and got a surprisingly negative response. 4 of them were already signed up for other events on the same day. One had to work, one declined because (wait for it…) her knee wasn’t up to running. I felt let down and betrayed. I remembered a time when my friend had breast cancer, and we all met up to do a walk to raise money for breast cancer research. All of us except her husband. And another friend made the comment,” what’s the easiest way to support a spouse who is currently in treatment for breast cancer? Walking in a walk against breast cancer.” I kept thinking in my head,” what’s the easiest way to support a friend who’s grieving the loss of her brother to suicide? Maybe participating in an event that raises money for suicide prevention?” I know everyone is busy. Everyone has work, children, partners. I know I’m not the center of the universe. I know my grief is laying heavy on me, and everyone is tired of it after 7 months. But it still hurt.
I decided to ask my 13 year old son to do it with me. Since it was for our family, and he’s done a kids’ triathlon before, I knew he could do it. He was hesitantly agreeable. we talked through every portion, laid out clothes and discussed each transition. I took him for a practice swim with me on Wednesday before the event on Saturday.
The day finally came. We got there, got marked, got ready to swim. I was more worried about James than about myself, and I lost my stride several times in the pool while I tried to watch how he was doing. It didn’t help that a super sporty guy I knew slightly from the triathlon group was swimming next to me, and he looked like a freaking dolphin in the water. But we made it through the swim, me with my fastest 100 yard time yet, and hopped out to head into T1
The bike was also pretty ok. Everyone’s resistance was at 11, And you just biked as fast as you could for 15 minutes. They let me get James’s bike set up for him, so when he ran out right at the starting time (everyone gets 5 minutes for each transition, which is a lot less time than it sounds like) he was able to jump right onto the bike and go. The staff were very encouraging of him and kept an eye on him since I couldn’t be right next to him. However he forgot his water bottle, so during T2 he ran into the locker room to get it.
And then it was down to the run. Again he made me nervous, calmly ambling out of the locker room 30 seconds before the run started. Since James ran cross country in school, I thought this wouldn’t be an issue for him. Ha! He was NOT used to running on the treadmill. He very responsibly clipped the safety clip onto his shirt, and started off. I was doing an alternating fast walk one minute, slow jog for 2 minutes, with the goal of getting one mile in for the 15 minutes. I had forgotten how heavy the legs feel after pushing so hard on the bike. I was sweaty and wet from the swim and bike, and my mask was soaking wet. Then I look over and James was leaning on the arm rails and doing this kind of leap thing. This of course lead to him pulling the safety tab out, and his treadmill stopped. The lady doing the timing didn’t actually know anything about treadmills, and they couldn’t get his to restart without losing his previous data. So she finally wrote down his distance and he restarted. But in the meantime I was distracted and lost my pace. I had to push to get to my goal, reminding myself that it was just 15 minutes. My knee felt a little weak, but it didn’t hurt, which was progress.
And just like that, it was over. We put on our race shirts and headed out. Because of covid w we weren’t encouraged to hang around or watch other contestants. Because James was so young and there were few child participants, I thought he had a good chance of winning something, but we never heard. My friends were mildly jealous because the shirts were purple, and I had to try very hard not be be irritated by this. Everyone was very supportive of both me getting back into triathlons and James participating, short of doing it themselves with us. I’m working on letting this go, but obviously I’m not there yet. I don’t know if it’s my feeling like everyone thinks I should be over my grief by now, or that it’s dark and cold and everyone’s cranky, or my general insecurities about not looking sporty and my general inabilities to do sporty things, especially after the knee. Probably a little of everything. But regardless, James and I did it, all by ourselves, and we definitely felt good about ourselves afterwards. I’m not going to let my anxiety and grief take away from my victory.
Fat Girl Running 