Diagnosis and some gratitude

Monday, I received the report from the autism evaluation.  And I stopped in the middle of what I was doing and read it word for word.

My day had started with a call from the school.  Gavin was having a meltdown early.  It had been his father's weekend, so I didn't actually know how his morning or evening had gone.  I sent a hasty text asking for the details and booked it to the school.

They let him stay, which they don't always do.  Most of the time they have me take him with me.  Maybe because it was early.  I sat with him in his class for a while, and then when he had a smooth transition into music, I headed home.

In the magnificent blessing that my life has become, Josh and I sometimes have Mondays all to ourselves.  We'd love more time together even with the brood tangled around our feet and hips.  So, believe me, we relish in our solo days. 

We knocked out a little Christmas shopping and did some cleaning and laundry.  We fed ourselves.
And then....we gamed.  We put on headsets, dropped into an online multi-player, and disappeared into another world until the mail ran. 

Reading that report was a shock to my system.  Reading other people's interactions with and impressions of my child.  The way he was described.  Behaviors they described as indicators of his diagnosis that I had no idea were such.  And the part that was most difficult to wrap my mind around was the part where it said his symptoms presented as severe. 

Why did no one take me seriously if his symptoms are "severe"?  Why was I blown off so much?

Coming to terms with this diagnosis for me has been such a range of emotions.  What I want to focus on now, though, is gratitude.

Before I say another word about this, I just want to convey how grateful I am that I am the person chosen to be Gavin's mom.  However that came to be, I am honored.  Also, I'm grateful for his  health.  I'm grateful for his speech.  I'm grateful for his smile and his laugh and how incredibly intelligent he is.  I'm grateful for the people at Gavin's school who have truly grown to love him.  I'm grateful that I feel so supported by my husband and the school and a few close friends.  I'm grateful that every, single one of my closest friends has a child or family member with an autism diagnosis. They have been helping me through this process and standing by our family for years.  We already had a built-in community before we even knew Gavin was on the spectrum.  Somehow none of this seems random.  I'm grateful for Intelligent Design and grateful for such an abundance of love and grace in our lives.

Where I am after two years

Sometimes you have to fold in on yourself and dig deep and find what you've been hiding from yourself so that you can finally start to heal.

After my third failed marriage, I just wanted to go somewhere and lick my wounds alone.  I wanted to rage and fall apart and cry and feel like a failure and a fool without talking to anyone about it or writing about it.  I needed a new brand of healing.

It turns out that 2016 was a year of falling apart and folding in for a lot of people I know or knew.  It was an era of rebirth in mine and others' lives.  

As the energy of my life became chaos, I gave up resistance and let the current take me where it would.  You could call it giving up or leaning in, and I'd say you're right either way.  

I got up and went to work everyday and fed my kids every night and carried on with the have to's and musts.  I finished my master's degree and found a house in the middle of nowhere with no internet connection.

And, quite by accident and contrary to plan, I found this weird village of adults and children and animals all around me.  

We would sit on the porch in the cold in the dark and smoke cigarettes and talk shit and laugh and heal.  We'd share our pain and our dreams and our rage and our fear.  We'd hug each other and throw cash in a pile to cover each new ridiculous bill that showed up.  We learned to cook for 16 people.  We had each other's backs.  We bonded.

I got my hand blown up and my heart broken, lost a dog and a best friend.

We look back and wonder how we made it.  

Some of the Tribe say they hated that time.  I won't lie, it was tense and scary.  There was so much depression and anxiety on the loose that it's a wonder no one drown it.  Sometimes we fought.  Sometimes we shut down for days.  Sometimes we went out in the field and screamed or jumped in the truck and did donuts or laid in the bed staring at the stars.  The kids were dirty and loud and wild.  

It was glorious and awful and beautiful and exhausting, and I loved it.

After six months, everyone needed to breathe.  We needed space.  We needed to find our feet again.

Josh and I found a house in a subdivision and everyone else slowly drifted off.  We all spread out and Josh and I built towering walls around our lives and pushed everyone out for a while.  I quit one job and found another one and quit it too.  I had three cars repossessed in one year.  I bought a car completely outright and now have a title in my fancy green binder of important documents.  We started a business and watched it fail.  I lost religion and found God.  I fell in love with myself.  I found real love in a man and got married.  

And now here I sit.  I'm in yoga pants (I literally just did yoga - but I know I'm a stereotype) sitting next to my daughter.  I'm a stay at home mom...

Two days ago, I got a phone call.  The news didn't come as a shock.  I'd had my suspicions for at least four years, but honestly maybe even five.  

My son has been diagnosed with autism.

And I'll just tell you what my true, honest, initial reaction was when the words were spoken.  It was one emotion: relief.  Relief that he will have services opened up to him.  Relief that I have an answer.  Relief because having the diagnosis means he no longer has to try to keep pace in environments clearly not suited to his needs.

Hands dusted.  Reaction had.  All's well.

But, then, I shared the information with others and started receiving questions.  

Here's a fun fact: I still have ADHD, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and Depression.

Yesterday, I was the strong friend you needed to check on.  Yesterday, I tried to research what I do now.  It began to stack on the overwhelm from the questions from the day before.  The questions I couldn't answer.  There's so much information.  The spectrum is so broad.  

I shut down.

I cried, a lot.  

I carry so much mom guilt.  It's a great motivator, but it's also incredibly detrimental to my mental health.

I push myself through episodes of depression and anxiety.  I push myself entirely too far sometimes.

By the time Josh made it home from work last night, I had been having an anxiety attack for probably 6 hours, but I really don't know.  Could have started the day before.  

At any rate, having PTSD and the manifestations that accompany that, Josh knows a thing or two about anxiety attacks.  He gently wrapped his arms around my waist while I stared blankly at the water I was waiting to boil.

"Name three things you're grateful for."

I did.

"Name three things you can hear."

I did.

"Tell me three colors you see in the room."

I did.

"Ah, what's the next step?"

He was helping me ground.  Connecting to the present moment through all five senses.  Gratitude helps break up negative thought patterns.  The next step would be taste, smell, an emotion I was feeling.

Having a friend like Josh is such a precious gift in this life.  He is my husband, absolutely, but make no mistake, he is my absolute friend before he is anything else.  He is a true gem in a life that has often been harsh and cruel.  Josh is a welcome respite.  I cherish him dearly.

The last two years have been plenty introspective.  I have gotten to really know myself.  Not the self I wanted everyone to like.  Not the character I had been playing all those years.  I got to know the real woman underneath all that.  And I got to learn real lessons in understanding that I will be okay if not everyone likes that woman.  I have let go of many people and learned how I need to be treated.  Now I know how to teach others to treat me.  

I have also gotten to know my children better.  Being allowed the opportunity to stay at home - however long this lasts - is another precious gift I have been afforded.  It's not all sunshine and roses.  There are definitely parts of SAHMing I could do without.  But I like that I am the face greeting them off the bus and listening to what goofy thing is tickling their fancy these days.  I don't miss being gone all the time.  I don't miss missing them.

I said that yesterday I was the strong friend you needed to check on.  

I wanted so badly to reach out to someone.  I listed names of people in my head.  But that sneaky agent of self-doubt snuck in and told me that I didn't need to bother people. And the truth is, I was never going to be able to reach out yesterday.  It was too far gone once I had to start arguing with myself about whether or not people care.  

Josh interceded yesterday.  I woke up less toppled today.  I did yoga.  It's one leg of the trifecta that make the best mind/body/spirit integrated Michelle I have so far found.  (Exercise, proper food/water, meditation).

I know that one contributor to my experience yesterday is the isolation that comes with SAHMhood.

And today I realized that part of the love I have for writing is that it makes me feel connected to people.  I share whatever is on my mind in the hope that someone will understand; in the hope that someone will find solace or feel encouraged.  

So, today, I thought, I'll dust off that old blog, and I'll use it as a tool for my mental health.  I'll write to the invisible audience.  And maybe I'll feel the tiniest bit more connected.  Maybe it will ease the loneliness.  Maybe it will help.

And, ever the optimist, here I am.