Connection. Rejection.

In her 2010 Ted Talk, Brene Brown says "Connection is the reason we [humans] are here". I believe it, and yet connection continually eludes me.

Turns out I am not alone in that feeling.

I am writing this blog entry in my art therapy journal from my online Brene Brown art therapy course. (We'll get back to that in a second.) I am writing in my journal at the beach, about 100 metres away from where my non-verbal 5 year old ASD son is playing with his dad... and his 2 year old half- brother, and his dad's second wife (who is inappropriate because of her original relationship to me and my son's dad; but she and my son's dad have a child together now so it ain't going away, and its not my story to tell online). At this very moment, rejection is screaming in my ear and jumping up and down on top of my head. But this rejection has been thrust in my face long enough, that while I feel the constant stab, I have become accepting of the pain. It adds a few clouds to the day, but it no longer ruins it. I only add this because it plays into the vulnerability of what I'm writing about at the moment.

Back to the Brene Brown art therapy course... I am taking it a second time because I was invited to be part of a local group of people doing the course for the first time. Something nagging deep inside me told me I should do the course a second time because there was probably something I missed the first time. The first sections of the course are about Connection and Courage. I focused mostly on Courage my first time through because that's what I needed at the time.

 "We get courage by couraging," Brene says, and whether I wanted to practice courage or not in 2013, (NOT was the case) I had to. And I did develop a lot more courage (though I still need to consume large doses of it every day, so I guess that means I'm still amassing it?)

Three years after the first time I read Brene's book, "The Gifts of Imperfection", the theme that is emerging for me is Connection, which my heart's knowing grin tells me that I quite purposely glossed over these pieces the first time I did this course. I just didn't have capacity to look at this needy part of my life the first time. But I guess I did so well with the courage piece that I now have courage to look at my difficulty with Connection.

Like the research subjects Brene refers to in her 2010 TED talk "The Power of Vulnerability", I can't really tell you much about connection, but I can tell you a whole lot about rejection. And as I bring up this topic with friends who aren't necessarily intimate friends, but whom I feel free to speak deeply with, I hear much rejection from them too. Rejection (or lack of inclusion) from syblings, parents, colleagues, friends, and lovers. Then there's those who are identified as a minority, for whatever reason, who are also not included by society at large.

I have to wonder why so many of us who are confident and capable and loving and loveable LACK close intimate relationships of the friendship variety, (community?) causing us to feel so alone. Brene would probably say its because we're not being vulnerable enough, with ourselves, with our loved ones, with our God.

I would agree. But some of us are working on being vulnerable and are doing really well at it, even though it hurts. Many of my colleagues and acquaintances are clinical therapists, and they know how to achieve relational intimacy and they are doing they're best at it, but they also say they are lacking close friends.

Why are so many of us lacking close friendships then?

 

Why do I hear and see so many people saying,

"I have lots and lots of acquaintances, but I don't really have any friends."

In my city, I think the astronomical cost of living is taking its toll on people's ability to nurture the main thing that gives us meaning in life: human connection. That's a big factor. But that's not the only factor. I'd bet we'd find just as many people in affordable cities who are surrounded by acquaintances and still feel lonely.

I think it might have more to do with the way western societies are all about the individual pursuit of happiness, whereas eastern cultures tend to be more about the wellness of the whole group... the family unit, or even the community. While it might seem like a good thing for an individual to succeed and actualize their potential, the problem that emerges is that when a person fails to actualize, all the failure falls on that one person.[Credit: I'm pretty sure I got this individual vs group mentality stuff either from Richard Rohr, Dacher Keltner, or both.] When group/family wellness is the goal, then when people fail together, they are still together. Its not as devastating... because "connection is the reason that we are here"... so you haven't lost everything. You still have the connection. (Unless you are a character in Game of Thrones, then if the group fails, you all die!)

Which brings me back to my lack of connection.

I would say I am quite good at connection, when its a fairly safe bet; like I am awesomely connected with my son. But his autism prevents him from socially reciprocating. (He is full of hugs and cuddles and tickles and wrestling, but he can't share memories with me, or celebrate holidays, discuss things, etc.)

I am great at connecting with colleagues at work who also want to be connected, but I don't belong in any identified groups, so I get left out a lot.

I am disconnected from anyone I need to be connected to, but with whom it is inconvenient to be connected to. Autism  throws a giant wrench into connectivity because a few autism outburst from the past have basically kyboshed any future connections because people are still traumatized from the previous ones. The result is my son and I are on our own. And it doesn't feel good. I think we need to belong to somebody or something.

I felt this lack of belonging for my son and I already last year. I attempted to fix it by 'building a team' around my son, in terms of support and respite people. I asked about 8 trusted families about being part of our team. They all considered it heavily, and all of them (many with tears) said they're just too busy with sports/church/health issues, etc. More rejection... for really good reasons, but still rejection.

I want to get real about this Connection thing. Because Brene is right. Connection is everything.
      - I really like the beach.
      - I really like the beach by myself.
      -  But after 10 times at the beach by myself, it would mean so much more to share it with  
        someone (friend or otherwise).

Right or wrong, I have given up on people I should be connected with. I am pondering that maybe the way for me to achieve real connection in an on-going way might be more about building my family than building-in play dates. There are others out there who don't even have 1 person they belong to. So maybe we can belong together.

Ironically (or probably not if you're a shame researcher like Brene Brown) it will take a lot of courage if I do proceed with building my family. It's unknown. It's unpredictable. It's forever. So it's scary. But it will also take a lot of courage to continue to not-belong as we currently sit.

Day 30: Sleep (The journey toward healing)

Several weeks ago I was chatting with a friend of mine who is also a mental health therapist. This person told me about when they had to take a medical leave because they had so many clients that were suicidal, that they couldn't keep their own head above water. The advice this person gave me is that, "when you do get a chance to rest, you need to go really hard at it. All that stuff that you teach your clients... you need to do all of that and do it intensely."

So this week was the third week of my vacation, and the first week where I haven't been away somewhere, and still had childcare for my non-verbal ASD child. I haven't been able to turn off completely because I still have to be a mom to my special needs child. I still have to take him to his autism intervention appointments 3 times a week. But I have been attacking nutrition, physical restoration, and rest with everything I have. (kind of an oxymoron: attacking rest).

The rest has, by far, been the most challenging. My adrenalin surges are my biggest problem as my adrenalin has been keeping me going for so very long (like being in newborn mommy mode for over 5 years... with a non-cooperative newborn). Yesterday was the perfect example of that. My surging adrenalin (same as a panic attack) kept me up until 11pm. Why was it surging? Because almost every time I have been ready to go to sleep in the last 5 years, I wasn't able to because there was still something critical to be done, or an emergency to tend to, so adrenalin helped me keep going. Now it thinks it needs to kick in every time I get tired because that's what its been doing for me for so long. (And since I am tired most of the time, the adrenalin surges most of the time).

...so I couldn't sleep until after 11pm due to adrenalin. I finally fell asleep sometime before midnight. Then my ASD son had a typical bout of night waking from 1am - 4am, and I had to be up with him to prevent him from kicking the walls or floors and disturbing our neighbours. It also turned out he needed some intense sensory input, so I also had to bear-hug him, squeeze him, kiss him, and give him leg compressions, which are sort of like massage. I'm still super grateful I have an ASD kid that loves being hugged and kissed. And its my favorite thing to do as his mom. But when I've only had an hour of sleep, and I've been squeezing/kissing for an hour, it wears on a person.

Somewhere around 4am I finally got to sleep. Then up at 7am to get my son to his autism intervention appointment for 9.

We were back home around lunch, the babysitter came over, and I headed straight for bed, and fell into a very deep sleep for two hours. When I woke I felt like I was coming out of a coma. Most days adrenalin wakes me. Not today. And wow, was it ever hard to come back to consciousness and functionality. It took me a long time to figure out what day and time it was. I was convinced I had slept for a couple of days.

When I was at family camp last week I got in a 1 hour nap one day there, as well. Both that day and today I feel like I can grasp a small handful of the person I really am again, beyond mommy-robot mode. And that is a giant leap forward in my journey toward healing.

Day 16: The Journey Toward Healing. Loneliness

Today is the last day of my vacation. I still have a few weeks left off work, but today is the last day of the vacation I did just for me, that included a nanny so that I can actually let go and rest.

I know my vacation is an incredible success because a couple of times the nanny came to me with a routine issue with my autistic son, and my first thought was, "Okay. What am I supposed to do about it?" And then I remembered that I still have to make him dinner. Or I still have to change his poopy diaper (by choice: I don't feel like anyone else should have to change my 4 year old's soiled diapers.) And a couple of times when the nanny was off I actually forgot I had to watch my son (but remembered before anything disastrous happened). That shows me I did, indeed, turn off.

This afternoon I walked along the beach by our cottage, alone, for a little reflection, and a little good-bye, and I could feel that significant healing had already occurred even in the shortness of this week.

The healing that I felt was that a little of the overwhelming loneliness that I am relentlessly consumed by, had faded quite a bit. Most single parents feel some elements of loneliness, I am sure. I would also venture to say that married parents feel loneliness too. But when my non-verbal, special needs child has been sick most of the time since February, and I was sick for half of that, and every day has been a vicious struggle to survive, and I barely have a moment to text those closest to me, never mind have conversations and feel heard, I start to feel like I am fading. I start to feel like no one sees me. I start to feel like I am not even me anymore. And I don't allow myself to be loved because I am too busy fighting off fear.

A friend of mine, who is also a single parent, but with a typically developed son, the same age as mine, came along on this vacation. We've done a few things together with our sons, but not everything. Her presence has been a big factor in healing some of my loneliness.

 My nanny is also a genius at engaging my son and his friend, and it feels wonderful to me to have another adult to share special moments with as my son develops. That's also a big factor in the development of my loneliness: having no one to share my son's victories and challenges with.

But the real key in healing my loneliness this week has simply been re-connecting with me. Having several hours every day to do what I like to do. This week it was reading, writing, painting, walking, eating, and shopping. It's also been about having time to take in God's love/presence all around me, and in this place, its obvious as Technicolor.

In this place I am aware that I am deeply loved by God around me, and God in me.

At the beginning of this week I read my daily meditation by Richard Rohr. He quoted an ancient saying of perennial wisdom which says "You are that which you seek." I knew then that I was seeking love, and I knew all I had to do this week was absorb it.

So that was 5 days out of 365. The trick will be re-connecting to this place of Love-in-me a little more regularly throughout the year.

Day 13: BEing in the journey toward healing

Whatever ground I lost while being sick at the start of my journey toward healing and rest, I regained immediately upon arrival at our vacation cottage in Coupeville, WA. Everything about this place disarms any stress I was clinging to, just to maintain my usual state of being. Last night I just sat on the deck and stared at the view. That was about it.

Slept well. This morning I got up, got my son breakfast, and then we all kind of sat around and stared at the view. I said to my single parent friend, "I've only been up for an hour, but I feel sleepy again already." She said, "That's called relaxing." I said, "Huh."

Then we went to a park, got some food at the grocery store, came home where I painted a bit, went for a walk, and suddenly it was the end of the day. I can't believe how fast the day passes when one is relaxing.

Today would best be described as simply BEing, or being mindfully present. I was very aware of my presence interacting with almost every other presence in everything, with every step I took, dialed up to 11 (meaning every step I took, something else blew my mind). A few of those things were able to be captured on screen, and I hope they allow you to BE in the moment.

 

 

 

 

All was not just sweet smelling roses, however. My sitter helped with my son enormously. Autism still won 3 battles today that I just wasn't interested in fighting. The hardest was the last (bedtime). My blood pressure probably went up with the 40 minutes of screaming before sleep because he was tired and couldn't get himself to sleep. But now that he is asleep, I can watch the sunset sky and the twinkling lights across the bay.

Day 9: Muddling in the journey toward healing

Maybe not quite lost, but I definitely feel like I am going in circles. I was able to start resting on Day 1 (July 1) because it was a holiday in which I had nothing planned, I had some respite from my son that day, and my son (non-verbal 4 year old) finally got better after having a low grade fever and other unknown symptoms for the last two weeks.

(Us on one of WAY TOO MANY sick days this year)

About Day 4 of my journey toward healing, I came down with a swollen stinging sore throat, probably the same virus my son had. This is the nastiest, longest sore throat and ears I have had in a very long time. From what we know from 3 doctors visits with my son, its a viral ear/throat infection. I just pray its what he had because if he is still going to get what I have now, I have a hellish couple of weeks ahead of me.

So needless to say, rest is difficult when you feel like crap. In fact I've heard a number of doctors say that if your body is in pain (physical or emotional) it makes it pretty difficult for it to heal itself. So part of me kind of feels like I'm back to square one again... or just waiting for this virus to pass so I can approach square one again.

And this is pretty much the story of my life as a single parent of a high/special needs child, trying to take care of myself.

The one thing that has caught my attention this week, is a weekly JOT (Just One Thing) I get from Dr. Rick Hanson (not the Man in Motion), one of the world's leading experts in clinical mindfulness and positive psychology. It was a post called Get Out Of The War. As the title suggests, it was about removing yourself from toxic situations, toxic thoughts, or any battles that you lose energy to, or battles that cause you (unnecessary) pain.

So while I am not resting, I am paying attention to the thoughts and situations where I am losing my peace of mind. The battle with my son's autism is the obvious one. 'The suffering is in the resistance' is one of my current mantras, so several times I have tried to let go wherever I was finding resistance to my son's autism, but this is a laughable effort at best. Autism is a ruthless, relentless, stalking predator, particularly when there is only one caregiver, and this morning was a perfect example of how futile 'letting go of resistance' is. The ride to the place where my son receives autism intervention is about 15 minutes long. 5 minutes into the ride my son figured out where we were going, and he screamed bloody-hell/someone-is-murdering-me/my-eardrums-are-bleeding for the duration of the trip. That's a battle I have ZERO control over.

The one battle I have let go of is the tension my heart feels at never achieving the house I really want to have. I still love my house but I've had to come to terms with the fact that my living room is my son's play room, complete with daily destruction. It will never be my place to let go. It will never be a place I can have ready to receive visitors. My kitchen floor will never ever be clean. My son might be the world's messiest eater, intentionally spraying crumbs with total glee, about 5-6 times a day. I have to tell visitors to keep their shoes on because it really might be cleaner outside than in. I let go of the master bedroom as my son has been so sick this last year, and sleeping in my queen bed with me, he has now assumed that is his room and will only sleep in there. I now sleep in his single bed, which I bought brand new for him this past Christmas. Fortunately, I spent the big bucks on it and its really comfortable. Having less room in bed is worth it not to be woken by a knee to the boob, a heel to the nose, or 45 pounds sailing through the air landing on my sleeping body.

And I am still trying to think of other ways to get out of other wars I don't need to be expending energy into.

This week's JOT from Rick Hanson talked about finding peace. He referred to four levels of finding peace. I remember the last one was about connecting to the Something Greater in life, which I already am. But the first one is probably the easiest for me to implement, and might be providing me a level of rest: it was about celebrating and dwelling on good accomplishments you have achieved. I can do that. And have done that.

 I feel proud of the family I have built with just my son and I.

I feel like I am a good mother most of the time.

I feel like I have weathered some pretty crazy shit and come out the other end wiser, stronger, and even more at peace.

 I feel good that I am able to pay my bills.

 I feel good that I am growing my own veggies in the garden.

 

I feel good about the community I found to raise my son in.

I feel good that I have increased my veggie intake by 90% and decreased my sugar intake by 95%.

I feel good that I take my son out to experience nature as much as I possibly can.

And I could probably keep going with a long list of simple thing... things that some might not consider accomplishments, but these things do give me a sense of peace. And in that peace, there is some rest.

Day 2: The Journey Toward Healing

Today is the second day of my journey into rest and relaxation. I have been talking about doing it since last Christmas, but there literally hasn't been a time since Christmas that I was able to let go, even for a day. I am talking white-knuckling it every day AND night (and I literally wake from sleep white knuckles hanging on to each other for dear life).

I spoke in another post about how moms of kids with autism (not specifically single moms, just moms) have stress levels similar to soldiers in active combat. I get that because there is little ability to predict when the next episode/attack is going to be, who will get injured and how, how long it will last, or how bad it will be. Typically there's a few a day. Sometimes there isn't one for a while, and then you wait to be ambushed. And you will be. So whatever you do, don't relax.

Much of the time, significant clean up is required after an episode. And the episodes also tend to cluster, so while you are drooped in defeat, cleaning up from one devastation, the enemy (autism) launches another attack on another front.  Perfect illustration: My non verbal ASD 4 year old pulled almost every one of his 100+ books off the shelf the other morning. As though to add a garnish on top of the mess, he also emptied his Mega Blocks and race tracks top of the books. The sitter found me working up a sweat trying to tidy things for her arrival, when we suddenly heard a CRASH out on the deck where my son had intentionally smashed a glass bottle. His delight was quite apparent and he didn't understand why I ran at him yelling, STAY THERE STAY THERE. He wanted to jump amidst his new smithereened creation, but I was able to hold him in place while the sitter got shoes for all of us. Then I got to go to my job (phew!). The following evening was relatively pleasant, watching (every second or he will take off) my still-diapered son playing in the sprinkler. I took off his wet clothes and shoes and left him in his wet diaper while I went to answer the doorbell to discuss an urgent maintenance matter with my neighbor. After a 5 minute conversation, I ran upstairs because I couldn't hear my son. What I found was  a kitchen smeared with diaper gel... he had broken through the protective barrier in his diaper, heavy with sprinkler water, and smeared the gel everywhere through the kitchen. Then I took him to the bathroom to wash him off in the shower and I got screamed at, head-butted, and bitten. I could go on, but you are getting a snapshot of what it looks like.

Add on top of this the fact that my 4 year old has been sick almost non stop for the last 5 months. This means 5 months of sleeping with me, or waking in pain, or crying etc; 9 trips to Children's ER, 6 of them in the middle of the night. Not only will my body not allow me to fall into a deep sleep, but it is ready to slam me with adrenalin to help me deal with whatever the mid-night screaming is about.

And thus my problem now arises: I HAVE TO RELAX if I want to survive to live another few years. But my body is coursing with so much adrenalin, when I sit still mid day, my whole body is buzzing like a bee. Like this bee in my garden as I started to write this today:

Bad picture, but I had to snap quick to capture the moment. The bee actually irritated me because I am working so hard to stop the buzzing (adrenalin) in my body, and the bee's buzzing was amplifying my buzzing.

So yes, Day 2 of my relaxation journey, and it will be a long journey. And apparently uncomfortable. Its tough coming off of 4 or 5 years of solid adrenalin.  Prescribed medication takes the edge off. But what really helps is meditation. Twice today I turned off the tv and meditated for about 5 minutes each before my son needed something from me. And I felt better. But its surprisingly hard to let go. And my adrenalin has served me so very well for so long. Its gotten me though dozens of experiences where many have said, "I don't know how you do it." Neither do I because adrenaline keeps doing it for me.

 I don't have anything wise to end this post off with except to invite you along with me on my journey back to calm. To center. To stability. And the very fact that I've created another post here tells me that my first step toward healing has already begun.

I Cry In Public

And its starting to happen more and more.

Strangely, I am kinda okay with it.

I mean, if I could wave my magic wand it wouldn't happen. But knowing WHY its happening somehow makes me okay with myself in the midst of the spectacle. The hard part is putting other people at ease over it as they all rush to find out what's wrong, essentially trying to ebb the tide of my unsightly emotion.

What's wrong? Autism is.

As a single parent of a 4 year old with autism, I would give myself a grade of B+. (Not 'A' because I am bad at asking for help. If I was doing this perfectly I would have a support team constantly around my son and I).

A few times now, there have been extremely stressful situations involving my son and medical personnel, or somewhere we have to wait, or somewhere he doesn't want to be, or NOT somewhere he wants to be... where my son has thrown a giant fit of epic proportions and I have had to

• contain it
• deal with it
• survive it
• treat it
• outlast it
• help others recover from it,
• etc

The problem is my son has no ability to self regulate. It is soaring ecstasy or utter devastation. If he experiences either of these extremes, its hard for him to find the balance in between again.

How I think this differs from an average 4 year old fit is that he doesn't have the self ability to recover, and he is truly suffering. He doesn't understand, so I can't explain it to him. I can see the devastation and suffering in his eyes. Yet there is no other course of action I can take except to ride out the storm with him.

As a parent I think I might take the bigger brunt of the hit. Or maybe its because I don't live in the present, so I am still living in the trauma a couple of days after the fact. Maybe its because I am more acutely aware of the suffering, and am helpless to relieve him of it.

Maybe its because as a single parent, I don't usually get any recovery time. So when my child has recovered 2-12 hours later, I am still 'on' making sure he remains stable and doing everything in my power not to set him off again... not resting and recovering from the trauma I suffered, watching him suffer.

You may or may not be acquainted with grief. If you know it, you will know it will rear its ugly head at the most inopportune time, if you don't make appropriate time for it.

Well I don't have any opportunities to debrief my sons varied, sporadic, unpredictable trauma's, and subsequently the tears come out really inappropriately:

• at work when someone asks "how's it going?" (they are learning not to do that)
• at a salesperson who is trying to upsell me, and I don't have the energy left to protect our limited income, so they just get tears instead of intelligent refusal.
• at my poor mother who is just trying to make plans or help, but one more question is making my brain explode in the form of tears.
• at the news that I still have to stop at the pharmacy before we go home... tears.

I would be headed straight to my doctor for depression, but the thing is, this is purely situational. It IS trauma. But antidepressants aren't going to fix any of it.

Earlier this week I reposted an article on Facebook that cited that mothers of kids with autism (just moms in general, not expressly single moms) have stress levels the same as soldiers in combat. I don't think they put soldiers who are in active combat on antidepressants. I would imagine it could affect their ability to fight.

Same here.

So in the meantime my body's way of dealing with the trauma of the battles is by releasing the trauma through tears when it needs to cry. (Side note: tears of suffering are a completely different chemical composition that lubricating tears) And that's why I'm kinda okay with it. I trust and respect my body to know what it needs to do.

Its all the other people that are freaked out about it.

Sorry! Its just autism.