A Breather

I couldn’t resist having my picture taken in front of this tourist trap with the word Curio in the name. The store was jam-packed with old-fashioned curio cabinets like the enchanted one in my recently completed novel. I confess I might’ve studied the contents to make sure nothing inside hinted at a magical universe.

We are back from a mini vacation in Glenwood Springs, Colorado. In an astonishing turn of events, we actually did do some relaxing. Family vacations have always been problematic for us, and often leave me wondering if other families work so hard to have fun only to succumb to internal friction.

I expect that despite Facebook photo albums showing smiley togetherness, most vacations involve whining, frustration and one or two small disasters. At least I hope we’re not the only ones.

I have a friend who refers to “Facebook Families” as a tongue-in-cheek commentary on all those perfect photo albums and squeaky proud parent statuses. When I’m having a less than FB-worthy moment, she reminds me that everyone has those moments. They just don’t post them.

I tend to take a more honest approach to life. Breathe In Breathe Out has featured my messy journey through womanhood, motherhood, and my writing pursuits.

But I’ve always gotten the most responses to my candid posts about raising a son who faces multiple challenges including Sensory Processing Disorder, ADHD and Anxiety.

It’s been a relief for me to be honest about the struggles we face. And it’s been an honor to receive comments from moms dealing with similar circumstances.

But as you may have noticed, I’ve been posting less frequently. There are a couple reasons for this.

First, since this blog is supposed to be humorous, I feel like a failure when I’m not funny. But guess what, sometimes life isn’t funny.

Second, I’ve been focusing my dubious mental powers on writing and editing my latest book.

Third, I’ve been struggling with how to proceed with this blog. For a long time I couldn’t pinpoint what was bothering me. The answer came in a gradual sort of way, and, at the same time, all at once—rather like watching your children grow up before your eyes, then one day looking over to find this full-sized human you thought was an extension of yourself, but who is really a completely separate and wonderful individual.

Breathe In Breathe Out has been about my journey, but it’s not just my journey anymore. In reality, it never was, but I shared it from my perspective—as a mother of a special needs child.

But this is also my son’s journey. I see that more every day. And as he heads into middle school, I need to be more careful with how much of his life I share. It’s HIS life! It’s mine too, but, yeah, you get it.

Although I love to encourage moms who face similar struggles, even that calling takes a backseat to ensuring both of my sons' privacy as they face the challenge of growing up.

I know you will understand as Breathe In Breathe Out takes a breather (hee hee.) I will still share funny anecdotes as they ambush me and glimpses into the spiral of insanity I call my career.

And I hope that my journey into writing YA fiction, which I LOVE, will spawn an entirely new web presence—maybe a cool alter ego who eats sushi and runs marathons. Then again, maybe I’ll stick to eating cheese and reading books.

Thanks for being my friend here on Breathe In Breathe Out. I’m thankful for every person who has read this blog. I hope you’ll stick around as I rethink, reimagine, repurpose, and redesign my focus. I’m pretty sure it’s going to require a new wardrobe. And some new shoes. Yes, definitely new shoes.

Monsters

People often tell me I’m funny. I like being funny. I love laughing. I love people with a good sense of humor. And most of all, I love having the freedom to admit that I am totally clueless most of the time. I think it’s healthy to laugh at myself.

But sometimes life just isn’t funny. During hard weeks I struggle to come up with a blog post because I’m afraid I’ll be letting folks down if it doesn’t include a little humor. Sometimes there is humor amidst the difficulty, little flashes of grace lighting the dark closets where we hide with our struggles. But sometimes, even though the grace remains, the light is dim.

This morning my husband and I huddled with our oldest son in a darkened workroom at the elementary school. I wondered if we'd always be imprisoned. The three of us, trapped by the monster in Monkey’s head, trying to beat it back or sneak around it to escape.

Monkey suffers from anxiety. And I don’t mean he worries. I mean anxiety attacks incapacitate him. It’s still hard for me to grasp. I get stressed. Really, really stressed. But never have I felt like my own mind was trying to kill me.

Even now, after the hours I’ve logged sitting outside the bathroom door while the fight or flight response empties my son of everything including rational thought, I still don’t know exactly what he goes through. I don’t know what it’s like to be inside his head when, as he puts it, his anxiety gets him.

Sometimes dealing with this feels like us, our family, against the world. In reality, we have a team that includes our family doctor and some truly dedicated people at Monkey’s school. Although this morning, none of them were around when the crisis hit.

I finally found one of the school counselors, and as we walked down the hall to attempt to rescue my son from himself, she said, “This is unusual for a fifth grader.” I wanted to get my snark on and say, “Oh, really? And there aren’t any adults who can’t go to work because of anxiety attacks?”

We did get him into the classroom. I wanted to announce his accomplishment over the PA, give him an award for bravery. He deserves a hero’s welcome for conquering that monster, knowing the evil thing will be back. But, of course, the whole process has to be as low key as possible to avoid even more stress for him. So I didn’t cheer. Or run up and kiss the other fifth grader who greeted my son with such sweetness and enthusiasm when Monkey finally emerged from the project room.

And the school hasn’t called, which is a good sign. But I want to go check on him. I wish I could let him stay home every time his anxiety gets him. And that is the hardest part. Cuddling my son and offering reassurance is easy. Finding the tools to help him overcome this and function in the world is hard. It's a long journey.

So that’s my post for this week. That is my messy life. Believe me, I prefer to share the funny stuff. But I know all parents face monsters of one kind or another with their kids. And sometimes it can help to throw a little light on those beasties. If you're battling something right now, know that I'm cheering for you and your kiddo, especially if that precious child isn't the type who gets ribbons on field day or his or her name on the honor roll. Don't worry about those paltry prizes. You slay dragons every day.


*photo by firehawk77