Coronavirus Pandemic and Our Emotional Health

We live in Ontario, Canada and our premier has officially declared a state of emergency this morning. This means in addition to primary, secondary and post-secondary schools being shut down for the next 3 weeks, now our daycare centers, restaurants (dine in portion), bars, cinemas, libraries, museums, major venues such as the science centre, and recreation centers are all shut down until at least April.

We homeschool our 3, but my two stepdaughters attend public school at their mother’s insistence. So this changes some things for us, but not all things. Obviously daycare facilities being closed doesn’t effect us. However, everything else being closed does.

One of the ways all of these closures effect us is through fear and anxiety. My youngest son has asthma and has had to be on oxygen and nebulizers in the past, so I am in a heightened state of anxiety. But I’m not the only one, my children feel it too. Not just through me, but also because news of the virus is everywhere and both kiddos understand the potential implications for their brother, and he understands the implications for himself. To that end we have been working a great deal with the concepts of fear, anxiety and powerlessness.

Acknowledgement of Emotions:

We’ve spoken about how scary it can be to feel like you’re powerless in a situation, and how to work with that feeling to acknowledge it but not let it overwhelm us (a thing I am struggling with myself as well).

Then, I attempt to teach them how to work through their scary thoughts. We talk about their feelings, how their real and valid first. But also that even though their valid, we don’t have to be ruled by them. We can focus on the things we HAVE done, the things we ARE doing, and the things we CAN do during this time.

Breathing Techniques:

Once I’ve validated their emotions we do breathing exercises. Five deep breathes in through the nose and out through the mouth. This helps to calm the nervous system down and allow the pre-frontal cortex to come back online (center of logic and reasoning).

Mindfulness Exercises:

Mindfulness exercises such as finding 5 things they can see, touch, and hear can also help to refocus on calming the mind enough to work through any scary thoughts.

Positive Actions:

Finally, we focus on something positive, such as on gratitude, love, giving to others, or constructive actions. We do this because in allot of ways our thoughts are like roads, the more frequently their used, the more deeply they become entrenched and at times like this we NEED the positive perhaps more than ever.

For one child, focusing then on how grateful they are for the healthcare professionals or our ability to have things delivered to lessen our chances of exposure is helpful.

For another it’s expressing love through acts of kindness such as offering to play another siblings favorite board game or reading a book to a younger sibling.

For another it’s writing a card to send to someone they can’t see in person right now, or walks in the conservation area to be in nature.

For me, it’s constructive physical acts that help, for example organizing cupboards and labelling jars with our supplies or sorting the kids clothes for donations (I’ll wait to donate, but I’m happy to pop bags of donations in a closet ready to go once this is all over). Each person is unique, so choosing the positive actions that work best for them should be specific to them.

Why I don’t often write about my sons anymore…

When I first started this blog, I would write quite frequently about my children. I thought that by giving others a glimpse into the world of Autistic children, and the parenting of, that it would help. That it could show the world what our lives were like; both the positive as well as the struggles.

There is a difference though between when a parent of a neurotypical child writes about parenting, and a parent of a special needs child writes about parenting. I didn’t realize that when I first started writing. I didn’t realize that far too often the media utilizes those same struggles to suggest that a parent of an Autistic child should be pitied. Mostly I didn’t realize it, because I don’t pity myself.

I see myself as having been gifted 3 beautiful souls to guide towards their fullest potential. I see myself as a kind of tour guide. I’m only here to help till they themselves feel less like tourists and more like locals. The thing is, I thought that was what all parents have to do.

I have never been a mother to a neurotypical child, so maybe it’s totally different? But from what I have heard, it’s still hard as hell to be a mom; regardless of a child’s neurobiology.

So why is it that having a rough moment or day or even a totally rotten week is viewed so differently when the child is classified as special needs? It’s different because we view having a child with a different neurobiology as something bad, as something to grieve and be depressed about. Only I’ve never felt that way about my kids.

So when I write, I have to consider what kind of impression am I adding to society of the reality of having an Autistic child. I don’t want to add to the gross misconception that they are less for having a different neurology; because, they aren’t. The society that equates how much money a person can contribute to corporations (through working at, or purchasing from) as a human being’s only worth is what should be pitied, and seen as less than; not my beautiful children.   

 

Dear Mental Health Professionals:

I am aware that the DSVM (all editions since the 3rd) include Autism as a mental illness/disorder. However, just because they are included does not make the mental health field correct in their assessment of Autism as a disorder. It is included because Western society has a serious lack of acceptance of anything different. All things different should be treated and minimized to the greatest degree possible, is often the misguided thinking with Autism and many other neurodiversities.

The Ontario government has released a statement that they are pledging $333 million dollars towards treatment, but that the maximum age for treatments of IBI will decrease to 5 years old. This is said to be because the greatest chance for changing these children is until they are 5 years old. After that, it becomes harder to help change their behaviors to mirror neurotypical behaviors.

Autism is looked upon as something to correct, or at least to help intervene as much as possible and push towards encouraging the person to act as neurotypical as possible. I’d like to ask you why this is? I’d like to ask you why someone has to behave the way you do for you to see value within them? I’d like to ask you why biodiversity in the world is a plus, but neurodiveristy within humankind is not? I’d like to ask you why someone has to live in a predetermined manner for it to be the right way to live? I’d like to ask  you what is so bad about allowing someone else to live their version of a happy life, even, especially if it’s not the same definition of happy as yours? I’d like to ask you what will it take for you to see that my sons do not have a disorder, they have a different neurological structure. What are the words you need to hear to understand that their value is not to be based upon how well they can become chameleons in society, but that their value is based upon the person they truly are when they stop trying to fit into your rigid, substandard predetermined cookie cutter shape of humanity…The Autistic Person they always have been and always will be does not need to be fixed, they just need to be loved, respected and appreciated for who they are, just like every other living creature on this biologically diverse planet.

Goodbye Toddlerhood

My youngest turned 4 this past week and with her latest birthday I now officially no longer have any toddlers. My youngest is now classified as a “preschooler”. The day she was born the doctor came to see me once I’d woken up and told me I could not have anymore children. He cautioned me that I’d barely made it through having her and warned me that if I became pregnant again I would not live through the next labour. Since she had been an emergency c-section because I was hemorrhaging so badly her and I both were lucky to have lived, I believed him completely. My husband and I took steps to ensure she was our last. I worried at the time that I might feel a loss from not being able to have any more children. I worried that since I had not made the choice, that I would be angry or even bitter as time went on.

I have had moments where I am a bit wistful for the baby stage, for the moments when they are so new and your learning their cries, coos and scent. But overall, I have been at peace with the fact she was will always be my youngest. As I watch her get bigger, develop into the person she is, I am thrilled and in awe. As much as I am certain that any other children I might have had would have been amazing individuals as well, I feel a deep sense of contentment with no longer having any in the baby or toddler stages.

I’m excited to now have two in the preschooler stage, in addition to a teen, and two tweens. (My eldest step-daughter became a teen in February) I’m looking forward to all of the adventures that I get to have with them as they continue to grow into the persons they are meant to become. While I adored each of their baby and toddler stages, I’m waving a happy farewell to that stage of parenting as I leap into the next one with them.

Reacting verses Responding

It’s easy sometimes to forget how deeply our words impact those around us. It’s easy to forget that what we say and do lives in the hearts and minds of those we love and care for, especially our children. Times when we’re tired and frustrated by a bunch of things that may not even have to do with our child and then they do something, something they’ve done a million times before and we snap. We respond to their actions with our own frustration and upset instead of responding to it in the way our children deserve.

I’m human and I make mistakes, I get mad, and tired, sore and frustrated, and I too can react in a negative fashion. But I try every day to make sure I don’t. I try to respond instead of react.

My “trick” when I’m about to react instead of respond is to look at their hand. Why their hand? Because your closed fist is the approximate size of your heart. I look at their little hand and I see a visual reminder of how tiny their heart is just yet, and I refuse to fill such a small space with pain and words that will haunt them.

Looking at their hand helps me to be reminded that I am here to take their hand in mine and guide them, to show them how to access the great potential that is within each and every single person, their own personal greatness. I take a deep breath as I think of all this and then instead of reacting, I respond.

I respond with love. I try to help them find the most positive way of receiving what they wanted, be it a cookie or a toy someone else is playing with or additional attention. (Any project or chore can wait, but the giving of love and attention should’t be postponed when it’s asked for.)

Why do I say respond instead of react?

The dictionary’s definition of react is to act or do something in reaction to something else. BUT the definition of respond is to provide an answer to a query. In the middle ages respond was a noun for a pillar that actively supported. I feel that especially when they are young, they are looking towards the adults in their life to show them how to act, how to obtain what they want and need, and how to be the best them they can be. They are not purposely trying to “push buttons” or be “bad” they are simply making bad choices because they don’t yet know how to make better choices. It’s up to their adults to answer their unspoken questions and show them how to make better choices.

 

Some things you just can’t Google

There are times when I get caught up in ensuring that Mr.C is “on-track” or “at grade level” with his peers. I get fixated from time to time on the lists lit up upon my computer screen of all the things our local school board says he should know at this time. Lists of facts and figures, books they have chosen, grammatical rules and scientific theories. But no where in their reams of pages does it speak of morals, attitude, creative thinking, leadership skills, ingenuity or honour.

When I get caught up on what he does or does not know academically, I remind myself of the following:

I am not here to create a robot that can spout facts or scientific theories verbatim, but lacks the ingenuity to put them to productive use when he needs or even wants to do so.

I am not here to force him to memorize plots and dialogues, but lacks the critical thinking skills to grasp the significance of some of the literary works of art we currently have access to as a society in general.

I am not here to ensure he conforms to someone else’s standards, but lacks the honour and strength of character to stand up for what is right when what is wrong is being accepted as the status quo.

What I AM here to do is to teach him to (eventually) be a good man. To be the type of person others will be proud to call their friend, their ally. To be someone with enough courage to stand up for what is right, even when he’s forced to stand alone to do so. To be a man of honour, of integrity, to be a man of  ingenious leadership abilities, even when he’s only leading himself along his own path.

Don’t get me wrong, I DO teach him academics, but if it takes him a bit longer than some piece of paper says to learn about the periodic table of elements or the correct placements of commas I’m okay with that. Why, because he’s learning SO much more right now, he’s learning how to become the man he will be for the rest of his life.

Plus if he forgets the standard conversion rate of ATP to ADP he can Google it, but when it comes to things like strength of character well there are some things you just can’t Google 😉

Banana Bread and Kesha’s Timber

I was cooking a batch of banana bread french toast (I make a bunch at a time to freeze. Then for breakfasts I can pop a few in the toaster, add a bit of fruit and yogurt and voila perfect for mornings I’m tired but want the kids to eat well without much cooking on my part) As I was making the last pan of them Kesha’s Timber came on the radio. There’s part that says “swing your partner round and round” and I couldn’t resist, so I grabbed Mr. C and we started to dosado round the living room. As our laughter rang through the house, Miss. G quickly rushed towards us, arms outstretched wanting to join, wanting to be a part of the laughter and love and fun being had. Of course we smiled and took her little hands in ours and started to simply dance in odd disjointed circles about the living room. Mr. N excitedly asked if he could join in as well, and so our circle got larger again, and we all laughed as we danced gleefully about the living room, our hands as intertwined as our hearts and our energies.

The last pan full of banana bread french toast were darker than I normally cook them as I’d left them on in my haste to enjoy the moment with the wee ones. I think if anything they’ll taste even better than usual for all the love that filled the house as they were left unattended on the stove, and if they don’t well that’s what maple syrup is for 😉

 

P.S Banana bread french toast is just using an epic banana bread recipe like this one and substituting slices of it for plain bread to make french toast, an easy twist to a family favorite.

And so a hero is born…

At the YMCA today Mr. C went to his homeschool group while Mr. N and Miss. G played in the gym. After it was over I stayed in the gym with them while my mom went to the program area to get Mr. C. He came into the gym and both siblings rushed to hug him as if he’d been gone for years instead of the hour it had been. Miss. G was trying her best to throw the basketball into the net. It didn’t really work, in fact it didn’t work even a little for her, she’d hold the ball above her head and try with all her might to throw it high, but it’d only go an inch or two above her head and then come bouncing down. Mr. C watched her and cheered her attempts on for a couple of minutes, but then he walked towards her and scooped her up. I watched Miss. G’s face light up with glee as Mr. C carried her on top of his shoulders towards the net so she could try and get the ball in the basketball net. Written upon her face was the sure and deep truth that he was her hero as clearly as if she’d said the words aloud, and my heart sang from being blessed to see this moment between them.

We hadn’t gone to Monday’s homeschool group in awhile, see it ends at 2:30 p.m, which is exactly when Joy would be picked up from the Y’s daycare. While my heart lurched and tears sprung to my eyes as the hands showed it was indeed that time, I’m glad I went. I would have missed out on the giggles as Miss. G raced across the gym to get the ball over and over, I would have missed out on Mr. N’s proud exclamations of “look at me, look what I doing!” as he tried to balance on his stomach on a basketball. I would have missed watching Mr. C and Miss. G bonding, and I would have missed the moment he stopped being just her brother and became her hero too.

 

Blurry Pictures and Clear Signs

  I read another’s blog post today. It can be found here. What I got from it was that it was about his fears for his Autistic daughter’s future after watching two girls from the same grade not even notice her during a morning walk. As well as his hopes for his daughter’s future after attending a dinner filled with Autistic young adults.

It struck a cord with me because there are moments when I worry for my boys. I worry sometimes as I watch other children surpass them socially, I worry as I see news reports of an 11 year old Autistic girl who didn’t respond being tasered by police when found walking nude along a free-way. (Full story found here) I worry when I think of the only time Mr. C was in school (preschool) and his teacher told him he wasn’t good, that he was lacking and so many other things that tore at his fragile self-esteem which lead me to taking him out of there and choosing homeschooling instead because I didn’t want to risk him having more teachers like that. I worry when I start to think of the world as it is right now in regards to acceptance and the lip service that is often given, but real efforts not.

I was still thinking of it when I was getting Mr. N out of the bath (juice, play-doh, and stickers make one huge mess lol) as I closed the bathroom door behind us, for the first time he noticed something I’d forgotten was there; a blue index card I’d written that says “You are perfect exactly as you are” Originally I’d written it and put it on the outside of the bathroom door for the 3 children quickly getting older and noticing the media’s messages about superficial images. But he pointed at it and asked what it said. I read it to him and he smiled and said “Awe” and I asked him who it was about, he told me me it was about him, that it was his… He was right. He IS perfect exactly as he is, all of my children are, and instead of being worried about their future I’m more determined than  ever to ensure I help to change the world’s perception of Autism so that people will be more open to truly seeing them. To talk and write and do whatever it takes to help create the world I want for them, one where they and others are valued as they are, one where diversity is embraced, one where others see the value they can bring to a friendship and try to cultivate them, one that sees my boys and all people as perfect exactly as they are.

 

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

Tonight I had the perfect example of just how subjective beauty truly is. Each time I was pregnant my husband would lovingly rub essential oils on my growing stomach every night. After our last child he stopped doing so. It made sense to me on a logical level, I was no longer growing one of our children, why lavish such care and devotion upon a part of my body that I for one was not keen on at all!

But in the quietest part of my heart’s secret garden I felt differently. I’d loved those moments when he’d gently caress both me and our unborn child. Those moments made me feel beautiful, sacred, special, cared for, cherished. After Miss G’s surprise arrival we were told I couldn’t carry any more children. We were told I wouldn’t survive the pregnancy/labor. So of course we took steps to ensure that I would never become pregnant again. I am completely at peace with this concept, I feel like our family is complete. I feel very blessed with the children we have, I feel that I have been given 5 extraordinary children that call me mom, 3 that I got to carry and 2 that I did not carry myself.

But in that quiet, almost still part of my secret garden there lay the whispered thoughts I don’t tend to speak out loud. One is that I miss those moments when my husband would smile at me while he gently rubbed my stomach. Once I fully realized just how much I missed it, I spoke up, and his words surprised me. I told him that I missed it, and he told me that he’d only stopped because I made him feel that I didn’t want him to touch my stomach anymore. I made him feel that it was “off limits” once it no longer housed our children. I told him it wasn’t, and so he smiled and gently rubbed my stomach. He told me that to him my stomach was always beautiful, regardless if I was pregnant or not at the time, I had been pregnant, and each of the marks was from those sacred times, the roundness that still exists was sexy to him. One of the parts of myself that I have often found ugly he showed me that in his eyes was in fact beautiful. Not just in a sacred Motherhood aspect, (that as well yes, but not only) but attractive; honestly attractive. And in doing so made me see myself in the same light, as beautiful and attractive exactly as I am.

As we approach the new year, I hope that each of you that struggles with being overwhelmed with the mass media’s false ideals of fake beauty has someone to show you the truth about yourself: That you are beautiful and attractive right now, exactly as you are. And I hope for each of you that you allow the often overlooked idea that you could be beautiful or attractive without changing your outside inside the secret garden of your own spirit, where it might grow and flourish until you no longer doubt it. Until it is a constant fixed view that you have of yourself.

Footnote: While the concept that beauty is subjective to the person contemplating said object has been found in written works since the 3rd century, the exact phrase “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” has been attributed to Margaret Wolfe Hungerford in her 1878 work “Molly Bawn”