The Waiting Game.

It’s been ages since I’ve posted, but I’m a super busy girl. This blog was originally started to let me document my journey of recovery after (literally) fleeing an abusive marriage, and now it’s time to update again.

You can run, but then you’re always looking over your shoulder. You can take a job at a restaurant that you know for certain he and his snobby relatives would NEVER frequent even though you are used to working fine dining, but sometimes you see someone walk in the door who looks strikingly similar to his brother or his step father and swallow your heart before you realize it isn’t them. You can make radical progress in not thinking every noise or squeak in an old house settling for the evening is your ex walking up the stairs to get you. You might even forget to check and see if there is a knife under your pillow before you fall asleep some nights, but then you’re cursing yourself the next morning for such an oversight.

You might need to take your anti-anxiety medication less and less until one month’s supply lasts three. You can even begin describing yourself as happier than you have ever been in your entire life.

But then all his threatening correspondences stop, and you begin waiting for the other shoe to drop. You become convinced he has located you so the need to intimidate you through Facebook messages is no longer warranted because all he needs to do is break down your front door which, coincidentally, is ninety percent glass.

Then you come home and discover a large shop vac has been moved from its position in the living room to a highly inconvenient place in the kitchen. So you think… “he’s upstairs… waiting for me… watch the shadows to see if they move so he doesn’t shove you down the stairs right as you reach the top. Don’t forget to grab the bat.”

It’s as if no matter how far removed you become, in just a few instances, you are right back to where you started from.

And it’s because I know… I KNOW… that one day he really will come to my door. I am not letting him bully or badger me, so eventually the craziness in his brain will convince him to come and collect what he still believes is his. This isn’t irrational fear, this is knowledge that I would be foolish to dismiss.

So now I’m in fight or flight mode. I’m thinking I should just pack everything we own and move back to Florida where I have an immense support system. I keep telling myself we need to be here for the exceptional school system and services for Autism which are just not available in Florida, but somehow I would feel safer if I returned to a place that takes domestic violence much more seriously than this state which issued an on site arrest, denied me a protection order TWICE (even after he had been forced to enter a psychiatric hospital with a manic psychotic break and a history of domestic violence and even an arrest for assaulting an officer), and pretty much threw me out on my own to find a way to help myself and my children without any security or assurances of any kind.

Would I really be considered selfish if I made a move even though I know logically that the best place for my kids is here… or do I just wait it out and deal with him when he comes crashing in my front door?

It could be five minutes from now… or five days, five weeks, or even five years, but trust me, it will happen. I just don’t play the waiting game so well.

Incognito

I suppose after months of not posting, it’s time to write something… anything… just as long as I am writing again.

I’ve had such an overpowering schedule lately. I’ve taken on yet another job, am busy trying to keep my household flowing smoothly, am doing a lot of spiritual reflection (shocker there), and recently realized that something which had hurt me pretty badly in the not so far past no longer has the same pull on me. Healing and seeing the effects of that healing sure does have a way of making a woman feel strong.

My children are flourishing, and that makes a mother so proud. In fact, at Alex’s IEP yesterday, college was brought up. After years of fighting the school board, my son has been mainstreamed and is excelling… he is excelling enough to be a good candidate for college. That means I will one day be dropping my son off at a university, and the pride that I automatically feel is also peppered with feelings of “holy shit!” That’s right… “holy shit!” is a legitimate feeling. True story.

I’ve recently discovered the long lost feeling from home that I’ve missed so much. At my new workplace, I am treated like something truly special. There is a level of acceptance that I have not had since I left home to begin with, and those remaining feelings of isolation have been dissolving at an amazing rate. I receive adulation and adoration, therefore, I am free to give it in return. That constant flow of love and camaraderie isn’t something I have had in my life on a regular basis, so now that it’s here, it makes me feel so full of hope. So less alone…

My boys came down for the holiday last weekend, and I made sure to lose out on that limited, valuable sleep of mine to spend time with them. And it was worth it because they are family to me… and that makes them the only family I have in this state outside of the ones I’ve birthed. It was wonderful, yanno, just sitting around and feeling as if not a moment had passed since our last visit even though it had been several months. I needed that, and I’m grateful I had it.

So here I am… content, centered, happy, and fulfilled. Stressed a bit, but who isn’t these days? I’m accomplished, am kicking ass at the whole single motherhood thing, and have my days filled with laughter, love, and the possibility of even more. I feel alive, and vibrant, and positively bursting with the energy of the universe. I’m grounded, but my head is once again in the stars. I’ve moved beyond “day by day by day” into making actual plans of this absolutely beautiful future that is seemingly falling right into my lap.

And at the end of my day, I see the sweet faces of my children all nestled in their beds without a care in the world… at peace… safe… happy. I take a hot bath and soak in a claw bottom tub filled with my oils or salts or bubbles. I pull on my pajamas, grab my stuffed penguin and hold him close, then nestle in snugly beneath my blankets. A text or two from someone who always gives me a smile, and then a slow drift into the abyss of my dreams….

Then when I wake, it’s with a happy heart knowing the day is mine to create, and I’m a truly creative soul

Perfection in my world really is that simple…

To Thine Own Self…

I know, I know… it’s been an unusually long time since I’ve last written. I’ve been a busy girl, and I’ve had to come to terms with the last mess of “self exploration” and analytical Self meandering. Now that I feel I’ve done that, here I am.

My baby has begun Kindergarten. I could have kept her out another year seeing as how she is the youngest child in her class, but she tested well enough to not only NOT require a full day of class, but she has a need for Kindergarten, too. She needs the social interaction. She needs to ease off on her separation anxiety a bit. She needs to feel accomplishment on her own merit. So she started school, and I dealt with it just as any other mother who has sent off her very last baby to school. I wept. I wept a lot. And I took way too many pictures.

Alex is a sophomore. He turned sixteen this Summer. SIXFREAKINGTEEN!! I am the mother of a sixteen year old. I am also the mother of a thirteen year old that I was told looks a lot older than thirteen… because that’s what all mothers want to hear about their little girls.

And… I’ve begun dating again. I’ve had a couple not so grand dates. I’ve had a date where I wanted to crawl into his arms and never untangle myself again. THAT guy is no longer someone I am dating for one very good reason. I had an epiphany when I realized I wanted him in the worst sorta way. I DO NOT WANT A RELATIONSHIP!! I had to fight so long and hard for my freedom that I just don’t want to give up a smidgen of all that hard earned independence. So I quit dating that absolutely beautiful man because I just don’t trust myself with him. I am having a love affair with my laissez faire, and there is no room for anything else.

I think it’s a pretty good indicator that I KNOW I do not want a relationship to actually validate my feelings on that. I have been deciphering what my precise needs and wants are, and this is the time where I want to live for myself and my children. Wouldn’t you know that I’ve had to stop dating more than one guy all because of some silly hope they have to change my mind and persuade me to give more than I am willing to give? I’ve become the man in my relationships.

What I am discovering about myself on my new dating journey is as follows. I am NOT broken beyond repair. I am fully capable of attracting men (and women) to me. I am considered funny, intelligent, warm, caring, and beautiful. I either truly have one of the world’s sexiest voices, or that’s just something men say to women as a fall back line. I may be a tomboy (just look at how 75% of my closest friendships are with men), but I clean up well. I enjoy compliments, and they are always forthcoming. I LOVE hearing someone tell me how beautiful I am. I LOVE seeing a guy look at me with a look that I had become accustomed to only seeing in the movies. I LOVE first kisses and breaking away from a proper goodnight feeling breathless and giggly. I LOVE seeing the effect I can (and do) have on men. I LOVE feeling appreciated.

So that’s where I’m at now. I’m doing incredibly well and feel so much more balanced than I have in a very long time. Life is certainly beautiful, and I finally feel as if I’m truly living it…

My truth

So much has been happening that I can’t help but spend a significant amount of my time reevaluating my life and the way I perceive said ‘life’.

My trip home for my birthday week reminded me of what it feels like to be surrounded by love. It was overwhelming and so desperately needed. So once I returned to Pennsylvania, there was this hole that I had to fill with myself rather than looking outside of myself. I don’t have anything remotely close to the kind of love I had always known before moving to Pennsylvania, and I had begun to remember that love as one remembers any memory. I knew it was wonderful. I knew it was the most incredible presence in my life. But it was in shades of gray and misty off-colors… like a dream tends to be when you wake up and recall it. The details were hazy at best.

But then I went home. I remembered in full, vivid, technicolor clarity what it feels like to feel loved, and returning to a place where I have companionship, familiarity, and a few inside jokes paled in comparison to the depth of awesomeness that I always had up until my move here. I remembered, so I lost it all over again.

It was then that I really looked at my relationships and stopped feeling the need to make small things greater than they are. By that, I simply mean I am appreciative of the friendships I have, but I can not and will not delude myself into thinking I have formed amazing connections when the connections tend to run on the mediocre side. I know a true connection when I have one, and I cannot fill my emptiness here with false kismet. I turn inward instead, and I feel complete within myself. Well, complete for the most part. I still struggle from time to time with the knowledge that I really do not have a single person in this whole blasted state that I can call on a whim to tell them I need them in that very moment and have them drop whatever they are doing to run to me. I have been that for others, but it isn’t reciprocated. I won’t try to assuage my loneliness by claiming otherwise.

So I fill my days with my kids, and with the organizations we work with, and with my writing, and my pets, and my meditations. I still like those who are not my kindred spirits, and I recognize that my roots are elsewhere. It is not necessary to have my soul mates near me in proximity, it is enough that they exist somewhere and can be reached when I need them. The hugs I need will come from my kids. The phone calls out of the blue at the exact moment I need them will come from miles away. And I will continue to accept that even though my place is here, it is completely on my own. However, as on my own as I may be, it’s okay. Broken lunch dates and scrapped plans are irrelevant. I know I am where I need to be, so que sera, sera.

Maybe most life changing of all is that my stepfather is dying. According to my sister, she doubts he will make it through the weekend. I have mixed emotions over that which are causing me to examine my life more closely. See, that man abused me throughout my whole childhood. He’s dying now at a ripe old age of 84 after a lifetime of severe alcoholism and cruelty. He called me “that Hively bitch” and pig and bastard and whore. He’s the reason I tried to commit suicide on my fifteenth birthday and why I was diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder and clinical depression at the age of fourteen. He’s the reason I left home while still in high school and preferred to be homeless rather than live with him any longer. He’s the reason I slept with a knife under my pillow and cried daily. He’s the reason I forced myself to be over-hyper when I started life as a very quiet girl… I had to hide the pain. He’s the reason I overcompensated in every way imaginable, why I have had to fight back from a life filled with low self esteem issues, and why I didn’t know how to differentiate between the boys to run away from and the boys to love. He’s the reason I married someone just like him.

But I feel no joy in his passing. I spent an entire lifetime blocking out his face and his words. His death does not overjoy me, but that’s only because it does not effect me at all. I don’t care either way whether he lives or dies. He has been dead to me from the moment I ran away.

I still want to go home for his funeral, though. I want to see that the man who stole my childhood is dead. I want to see with my own eyes as he enters the grave. I want to bury the last of his crimes against me with him. I want to comfort my sister even if it feels false to me.

Because burying him will not bury the scars he inflicted on me. I know this for one reason alone. I tried to run from him. I’ve been running for twenty years now, and I have yet to outrun him. Just like I have tried to outrun my husband, and all I was doing was swallowing the memories and moving ahead as if nothing had happened. But something DID happen. A lot of really bad somethings happened. It isn’t fair, but I will always be a survivor. I will always have those memories, and I will always have those scars. Nothing I do can completely erase the wounds perpetrated against me. I can move on and remain as strong as I have always been, but nothing can change me back to the person I was before either of them. I can recognize what was done to me and how it has influenced my actions and reactions in life, but I can’t erase the damage completely. Many people would love to claim otherwise, but those people are the ones who either have not been damaged as I was or are still living in denial as I have my entire life.

Healing takes place when you work on it and move further and further away from the incidents that harmed you, but the memories still remain. And finding it harder to trust people or open up to them is still an issue. Finding yourself dissolving into a puddle of tears when you think of the past still happens. Anxiety issues must continually be worked on. Nightmares still wake you up. Shame for things that you know with your logical side are not your fault still seeps into your pores.

I’ve spent a lifetime putting on a facade. Not just for the world, but for myself, as well. I smile when most would cry. I push forward when most would break. I endure, and I strive, and I hide behind smiles and hyperactive energy. I don’t pause or I will think of what my life has been which in turn makes me think that is what my life will always be… just a girl being abused by one person after another. I thought I was being smarter about letting people into my life until I allowed myself to think after years of knowing a particular person that I was truly cared about and could fully trust him/her. But I was wrong. I was just as disposable. I look for what I know logically I should be looking for, but I never seem to find it. I bring people into my life and give them roles of importance when they give me roles of convenience.

So I’m done with that. I have a lot of important people in my life, and I don’t trust myself to allow anyone new inside without risking being injured. Call me a coward, but I’m tired of being hurt. I’m tired of being taken for granted and tossed aside when I no longer fulfill some role for someone. So those people who all live too far away to sit by my side will be enough. In all our years together, they have never walked out. That is enough.

I think perhaps the only reason I am no longer capable of finding healthy people to flow with is because I have finally become too damaged. No amount of perseverance has saved me. No amount of introspection or working diligently to weed out anyone who displayed poor intentions has left me with those who would be good and kind and considerate… no one who would feel any great attachment toward me. The only ones who think I’m worth keeping are the ones who were there while I was being broken. No one since then has found me anything other than a funny girl who is cool to hang out with when nothing better is going on. I used to blame that on Pennsylvania and how different people here are. But now I’m thinking it has a lot more to do with me.

Melodramatic, it would appear to some, but I told you I’ve been changing. And facing everything I have run so hard from isn’t pretty. But it’s my truth….

Calling it bad would be an understatement.

I didn’t just escape a bad marriage. I didn’t just fall out of love or discover we bickered too often. I didn’t figure out too late that I was with someone who is incompatible over all. No. I was married to a mentally unstable, cruel, abusive man. Very few people know more than this: I married a man who moved me 1,000 miles from home with pretty words of how wonderful our life would be where we could experience seasons and have better school systems. He automatically did a complete 180 once we arrived. Life was bad. He went crazy. I left in a mad dash of “grab what we can within ten minutes”, lived in a shelter for almost a full month, and started over afresh.

Here’s a few more details for you.

My husband was diagnosed with bipolar schizoaffective disorder long before I ever met him. I did not know his diagnosis. I knew he took meds to “just manage my moods a little”. I took way too much at face value. All of my friends loved him. He treated me like a princess. He loved the kids. We were together constantly. Family was all important. But there remained the illness, just beneath the surface, and once he felt secure enough, it surfaced. What did it take to make his instability known? He moved us a thousand miles away from all of our loved ones. Then, bam! Life changed into something unrecognizable overnight.

He wasn’t just mean. He wasn’t just cold or distant. He didn’t cheat. And he didn’t get drunk and stay out all night. But he did a lot of other things. Here’s a list.

*The boys had alarms on their doors to alert him that they were leaving their rooms. This was originally placed to alert me of impending dangerous behavior due to having Autistic boys who wander, but it was efficiently turned into a prison system prohibiting them from being outside of their rooms.

*Television and movies were forbidden

*An alarm system was also placed in the kitchen so my husband could know when one of us was eating something.

*He went shopping daily. Very little food was kept in the house, and it was used as a control mechanism. If I did not agree to everything he said and backed down, he would not feed us.

*He kept me from getting my license when I moved here so I was completely dependent on him for my basic survival.

*He no longer allowed visits to family and friends. Only his family was allowed in our lives.

*He refused to take me or pick me up from work at least 95% of the time. I found work within walking distance after he left me twenty minutes from home in the middle of the night without any way home. Not even a cell phone to call for a cab.

*He would not allow me a cell phone. Only the house phone. Most calls were monitored.

*My family was demonized while his was exulted as perfect.

*He woke the kids in the middle of the night during an argument to tell them about my past sexual exploits. Literally dragged them out of bed and gave them a definition of bisexual.

*Three Christmases in a row (the ones with him here in PA), he did not buy presents for any of the kids except the girls. The boys were too “bad”. I did a lot of maneuvering to purchase them presents behind his back. I still thank those who helped me provide my kids with presents.

*No one was allowed to talk in the vehicle. Jonathan was not even allowed to face forward. He would be verbally assaulted if caught looking forward. He had to look out the side window.

*Jonathan tried to play with Ashlan in the car once. My husband grabbed him around the neck, screamed obscenities at him, asked him “How dare you talk to MY daughter? You’re not my kid, but SHE is. Don’t you dare talk to her!” Police were called by me, photographs were taken, the officers issued an on site arrest and fined him, then they left him in the home with us. Jonathan bruised, naturally, and the police checked in with me via my workplace to urge me to leave. They called my husband a terrorist to his face after listening outside the door to him for fifteen minutes. I asked how to leave with my daughter in tow, but no one had any answers.

*I was not allowed to attend doctor appointments for Ashlan. Every time she seemed ill, there would be a fight just to take her to the doctor. He would finally relent if I refused to back down (which I refused, trust me), but I was not allowed to go with them. Several secret conversations between the doctor’s office and myself took place over the years.

*Our pediatrician called me personally after his staff complained about my husband’s treatment of them. He asked if I needed help. That was when the doctor’s office began documenting the odd behaviors. They all have agreed to sign affidavit’s to attest to his behavior.

*One psychologist was cursed and screamed at by my husband and Alex was never allowed to go back there. His reasoning for the blow up was that Alex was being taken back without me to be weighed and vital checked while I was finishing up a phone call to our sitter, and that was dangerous territory for my husband. He refused to allow anyone to examine or question the kids without being present.

*I came close to losing two different jobs due to his incessant phone calls to antagonize me while I was working. Luckily for me, the first job was saved since I was a supervisor and answered most calls, and the second job was overseen by people who actually gave a shit about me and were a bit more lenient.

*My husband tackled Alex for getting too close to Ashlan. He used Alex’s Autism as a reason why stating Alex or Jonathan ever contacting Ashlan was dangerous for her.

*The kids were only allowed to play together under outdoor supervised guidance, and my husband encouraged making fun of the boys.

*He was jealous of me being able to breastfeed Ashlan and made derogatory remarks about it every time I fed her. To compensate, he forbid her to nurse overnight and had me sleep on the couch with her in his room overnight. I was locked out, and he would tell her how bad she is and how sad she makes him if she cried long enough to force him to allow her to nurse. He would go on and on while I tried to calm her and would physically take her back from me as soon as she was finished.

*When I told him there was nothing more he could do to hurt me, he turned on the kids to prove me wrong. Mother’s Day 2008 is when I said that to him. I was working. Seven PM and my daughter came in. He brought them by to let me know he had not fed them all day proving he COULD still hurt me, and that he would not pay to feed them… I had to feed them myself. My manager at the time sent me home with food for the kids before coming back to work to finish up my shift.

*Until I threatened to file charges for rape, he would continually force himself on me. He’s a lot bigger than me, you know. I have a hard time putting that one up here. Not as if any of this is easy.

*I was called names all day every day. Every word out of his mouth was cruel. He was rarely even middle of the road let alone nice. Worst part is, (and some of you have seen him do this yourselves) he would insult with a smile on his face. He can laugh while calling me a whore. He giggles while referring to me as a bitch. He told me all the time I was nothing.

*I had to sneak to have any friends. I was not permitted to socialize. I was a bad wife and mother for wanting a night out. Everyone up here knows that if I wanted a girl’s night, I would lie and say I had a meeting after work. And lie I would because I needed respite sometimes.

*He once urinated on me after barging into one of our two bathrooms demanding I get up. I didn’t move quickly enough, apparently.

*I was no longer allowed to buy my own clothing. He threw out my entire wardrobe and began dressing me like his sixty-five year old mother. In fact, he took a lot of her old clothes and gave them to me. He would even buy my shoes, but he bought the wrong size. He would buy a size nine even though I wear an eight because his mother wears a size nine so there’s no way I could have smaller feet than her.

That’s the tip of the iceberg. There’s so much more. I can’t handle revisiting anymore tonight though.

And I know at least one person reading this will ask me why I did not simply leave. I called the police. I got nowhere. I called lawyers. I got nowhere. He told me constantly that his family would leave me penniless and they would take Ashlan from me. He never let her out of his sight so I could take her and run, and the first chance I got, I left. Until July 7, 2010, he never left Ashlan with me. He took her everywhere. But when he went nuts, he even turned on Ashlan. He said she wasn’t good enough to go to his mother’s house and to dirty it with her presence. He told her he was ashamed of her. She began having night terrors after that. She regressed with potty training. It has taken a long time to recover.

It isn’t so simple to get away. I know, I once thought there was no excuse either. But then I lived it. And I found out how little help is available. I found out all about the laws or lack thereof. I called Children and Youth Services, but they never helped. He was arrested but left in the home. Everyone said something different. I was scared of not being a buffer for my kids… that if I left I could be charged with kidnap of my own child and no longer able to be there in any capacity to take the brunt of it or keep them as safe as I could manage. I was terrified all the time. I had insomnia often. I was nervous and tried as hard as possible to hide it.

And as of today, I have been really ashamed of even finding myself in that position to begin with. I thought it meant something was broken in me to make me not see him for what he is until too late. But I’m not full of shame at this moment. Oh, it’s still there, but I’m working on making it go away, too, and I’ve been making progress. Allowing others to know a little bit about what life was like for us is a big step in the direction of healing. Healing is the journey now…

Confessions of a mom with Autistic kids.

I haven’t been writing in awhile because I’ve been too busy living and enjoying life. Tonight a comment was made to me that made me think of all the things no one seems to realize even though it all seems so obvious to me.

So. I have a confession.

I hate it when you apologize immediately upon finding out I have two Autistic boys. Why is it that you feel the need to tell me you are sorry that I get to be the mother of not only four exceptional little people but two of which are a bit extra special? I wonder how it would make you feel if I found out your kid has brown eyes, and my immediate response is, “Oh, wow! I am soooooo sorry!”

I love my kids. I love ALL of my kids. My world has been transformed in ways I never could have possibly imagined before I began having them. I am not sorry that my boys perceive the world differently than you do because their view is often much more beautiful than yours appears to be. They don’t judge like so many feel obligated to. They have to try so hard to read social cues properly and to be as polite as they can be that they would never think it was okay to tell someone they were sorry to find out their kid is a bit different.

I have another confession.

I know it is well meaning when my friends compliment me on how well I handle everything. When they tell me “I don’t know how you do it. I could NEVER live your life!” they fail to recognize how that could be taken. What is so wrong with my life? It is mine, and I love it, and I embrace it, and I can’t picture having anything else, really. All the work I put into my kids is so they can have the best future possible. Not to make mine something unrecognizable. I was meant to be their mom. I’m good at it. And like you, I didn’t plan on it. I sorta had it land in my lap. And also like you, I rose to the challenge. The same as you would if you had an Autistic child. Or any other special needs child at that. You can handle much more than you realize. So can I. To hear your horror at the mere thought of parenting my children makes me want to yell at you. I’m not Wonder Woman. I just have her hot pants.

I have another confession.

I can’t imagine my children being anything other than what they are. Yes, I am working with them and all their multiple therapies and social skills groups and behavioral specialists so they can fit into a society which is highly judgmental and non accepting. Not to make them new and different people. No. To make their lives as easy as I can in a world that is incredibly difficult for them to navigate. Because that’s what mothers do. They try to prepare the children that were born to them for a life that is as fulfilling and happy and successful as it can be. If I had the opportunity to erase the Autism this very second and have boys with completely different personalities, struggles, abilities, and emotions, I truly don’t think I would. And that is something that has taken me a long time to realize.

I have another confession.

I almost despise telling people about my struggles with my kids’ special needs. It automatically alienates me from all the other mothers and sets me aside. It isolates, and it finds me more aware of being incapable of relating to any other parent who is not raising an Autistic child.

I have another confession.

I *DO* find myself overwhelmed. I find myself stressed and afraid and worried and without answers. But I know that is the case for every other parent in the world. Kids don’t pop out of the womb directly followed by an owner’s manual. The things that frighten me may be totally different than the fears you often go through, but often they are not.

I have another confession.

I get so angry with myself for feeling the need to explain to others that my kids are Autistic. For example, when we are out in public and someone comes up and tells me how they would discipline my kids, I automatically need to justify my boys and explain that although they look typical, they are on the spectrum and are merely over stimulated by being in a store, or doctor’s office, or playground, or movie theater, or museum, or amusement park or any other place outside of our very own home that we happen to be. Because the world thinks we should hide away. And the world thinks we aren’t doing enough to control our kids. And because the world thinks it’s okay to judge and stare and even walk up to a perfect stranger that they do not know the circumstances of to tell them all the ways they are failing and all the ways they could improve the situation if it was them in our shoes.

And so I want to protect my kids from these vultures who ironically appear to be the ones lacking social skills as they verbally assault and degrade a stranger and her children. So I tell them how misguided they are. And in front of my kids I make excuses for them. AND I FREAKING HATE FEELING LIKE I NEED TO DO THAT!!! So stop making me, okay?

I have another confession.

Without Autism in my life for almost sixteen years now, I would not be the strong, proud, capable, empathetic, loving, kind, forgiving, patient person that I am today. My world has been colored by Autism. I see colors you have not even imagined. Yes, there have been struggles. My gawds, the struggles! But our successes are so much sweeter than you could possibly imagine. And when I fight for my kid to have a real education, win a court mediation, see my son thriving in mainstream school, I have conquered your prejudices in a big way… even if it seems like nothing to you. When I refuse to let you limit my kids, I give them strength to continue just being them. When I refuse to understand when you tell me how sorry you are that I am their mother, I chip away a little at the ignorance that makes the world think it is okay to say anything… ANYTHING… to a person who is handicapable. And when I write this blog, I hopefully inform at least one person that it might be wise to think for a moment before speaking or acting. You don’t know the circumstances of the one you judge so harshly, and maybe now you might think of that when you see an “ill behaved brat” somewhere.

And I must confess, I really do hope I one day see a world with just a little more understanding, kindness, and compassion in it. After all, that’s what I am trying to prepare my children for.

Hunting Bears

I’ve begun keeping a dream journal. Among all the scattered remnants of a subconscious mind relieving pressure from the day and sending out jumbles of nonsense, here and there are dreams which seem to contain significance to me.

Last night I meditated as I have been doing for weeks now after months of non productivity. I have found myself much more centered and capable of focusing my immense amounts of energy. Sometimes I merely think of all negative experiences I’ve had during the day and visualize the energy being neutralized and regenerated as positive energy. Sometimes I try to hear messages from my guiding spirits. Other times I try to gain perspective on why I am here and what road I am to be traveling on without diverting as I often fear I have.

So when I fell asleep after a very intense meditation, it’s no wonder that the answers I had been seeking came through to me immediately. There came a point in the jumbled up mess of my dream where things became more directed. Instead of being incoherent babblings, the questions I have been asking myself all weekend began to be addressed one by one.

As my dream drew to a close, a friend of mine who had been in a cameo position from the beginning of the dream began laughing at the antics of my cat. Then he announced that my cat had brought us a present. I looked, and my friend held a cup containing a dark little mouse peering out, and my breath caught in my throat. I was scared the mouse would jump out and touch me, and that fear caused me to react in a dream state as precisely as I would in consciousness. Then my friend smiled, tipped the cup, and I arched my legs up but could still feel the mouse scurry beneath me. I felt the silkiness run quickly beneath me and away to my right, and I began screaming. My friend just looked at me with surprise before laughing and telling me, “Oh c’mon now. I once saw you run straight past me toward a ten foot bear. You aren’t really scared of a little mouse, are you?”

And I paused then. I recalled the event of running eagerly toward a large black bear as if it had ever truly occurred, which it did not, mind you, and then I froze in my dream staring off where I could almost see the furry outline of a memory.

That was when I woke up completely and vividly awake knowing that dream had importance.

And it did. How can I possibly let the little rodent sized issues in my life slow me down or cause me alarm when I’ve always been all gung ho chasing down bear sized dilemmas? I never hesitate. I never stop in fear. I actually ENJOY conquering every problem that arises in my life. I find myself in certain situations all due to my lack of fear and my own sense of invulnerability. You know, I usually am rather impervious, too. My husband and the life I led with him made me much more fearful and cautious, but the me that I have eternally been is still there. She is never afraid. She is never defeated.

Now I remember. I’ve been trying so hard to be brave again, but I had merely forgotten that I have always been brave. Always. It is the core of my being. I’m an adventurer, and I never back down from a challenge.

How silly to momentarily think I can be slowed by a little mouse when I’ve hunted bears…

St. Valen-who?

Oddly enough, I am not embittered by the highly commercialized holiday we refer to as St. Valentine’s Day. I really thought I would be. In fact, after spending a New Year’s Eve with no one to kiss me at the stroke of midnight, I thought for certain I would have to hurriedly squash down those imminent feelings of soft sadness for being alone on a holiday that stresses having someone to love.

But then again, I have lots of someones to love, so maybe that was what kept me cheerful even in the midst of sitting in Chuck E. Cheese with my tiniest ragamuffin and her father.

Yes, I wanted to vomit. Being near him always makes me want to puke. I tremble, and I try to pretend I can’t see the cold calculations behind those properly polite and seemingly benign features. Yes, I wanted to escape. Yes, I had a roaring headache by the time I could slip away from him once again.

But I kept my focus on Ashlan, and I thought of my own celebrations waiting for me so there was no need to find the most fleeting moments of sadness.

Not even when I thought of how odd my present situation with my soon to be ex-husband is in comparison to the first Valentine’s we shared. He knows of my pride in my Celtic heritage, so he commissioned a hand painted gourd in an Old World style from a local artist, and he imported Italian sparkling water and brought me a feast at work containing everything from a delicious salad and calamari to dulce de leche cheesecake and espresso. New jewelry and a beautiful card, and I spent my lunch hour with him underneath the trees feeling ever so loved.

Now it seems if that love was nothing but a facade to cover the true identity beneath the exterior long enough to drag my foolish self a thousand miles away from everyone who has ever loved me. I don’t smile at the few good memories I can recall because they have been tainted by the mountain of bad memories the successive years buried me beneath.

So perhaps that is why I am so happy this Valentine’s Day. I may not have that cliche’ love of my life, but I have me, and I have four beautiful children, and I have friends and family.

Besides, I bought my own chocolate. I especially like the cherry ones. I bought myself a small bouquet of flowers. I will lounge in a hot bath tonight before putting on the new pajamas I bought myself. And most importantly, I provided all the Valentine’s goodies my kids could want, from the stuffed animals to the chocolates wrapped up securely in red boxes shaped like hearts.

This year I shoveled my own walkway, and I fixed my own broken plumbing. I paid my own bills, and I made great meals, and I registered the kids for this and that. I weathered a few storms, stood alone while facing a hospitalized child, and figured out how to solve every problem without anything falling to pieces at my feet. I put up my own Christmas tree, and I entertained guests, and I created new memories. And now I have become my own Valentine knowing full well how marvelous that is.

I have shown myself and all others that I can handle what comes my way, and I can do it with grace and dignity. I am stronger than I was certain of… but now I *am* certain.

Now this chocolate tastes that much sweeter.

So Happy Valentine’s Day to you all, my lovelies… my Valentines. I love each of you very muchly <3

Jealousy

February 10, 2011

“Love sees sharply, hatred sees even more sharp, but jealousy sees the sharpest for it is love and hate at the same time”

Coveting what we cannot have is one of mankind’s most shared characteristics. How many idioms do we have along those lines? The grass isn’t always greener, but it sure appears that way.

I am not above jealousy, and I have fought against the negative feelings that jealousy inspires within me more than once over the many years. Very recently it dawned on me that my desire to embrace love and fill not only myself but everyone near me with kindness and compassion regardless of what it costs has been jeopardized by petty jealousies.

I think jealousy stems from some sort of self-entitlement issue that we commonly grapple with. And it tends to side step the true purpose of humans. By allowing ourselves to be consumed by feelings that distract us from the emotions we should embrace, we derail ourselves from what will truly bring us happiness. By believing the grass is greener on the other side, we neglect our own side and take it for granted; we ensure we cannot be happy or find contentment unless life is exactly as we think it should be.

Well, life is rarely as we think it should be. But in hindsight, we tend to arrive at our destination and realize things are as they should be and could not imagine them being any other way. Another common phrase: hindsight is twenty twenty. Ain’t that the truth?

What we want and what we need do not always coincide with each other. What we want is not always what is best, nor is it always as we think it will be. Be careful what you wish for and all that jazz…

But somehow, we tend to have what we need. No, not always, and not everyone, but there are circumstances that make that the case. In my case specifically, when I am in need, the way is cleared, and I am provided for. Either through my own means or through the kindness and compassion of others.

So I am trying even harder to embrace the love that is inside me and available around me. I am putting aside (with great effort, mind you) many of the resentments and hindrances that have steadily worked toward throwing me off course. Funny thing is, just the conscious effort has provided contentment, and I am reassured that I am following the right avenue for *me*… even if it is not the most well-beaten path.

The Choice

January 18, 2011

“Beginning today, treat everyone you meet, friend or foe, loved one or stranger, as if they were going to be dead at midnight. Extend to each person, no matter how trivial the contact, all the care and kindness and understanding and love that you can muster, and do it with no thought of any reward. Your life will never be the same again.” ~Og Mandino

What if everyone you ever happened to cross paths with treated you with kindness? What if you felt love emanating from each individual you ever came into contact with? What if you joined ranks with them and also decided to live your life full of compassion and kindness and extended it to every person who ever came upon you, happenstance as it may be, and they found nothing but purity of heart deep within you?

What do you suppose our world would be like?

Cruelties occur. That is the simple fact of life as we know it. It is so easy to become jaded, and angry, and bitter. From the perceived mistreatment of others, we begin to build walls in order to keep ourselves safe. But the funny thing about walls built for safety is that those same walls keep out wonderful experiences, as well.

A dear friend of mine told me not too long ago that my life is almost unbelievable. Had he not been along for the ride all these years to witness firsthand the extraordinary circumstances I have dealt with, he would never believe one person could endure so many horrors. My strength is admirable to him. My ability to still remain hopeful and optimistic is more unbelievable to him than the fact one person truly CAN go through all that I have survived.

Of course, I am still lovingly lectured by loved ones to harden myself and quit being so agreeable to doing for others above and beyond what they deem wise. Generosity, hospitality, warmth, and loving friendship without expecting anything in return for services rendered is a foreign concept viewed as irrational and a sure-fire way to be taken advantage of time and time again. As I often am, of course.

So I began to ponder quite a bit. See, I really had begun hardening myself. My playful joking with those closest to me became almost cruel. I came to rely on others less and less as I kept the realities of my life secret from those around me. I wrapped myself up behind wall after wall of self-preserving safety, and had completely locked myself into place.

Even now… even after I realized what I was doing and set myself on a mission to rectify the damage I had done in the name of security… I still have far to go in order to remove the last of the walls I steadfastly constructed.

I was miserable, after all. I was alone, and scared, and sad, and dejected even when my exterior showed something otherwise. I still held on with the optimism of a child, naturally, but by trying to be what I once was while changing so many intrinsically LeeAnn characteristics left me floundering to even know who I was any longer.

I also was aware of one incredibly important truth that I had once always held and had temporarily put aside: If I care for those around me, never forget the connection we all share, and love without needing an immediate return of love, eventually that would come full circle to me… just when I need it most.

For example: I fled my home with my children to escape the very dangerous and mentally unstable man that I had married. I left without money, without possessions, with only what we could load within ten minutes into a friend’s car. I ran so quickly, I even forgot my own bag of clothing and found myself at the shelter without a single change of clothes. A few of my possessions were returned, but a vast majority of my life was forever lost to me.

And then the most wonderful thing happened! Friends and coworkers stepped up and provided furniture, bedding, towels, food, clothing, dishes, silverware, toys, televisions… you name it. This house is HUGE, and they stocked it full of everything my family could need down to the beautiful set of wine glasses.

It strikes me as evident that although there are those moments that we do not realize we are loved or when the love we send out does not seem to benefit anyone, we really are changing the world around us and once truly needed, the same will be returned to us. It is the nature of the universe. It just is.

The trick, I believe, is to continue embracing love no matter how abused or neglected by the world we may feel. It is so much easier to build those walls and develop a “me vs. them” mentality, but what we lose is astronomically larger than we may realize. We give up ourselves when we allow ourselves to be broken and give up our brothers and sisters. Each broken link in the chain of humanity is a mournful occurrence that affects us all, whether or not we choose to recognize it, and makes the world that much more difficult to navigate.

But when we embrace love, we become love. When we freely give love, love will be freely given to us. Maybe not on our own time schedule, but when we need it, it will be there. We cannot force the world to bend to our will, we can only strive to keep our will from being bent by the world. For if we stop embracing love, we lose more than just each other. We lose ourselves.