In the end

Now that the semester is almost over, I can’t help but look back and feel like I’ve moved a mountain.

I got laid off. I knew it was coming, but it’s still a shock.

I thought I was going to fail my classes. All of them, but I managed to knock out all the work I needed to do.

If there is one piece of advice I can give to any mother out there, or even just any person, it is to be brave. Be resilient. Be so confident that you are man enough to ask for help.

That’s what I learned to do this year. Ask for help. People want to give it to you, but they can’t if you don’t tell them you need it.

After losing my job, I didn’t think I had lost it. I focused on my son and the extra time I get to spend with him. But, as these things usually do, I really did become aware that I was losing it. That everything I’ve worked my ass off for the last 4 years was somehow not going to happen because I couldn’t get my head above the water I had willingly waded into.

But I realize that all of these things, as large as they seem, are so much smaller when broken into their smaller parts. School can come together if I buckle down and do the work. And do the work I have been. Catching up to writing the equivalent of a thesis is quite an arduous task.

My therapist told me that I take responsibility for things that are not my responsibility. I don’t recall truer words ever being spoken to me.

So, in the spirit of looping back around, I should only feel right getting to the good part of where this semester has taken me. I am signed up to graduate in December, just shy of my 32^nd birthday and I have worked out a part-time job that will keep me afloat until then.

I will no longer focus on things that are not in my control, rather, make the best of what I have in front of me. The things that matter. My education. My child. My health.

I will run more. I will speak Spanish even when I don’t have to. I will build my photography business and use my remaining time at UT to get better at the thing I love so very much. I will BE.

I will help people. I will find the way I can make a difference in this world with the gifts I was given upon arrival on Earth.

I will travel more. I will worry less. I will work to become fluent in my third language. I will do all the things that make me better. Because better is always greater than broken. And broken can always be fixed, so remember that next time you fall off of the wall and don’t have any glue.

Pura Vida

Traveling is one of the most educational things we can do in this life. With the emergence of social media and all the other things the internet has made possible, the ability to envision other places in the world has become paramount to our daily practices. We are all connected in this world and it’s a shame that we don’t make it easier to move about the planet.

Before I had my son, I thought I would see the entire world before I brought a person into it. That did not happen. The most international place I had ever been before him was Matamoros, Mexico. While it was certainly an exciting place, going to a bar 20 minutes from the border and ONLY a bar was not my idea of world travel. Still, I cherish those trips because I got to speak Spanish and the beer was much, much cheaper than where I’m from.

The last few years raising my son have been interesting. I’ve learned how to live very poor and stretch money further than I ever imagined. However, a vacation for me was not in the cards with my part-time job I had while I got through school.

That is until last summer, one of my oldest and dearest friends gave me all of her airline miles so I could go on a vacation. After careful consideration (okay, five minutes) I decided I wanted to go to Costa Rica. Thankfully, I had enough miles to cover airfare for myself and my son. People thought I was crazy to take my five-year-old autistic son out of the country like that, but we both needed a break. Best decision I ever made.

Not only did I get back to speaking Spanish fluently after I submersed myself into the culture, but my son, who just the year before barely spoke English, played with local children there and co-existed despite their language barrier and picked up a few phrases on his own. No one there even thought he was different or weird or got mad when he screamed because all he wanted to eat the entire time we were was ice cream and french fries.

I think about going back all the time. I think about how happy we were there and how good it was to get rid of all the expectations placed upon us here and just BE. Just BEing is highly underrated. But most of all, I remember how normal we both felt being around such a warm culture of people. If I can teach my son to say “soy contento en el mar,” then I can do anything.

Push yourself. Don’t let anyone tell you that something isn’t possible. If they do, then they’re just too chicken to do it themselves. Don’t let them hold you back and never, ever, ever let them make you feel like you are crazy. Those memories I have in Costa Rica will never fade or hold any less weight on our existence. My son, who before we went there, couldn’t even tell me about what he learned at school that day, remembers our trip like it happened yesterday. Even now, almost a year later.

Finally, my first and second language met my third.

Autism is my second language

A couple years ago, right after T was diagnosed, I poured out my heart in this blog post. I can still remember how small in that room. Sometimes I try to retain the knowledge that nothing will be as scary as this, but I can't shake it. Am I doing the right thing with him? I've always gone with my gut on things in life. Am I shortchanging him because my gut speaks so loudly? Can I ever get away from this woman telling me that my son needs so much more than just me?

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I can't sleep.  I know why.  Too many things on my mind.  The boy, the dogs, the world outside my door...they all lie there, mocking me with their restfulness.  I haven't had a night like this in a while.

Monday morning, I finally heard the words I've been waiting to hear for months now:  "your son is on the autism spectrum."

My.  son.  has.  autism. 

No, wait, you must have me confused with someone else.  It finally hit me that I had still held onto some bit of denial where that was concerned.  Deep down, I was sure that after those 4 hours of testing, this woman would come back and tell me that something ELSE was causing all of this and that he just needed to grow out of it.  He would start talking VERY soon and go on to lead a normal life; with no trace of the troubles that plagued his development early on.

Surely THAT was what I really prepared to hear....but, alas, Monday I would not hear those words.

So I sat there, at what felt like the biggest round table in a room with the grayest walls and the tallest ceilings.  Alone.  Feeling like I was four feet tall.

My.  son.  has.  autism.

No matter what that woman said after that, it wasn't going to trump those words playing over and over in my head.

I didn't really hear her when she asked how I felt about it.  Nor did I want to hear when she told me I would have to find six different therapists soon.  Nor did I give a damn when she told me I needed to get a therapist of my own.  Nope.  All I could hear were those words in my head:  my.  son.  has.  autism.

I've spent the better part of the last 2 years hearing that word but it didn't really resonate with me until Monday.  Now, I couldn't run away from it.  It would be mailed to me in the next two weeks along with a stack of papers that outlined just what is "wrong" with my child.

There is no pain on this earth that compares to the pain you feel when you can't help your child.  I feel useless.  I feel like a failure.  I feel cheated.  I feel lost.  I feel, I feel, I feel. 

But mostly, I feel tired.

Tired of being angry with the universe for making my child such a mystery.  Tired of hearing that "A" word.  Tired of feeling compelled to explain to people why my four-and-a-half year old son has the vocabulary of a two-year-old or why it's okay that he needs to go play by himself sometimes when he gets overwhelmed.  Tired of being the most important person in his life.

Tired, tired, tired.

On top of all this, I'm supposed to be a functioning member of society.  How is that even possible when all I can hear in my head are those words.....
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This afternoon, I cried.  I cried and I cried and I cried and I talked to the social worker at the boy's school about all of this.  Apparently, my strife was written all over my face.  She listened, just like I'm sure she has listened to hundreds of people before me in the same situation.  She hugged me and reminded me of all the positive things about that little man that is the source of constant worry for me.  Because she knows him almost as well as I do.

She reminded me that this sucks and that I am grieving the loss of that dream I had for my child.

She reminded me that I must give myself some time to let all of this sink in.  That I have to just focus on getting through today.  That I'm not Wonder Woman.  That I am not going to lose my mind.

Today, that table was much smaller, I was much taller, the ceilings much lower and walls much whiter.

Today, I feel a little less broken.

Broken is just the beginning

If you’ve ever had a panic attack, then you must know that it literally feels like your skin is too small and you would give anything to crawl right out of it. Or peel it off.

Last year, a series of unfortunate circumstances tested my will to wake up each day. I’m not saying I was a little depressed or anything. I’m saying I was a LOT depressed and had a hard time leaving the house.

I let school projects just pass me by. It was all I could do to get my son to school and fed in the mornings. Every day, I just wanted to curl up into a ball and wait until I could hold my him again.

This was every single day for six months last year.

Then, I started feeling better. I started meditating and focusing on school. I really thought I would be okay. I was still getting a break every now and then when T’s dad would take him and that was enough. Or so I thought.

Then, T's dad moved to Colorado and things got dark again and I found myself not being able to focus anymore. School is taking a back seat to my son because he is all I have energy for. This is where I’m at. Overworked and running on empty.

The screaming in my head is getting louder. I feel so broken. I can’t understand why my son gets so upset over something as small as parking the car in a different spot outside the school. Kids with any form of autism are said to flounder in situations like this. Sometimes I forget he as it. Sometimes I want to forget.

I want to wake up and not worry about what hellstorm will come when I tell him we have to leave even though the episode of Spongebob he is watching isn’t over yet. I want to wake up and not be afraid of the pile of work ahead of me that I have to finish or I can’t graduate. I want to go to sleep at a normal time again. I want to feel less broken.

I want to have a career that makes me feel alive and worthy. Like I am doing something to make the world a better place than it was when I got here.

I want to pay attention in school. I want to pay attention at work. But I can’t. Something is holding me back and forcing me to just be still. What si one supposed to do when you feel so less than human? 

Wake up and start another day? Try to fit more into a day that doesn’t have enough hours to begin with? I’m really trying to figure it all out as best I can.

For now, I will meditate and take hot baths until the knowledge washes over me and I can see clearly again. Until then, I will be still and try my very best not to make everything come crashing down. Btu even if it does, then I have nowhere to go but up.

Tough

 School is getting tough. Life is getting tough. After getting that huge raise last year, I'm back down to part-time and having to watch every penny again. Not that I mind, as I was poor for a long time after T's dad and I split up. Food stamps poor. Still not poor enough for medicaid, though. Which should make me feel better, but it just puts me in that gray area of "don't get sick."

But I digress. The real point of this is: nothing lasts forever. You can be on top one minute and drowning in your own tears the next. 

For years, I really wanted to work in the non-profit world. I wanted to help people any way I could and working for the greater good while also earning a living seemed right up my alley. I work for five years to get where I was last year and now I'm back where I was at the beginning of those five years, only smarter.

I digress again. Now, being employed should make me really happy. Believe me, I am grateful. But living in one of the fastest growing cities in America, coupled with the fact that I am trying to finish a degree I probably won’t even use when I graduate, makes it rather difficult to not just “take what you can get.” Being a fundraiser for a non-profit makes that even moreso.

Being the sole provider and caretaker for a six-year-old doesn’t make things any easier. I talk a lot about how hard it is to survive in today’s world without any help, but I am totally aware of how much better I have it than my predecessors. The hardest thing for me is not having any help. After T’s dad up and moved to Colorado, the help has gone down to zero. When he was taking him every other weekend, that was my study time. Then he slowly stopped seeing him and my study time got smaller and smaller. Before I knew it, he was just gone. No more help. REALLY no help now.

What the hell am I going to do? How the hell am I going to finish school? Afford a babysitter just so I don’t run off into the woods naked and screaming with my arms flailing above my head?

I’m not, I figured out. I’m just going to make what I have in my power work. Come hell or high water, I am going to cut back and start working on my photography. I am going to make a living as a photographer. I am going to succeed in my craft. I have to…it’s the only way I can be happy.

Now, I grew up in a family where you didn’t chase your dreams. You went to college, got a degree, got a job, got married and started a family (not necessarily in that order).

I’ve always been the rogue agent. I never got married. I still don’t have my degree. I have no idea where I am headed, but I think I am going in the right direction. I think. But the broken feeling still persists.

The saving grace of working for a non-profit is that I get to meet people who do really great things for underprivileged people. One of the groups that has inspired me to keep doing this work is the Worker's Defense Project. They help workers who have been victims of wage theft. This makes it all worth it.