Showing posts with label caregivers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label caregivers. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

TOO TIRED


I’m tired this week, too tired to really even think up a good, snazzy blog post.


…But it occurred to me that it might make sense, for this month’s Voices of Special Needs Blog Hop, to acknowledge that parents (and caregivers) of people with special needs often get really, really tired. On top of all the “regular” parenting stuff that makes “regular” parents pooped (whatever “regular” means in both those contexts), there’s just more general day-to-day negotiation and oversight with bureaucracies like schools and agencies, not to mention the time spent investigating and dealing with therapists and treatments (and finding the money or resources for these??? Puhlease!), never mind additional efforts at home and in social contexts with our children themselves. 

Here’s a very small example: Does YOUR teen do this every day? 


(Not shown: all pockets bulging from giant pokemon decks. Why picture was taken originally: because when I told him he had to fix his socks - as I do almost every day -  he looked down - as he does almost every day - and said “They’re fiiiiine.” So I tried this new strategy…)

Guess what? He’s tired too.


It’s often exhausting to live in a world that seems to mostly operate by rules that don’t make intuitive sense to you - and that can even sometimes seem wrong or “dumb” (his word). Like the socks-outside-of-pants rule, and others that can be less benign, like the brushing-teeth rule or the sleep-at-night rule (this is a fun one vis-a-vis being tired, right? People with neurological differences, as well as a range of other disabilities, often struggle with sleep challenges), the following-directions rule, and so on… 

My daughter also has special needs. As with many people who have spent time in orphanages, she has an attachment disorder. We’ve worked really really hard  - on our own and with therapists, teachers, etc., - and she’s healed so much. But she still moves in the world with a heightened vigilance and a fundamental lack of trust that can sometimes come out in unhealthy ways.  

She’s tired too. 


And so, I bet, are you, sometimes. Too tired. Of course you are. 

And of COURSE we love our children with all our hearts. Duh. It’s just that this world is somewhere between a little bit and a lot harder every day when one has and/or ones children have differences from the “regular” (with the usual disclaimer for this word) people for whom the world seems designed. 

It’s hard being a parent. It’s hard being a parent of a special needs kid. It’s hard being a special needs kid. Heck, my Meeting Friend and I sometimes text each other “NN,” our abbreviation for “Night, Night,” at eight am.  

When Pardner says, casually, “He’s probably not going to be able to live on his own. Don’t you know that?” NN. 

When just getting to school in one piece is a miracle? NN. 

When you worry ceaselessly about your child (or your children) - not because there is something “wrong” with him/her/them but because the world is so much harder for him/her/them to navigate - and thus are moved almost to tears by pants tucked into socks, again? NN.

PLEASE don’t feel alone in being too tired sometimes. I recently texted a mildly-hysterical friend who has a non-sleeping toddler to tell her to remember that when we don’t get enough sleep we often feel way more negative about everything than we otherwise would. Then I thought, “Good one, FSM. Listen to your own words, why dontcha?” Being tired actually isn’t the same thing as being depressed, having an anxiety disorder, or having a too-hard life - but it sure can feel like it!

Can we be gentle with ourselves? 

Let’s try to prioritize getting more sleep for ourselves AND our families, however possible, and taking care of ourselves so we don’t get too tired and remain that way all. the. time.

NN!

Love,
Full Spectrum Mama




Welcome to Voices of Special Needs Blog Hop -- a monthly gathering of posts from special needs bloggers hosted by The Sensory Spectrum and The Jenny Evolution. Click on the links below to read stories from other bloggers about having a special needs kiddo -- from Sensory Processing Disorder to ADHD, from Autism to Dyslexia! Want to join in on next month's Voices of Special Needs Hop? Click here!

Monday, January 14, 2013

First Anniversary Lists II: Attachment Disorders


An attachment disorder can be very isolating. Whether your experience is as a parent, as someone with an attachment disorder yourself, or in dealing with someone close to you, knowing others are in the same boat can help you feel less alone. Count us in on your AD boat, friend, and read on!

Here are some things I wish I had done and/or known earlier about Attachment Disorders:

Attachment Disorders


1. Get professional help. Healing attachment disorders is tricky and time-consuming and entails very specific directives rarely (if ever) arrived at through trial and error.

Most loving, engaged parents or caregivers will never come to therapeutic parenting by their own logic. Parenting an attachment disordered child can be counterintuitive and require you to do things that defy your culture and instincts in order to help your child heal. Caring closely/intimately for any person with this potentially debilitating disorder will entail similar adaptations.

2. Several readers came to FSM casually, only to suspect -- having learned more herein -- that they or a loved one might have an attachment disorder. While I am not a neurologist or psychiatrist (big disclaimer!), I am a pragmatist. I do hold that in some cases if a model of care works for you, professional diagnosis may be a secondary concern (disclaimer: of course, see #1!). 

3. Whether you are dealing with a child or an adult, a loved one or an unloved one, or yourself, know that disordered actions – however manipulative, cunning, cruel, sneaky, dishonest, controlling or aggressive -- come from deep pain and fear. If you are truly experiencing an attachment disorder, you will need this compassion in times to come.

4. In an attachment disordered context, therapeutic parenting means setting strong boundaries and following through on every. single. goshdang little thing in order to build feelings of safety and trust.  

We were able to see instant positive results in many areas when we shifted to this form of care. Tantrums, for example, have been a great field of progress for us (so long as I handle them as advised; every once in awhile I am all, “&&%$# it!” and then things can get ugly: once the tantrum train is in motion it is VERY hard to stop). Other aspects of our lives have progressed much more gradually, and some have seemingly not changed at all.

Take note of emotional and practical steps forward and remember them during difficult moments and times when being a boundary vigilante has you bushed.

5. That said, you will get tired. It will sometimes be hard to see your child’s (or another person’s, or your own)  heart through the oft-constant challenges and maneuvers. The more attached an attachment disordered person gets, the more they push – because they care, and are scared about that caring.

One thing that works for us is for me to get close to Z and really look at her, and into her eyes. Pausing that way, and letting the love rise to the surface – though not something I am always willing or able to do – almost always reminds me of the truth of our relationship. It reminds me that we should none of us be defined only by the manifestations of our pain.

Humor works, too. Actually being funny in those very special moments is Not Bloody Likely. So what about the absurd? “Oh yeah? You are going to tell me that you did not take this rotten food item that is hidden in your pillowcase? Well, I am going to tell you that I am going to Get in that SPACESHIP out there and fly to a planet where everybody wears pillowcases full of rotten food at all times. And if you Don’t wear your rottenfoodpillow you are very WEIRD. So I am out of here.”

Give yourself a break, and another chance. Same for others.

6. Get support. Find others who are faced with this unique challenge and lean on them for advice, mutual comfort, and commiseration, as well as for the sharing of hopes and progress.


You are not alone. Probably, you are doing your best.  Here’s to hope, love, humor, strength, patience and second (and third…) chances…

Next week: Anniversary List III.

Love,
Full Spectrum Mama


Monday, March 26, 2012

Would you rather…I

Want to make me cry? Reduce me to a quivering, sobbing, snot-covered mass of mama-jelly?

Ask about Z’s ID card.

The day I met my girl, she was just over nine months old. Dressed in a little light green and white jumper from the orphanage, she was astoundingly beautiful, if looking a little scared. She initially came across as quiet to the point of being possibly drugged, and was clutching her identification in her tiny hand. Why did she have to hold her own ID card? Why did my baby have to bear that responsibility?

When I think of most nine-month old babies, I cannot imagine they could be relied upon to hold on to anything consistently. There was Z, in that moment where she was passed from her Ayi (in this context, caregiver) to me, all alone in the world and bravely responsible for her own miniscule self and her very own identity.

Want me to cry some more? Ask me about “Tommy.”

Tommy lives up the street from us in a quaint, slightly run-down little house with his elderly parents. When Tommy was in school, Pardner’s ex-girlfriend was his teacher. In those days, “special needs’ children were not mainstreamed and he went to a “special” school. Pardner used to come into the classroom and play his guitar and harmonica for the kids and he has fond memories of Tommy and the others in the class dancing with total glee. 

Now Tommy is middle-aged, a pudgy man with his pants hiked high and a bald spot. I usually see him walking jauntily up and down the street with his walking stick, always staying in sight of his house and waving at everyone who drives by. He always seems happy. Every time I see him I think of his parents: I wonder if they worry about who will take care of him when they are gone. I know full well there are social services and safety nets but what will happen to him when his parents are no longer able to run that household? What if what Tommy wants is to stay in his own home?

A few weeks ago, we had a big snowstorm. I didn’t see Tommy for a few days and I noticed that there was no smoke coming from the chimney of the house. The small driveway remained without tracks. I haven’t seen any activity at his home since. I am afraid that time has come.

These two tear-inducing items represent the two poles of a Full Spectrum of fears for my children. I have a daughter who was able to --  in a very real way -- take care of herself at nine-months old…because she had no choice. Almost six years later she remains trapped in a massive control scheme, her babiness largely inchoate. I have a son who is very bright and desirous of independence but who may never be able to live on his own without assistance. I worry, I worry.

So many faiths advise us to “be here now.” We are warned that the present is all we have for sure. Our nowadays are sprinkled with lovely small moments, sometimes bumpy but always full of big, deep love. Wisdom traditions notwithstanding, I worry about the days to come. What is the right amount of worry, now and in the future? What is the right amount of care?

To be continued…

Love,
Full Spectrum Mama


PS. Dear readers, thank you so much for your support, wisdom and comments! I have tried to change the settings so that anyone – including anonymous followers (as most readers are) and random readers – can comment, so please try again if you have experienced difficulties posting.  Also, please feel free to email me for any reason. I haven’t figured out why some people are still having a hard time joining or posting but am happy to post comments for you or let you know when posts come out. Thanks and love, FSM