PROM NIGHT II—LONELINESS IN A PANDEMIC

Years of meditation practice have allowed me to sometimes approximate a sane person.

The other day, I awoke inundated by cortisol and genuine worries, both pandemic-related and other. I didn’t know how I would get out of bed, much less make it through a very full day. 

Sitting up halfway, trying to muster my gumption to get a move on, a question popped into the tiny bit of spaciousness my meditation practice has created in my head: 

Is there some way I can see this differently?

I didn’t have an answer, actually. But it made a little room in my heart to not feel quite so despondent. Times like these, that's a precious gift. 

Subsequently, I’ve been finding plenty of applications for a “see-this-differently” approach! 

One area that's ripe for a bigger vision? My son's senior year. 

For the class of 2020, there’s no senior prom. No big, festive graduation. I hear that some kids (well, young adults, at this point) are defying social-distancing rules and hanging out without protections. But mine aren’t. Most others aren’t, either. 

And these kids are lonely. All of them. Not just the marginalized kids. Not just the students who don’t “fit in,” or are “different.”

In a way, it’s kind of an amazing moment for the latter groups, I suspect. 

Popular people just can’t be popular in the same ways while sheltering in place. And perhaps people who are often lonely can’t judge themselves (and others) in the usual ways. This is simply how it is—for everybody.

Is it possible that pandemic-induced social isolation actually mitigates the social isolation that so many feel in their usual day-to-day lives? 

I think of my mother-in-law, who—despite having seven living children—rarely sees anyone besides a caregiver who comes for a few hours every day and the one daughter who lives in the same city. 

Now, she must feel less disappointed—because nobody’s seeing anybody. I hope so, anyway. 

I think of my son, who as a junior so assiduously tried to get a date for the prom—with no success. At that time, I began to pre-worry about this year's prom. 

These days, I’ve been asking myself if the lack of prom is actually a great way for those who might not have found a date to avoid a lifetime of that bad memory? 

That said, is social-distancing in some ways a blessing in disguise for students who struggle socially? Especially those who connect better digitally? 

Has this terrible pandemic created online social spaces that are more accepting? 

If everybody is lonely, are some lonelier than others? Or are our children (and elders, and selves) being equally lonely, together but apart? Maybe even experiencing loneliness in ways that might make them (us) more compassionate and inclusive for the long term? 

In other words, is this challenging period in some ways a powerful equalizer? Aside from all the myriad challenges and tragedies, are we finally learning to create a world in which there’s more acceptance and our real gifts shine and we can be free to be ourselves? (I know a lot of wild animals certainly feel that way right now.) 

Also, I'm wondering what will continue to resonate most after we’ve moved through the pandemic—the terrible loneliness and fear, or the unprecedented shared experience of an extraordinary time?

I certainly see how this global crisis exacerbates inequalities around access and economics, and I genuinely fear many of us, and many of our towns and cities, may not be able to recover—for a very long time.I mourn for the hundreds of thousands dead, and for their living loved ones who couldn't be with them at the end.I'm deeply grateful for the many brave essential workers who have risked their lives to keep civilization functioning worldwide. 

Here in my own small, relatively safe universe, I nevertheless experience waves of such sadness, fear, plain-old grumpiness...So I’m trying to see things slightly differently, in the interest of family and community morale, in general, and personal sanity, in particular.

May we in our mutual loneliness find ways to uplift ourselves and each other. Some days, that’s going to be really hard. On those days, may we remember that it's possible to see our lives from another perspective.  

Stay well, dear persons.

You are not alone in your fears or your loneliness or your joys, and you are loved,

Full Spectrum Mama

DETECTIVE WORK

The Full Spectrums went to see a movie a few weeks ago, which is, in itself, a rarity. We went with my Meeting Friend and her family, and chose the only movie that was playing in a matinee, Mr. Holmes.

During a sad, moving part of the movie where Sherlock is really, really old and feeble and decrepit and does something pathetic, Z suddenly laughed aloud. I cringed. Perhaps she was uncomfortable, but it just felt very awkward and inappropriate...I tried to convince myself it was a mistake, but it happened again a few minutes later during a similar part. Everyone else in the theater was quiet...real quiet.  

“Good luck getting old,” said my Meeting Friend as we left the theater. As we always do, my dear MF and I looked for the bright side: “She’s very practical and realistic!” we assured one another; “Great sense of the absurd!”

On another note, the Full Spectrum children are very into any and all Secret Agent/Detective-y stuff, and were absolutely fascinated by the way Sherlock Holmes can detect things about people just through observation. As we walked back to the car, I asked them what Sherlock Holmes could know about them just by using his powers of discernment.

Z answered immediately:”That I’m a sister, and that I was adopted.”

All G had to say was, “That I’m awesome!” [See forthcoming post, “AND MODEST, TOO.”]

I wanted to hear more from both children, though I found Z’s response quite touching, so I told them, “For me, I think Sherlock Holmes could tell that I am a mother, wife, and artist. Those are the most important things to me.”

“I’m awesome,” G repeated.

“I’m mean,” said Z. Though it’s sometimes true, I don’t think mean is who Z is. I looked at her skeptically. “Well...I can be mean,” she amended.

“Don’t you want to change that?”

“What do you mean?” One thing that IS who Z is is a master obfuscator.

“Don’t you want to not be mean?”

She paused. For a while. “...Yeah.”

“Do you think you can change? I do! You’re just a kid still!”

“I think” – very matter-of-fact – “I will always be a little bit mean.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, but I can tell I always will.”

“Well...that is something you will always have to work on then,” I assured her. “I know you can do that.”

“Huh?”

Hmm. Guess that conversation was over. (WHO, exactly, is in control all up in here?)

When I started writing this blog, I did not know anyone “like us;” I felt alienated, alone, and, much worse, so confused about parenting my two very different – from each other, from the “norm” -- children.

I felt like a failure in the most important role I’d ever had: motherhood.

I did not know, back in the day, that Z’s seemingly cruel laughter, her obfuscation, her self-proclaimed meanness are all attachment-disordered behaviors. I would have blamed myself for not raising her to be kind...I would have blamed her for being unkind and manipulative.

A number of factors (my own kinds of detective work: reading, researching, developing an online community, meeting others through the blog, finding a good specialist in attachment disorders, having a Meeting Friend) have helped me to become someone who is able to share the fruits of my detective work  in hopes of reaching people who feel as I have felt in the past (confused, alone) and feel now in the present (confused, alone, AND inspired, connected, and – every so often – just a little wise in my old age).

As for Z, if I were to name a third fundamental aspect of her identity that Sherlock Holmes might have discerned, I would say that she has a fabulous, quite broad sense of humor. That may be her, and OUR, saving grace.

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

SUGAR, DEAR

You do keep Dear Sugar in your bathroom, yes? So that when you wake up first thing in the morning and think “I can’t do this day,” or when you get that precious three minutes where you sit on the toilet ALONE pretending to poop, you can take the book in your hands and Sugar can be your oracle and give you exactly what you need to open the bathroom door and emerge human and more whole just by opening up the book and reading? 

If not Dear Sugar, what is your DEAR? What shows you TRUTH, on a bed of laughter, with a chiffonade of tears? HOPE, wrapped in brutal honesty, with a core of sweet, sweet love? PERSPECTIVE, nestled in a can of whoop-as$, with a side of I-get-it-though?

Ideally, everybody should have something like this, a tiny escape-comfort that is always there when needed. Maybe for you it’s music, or cooking, or...? Books have always been that thing for me, as they are for my son. Even at parties. 

I was recently invited by a Very Big Deal Agent to write a book proposal for her agency. I am still struggling with the requirements of the proposal, above all, the selling-of-self. But I think that very quality of being there for others in a very honest way makes this writing worthwhile, and makes a book a valid proposition for this blog. So I am doing my best to get it done.

At the same time, summer is looming. I see people posting on facebook about how they “can’t wait,” and I try to share their enthusiasm, and heaven knows I want my children to have those idyllic summers of which people speak, but—but...: I’ve never had a chance to not be working in the summer, which makes things sometimes quite rough. This year I at least had the foresight to coordinate what few camps the kids attend (hey, both kids in camp during the same week: my big insight from summer 2014!), so that I will have some time to work while both kids are having summer fun. (Have people noticed that camp often costs more than one can earn? What’s up with that?)

Like so many of us, I also hope that I too will get some glimpses of summer fun. That during the times when I am with my kids, I will actually be with my precious kids, rather than being physically present while mentally worrying constantly about keeping us afloat or getting other stuff done, such as The Proposal. I guess that would be a form of practicing mindfulness.

Ever wonder, though, why it’s so hard to remember to be mindful? Perhaps it’s because one’s mind is...full? In those full-brain and heavy-heart moments (big and small), I know Sugar will help. Mostly, she’ll remind me that it’s on me to make things right, to feed the good wolf, to see clearly and be present and not take things personally. Basically, you know, to be mindful. But she says it in a way that I can really hear, my dear, dear Sugar does.

Well, my friends, I am heading out now for the last-day/half-day* pickup rounds. Here’s wishing you plenty of whatever Sugar-esque entity feeds your soul this season and beyond. Summer...starts...NOW!

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* Wee tad of a rip-off there?

The Least Popular Kid in the Class – Part Two

At the time of the Least Popular Kid in Class Incident (http://fullspectrummama.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-least-popular-kid-in-class-part-one.html), I tried to get the scuttlebutt on what – besides crying -  happened after G answered the day’s question, but continued to get “stuff” in response.

Chances are, he was genuinely unable to put his feelings into words.  We are neurologically quite similar, and it took me until, oh, last year to realize that where I stand on the spectrum, I tend to get upset before I understand exactly why I am upset (never mind putting those feelings into words!). The overwhelming quality of intense feelings precludes clarity around those feelings until the strong feelings subside. This can be true of overpowering sensory feelings (such as those experienced by sensorially-sensitive people in the average classroom), as well as emotional ones.

Still, knowing that he needed time to process was not going to directly aid G with his lack of popularity, or make him feel better about crying in front of his classmates.

Outside of suspecting it would not be really, really helpful to tell G, “But you’re my very best friend, buddy!” I was at a loss of how to help my child.

So I wrote G’s teacher along these lines:

Dear [teacher],

I love that you start morning meeting with a question. I do the same in all my philosophy classes [read: I am not about to bust your chops for asking big questions]. And I think yesterday's question was a great one. I’m just unclear on exactly what happened after [G] answered the question and then, “for some reason” (according to him), began crying.

When you get a chance could you let me know a bit about what happened yesterday so that I can best support [G] at this time? Or if you have any suggestions...

I know you have your hands full, so at your convenience.

Thanks so much,

[Full Spectrum Mama]

Responding via email, G’s teacher explained that a number of students had been being inattentive or having side conversations while G spoke. Other students had interrupted him, saying that he was wrong about being unpopular. These latter, while acting with good motives, “were not speaking in turn or being respectful to the process.” These factors contributed to G’s frustration.

He assured me that he had never seen anyone be intentionally or directly unkind to G, but admitted that G is often left out or “not paid attention to”…

He concluded with some positive thoughts: “As stressful and unpleasant as it was, I believe that the log jam's been broken and we are going in a positive direction with this very social class.  While I apologized to [G] for him having to go through this situation I also thanked him for giving us all the opportunity to examine our careless and thoughtless behavior and make positive changes.”

Whew!

It was a great gift to have a broader picture of events, and to be able to engage G in a slightly more nuanced processing of what had happened. Not that any of this is going to turn G into someone who doesn’t sometimes get flappy, or extra-loud, or reveal new heights of dorkitude. It might help him accept himself, though, and that’s more than good enough for those of us who love him.

“Free to be You and Me,” with its messages of inclusion, celebrations of difference and our family favorite song “It’s alright to cry,” has been on pretty heavy rotation in G’s room the last month or so. He seems to be feeling less lonely at school, but he’s still asking to spend recess reading in the library because, for him, navigating the playground scene is tremendously daunting.

Now, over a month out, I think everybody was right: lots of kids grew and stretched to be more inclusive and thoughtful following this incident – but G may still have good reasons to cry in school.

Sometimes, too, he may not even know why he is crying.

What he will know is that crying is healthy and totally, utterly, absolutely super alright: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y52bs0aX6v8 *

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* Best. Video. Ever.