I'm anxious.
All the time.
At all hours.
For one reason or another.
Regardless of the circumstance.
After years of living with an intense and debilitating anxiety disorder, I've learned what works “best for me” while operating in an anxiety riddled world.
Step One: Stay at home. Home = a “controlled environment”. The more “control”, the less anxiety.
The bottom line is to hide.
Hide from relationships.
Hide from potential.
Hide from life.
All the time.
At all hours.
For one reason or another.
Regardless of the circumstance.
After years of living with an intense and debilitating anxiety disorder, I've learned what works “best for me” while operating in an anxiety riddled world.
Step One: Stay at home. Home = a “controlled environment”. The more “control”, the less anxiety.
The bottom line is to hide.
Hide from relationships.
Hide from potential.
Hide from life.
Hide from hope.
I've been hiding every day for almost a decade. This reality would be barely passable if it were only me to consider. It’s not only me. I have a husband, my best friend and the most amazing man I’ve ever met who is beyond patient, understanding and supportive of my anxiety disorder and its ramifications. It's one thing to limit myself, it’s another thing to limit this remarkable man of mine, but it's something else entirely to limit my children. My two tremendous treasures who daily-hourly-minutely burst forth with energy, joy, optimism and adventure, all of which continuously seeps from their tiny, microscopic pores.
It stops today.
Lynn (Gracie's developmental psychologist) told Ryan and I tonight that we have two to three more years where Gracie's brain will be flexible and receptive to early intervention methods and therapies that will help her cope with her high functioning autism and sensory needs. These next 3 years are instrumental in creating prompts, norms, tools and growth that will stick with her for the rest of her life. We need to be doing everything possible to immerse her in daily opportunities towards progress and practice of living in a predominately typically-neuro-developing society. Essentially, every decision we make regarding her care, routines, education and therapies over the next few years will dictate how well she will be able to handle adolescence and adulthood with developmental disabilities.
No pressure right.
She should be playing outside everyday (no-brainer), getting swimming lessons (to be expected, right?), interacting in public scenarios (duh), limiting her television (ok, I get it) and many, MANY other real-life-everyday-completely-stereotypical scenarios (as well as a laundry list of non-stereotypical scenarios that involve developmental psychology appointments, IEP standards for special education immersion in the “regular” classroom, occupational therapy, sensory integration therapy, psychopharmaceutical and sleep aid regulation, potential dietary restriction…to name just a few autism parent realities) that will help her develop tools and stretch her brain before it begins to solidify during adolescence…Adolescence; Every autism parent's pending nightmare, or, in my case, one of the MILLION anxieties that prance about in my brain daily.
The rambling paragraph directly above that I just vomited out of my stream of consciousness is but a grain of sand on the anxiety shoreline that is my mind. There is a whole ocean of possibility "out there" but I can't ever get past the sand.
And I’ve only been referencing random sand in between my toes of anxiety pertaining to one my children; let’s not even attempt to talk about the anxieties of parenting a toddler.
An energetic toddler.
A headstrong toddler.
A toddler who wriggles her tiny hand out of my clammy, sweaty, shaking panicking hand and runs away all while giggling with gleeful anarchy.
Needless to say, the realities of living with an anxiety disorder while raising a child with autism and a toddler have brought me to limit.
As far as I see it, I have two choices; I can “live” the way I have been “living”. Day by day growing exponentially worse and giving up on myself, my husband, my children OR I can step out in faith and begin to help myself and by extension, my husband and my children.
It has just dawned on me that I’m not quite sure how to go about helping myself. Not encouraging but my tenacity speaks louder.
So here goes my journey. One day at a time. Figuring out what works and what doesn't. Celebrating victory and picking myself up after defeat. Reveling in the freedom that comes with confidence and facing my mistakes while learning from them. All while documenting change.
Right now I cannot promise anything but that.
Change.
It’s a start.
I've been hiding every day for almost a decade. This reality would be barely passable if it were only me to consider. It’s not only me. I have a husband, my best friend and the most amazing man I’ve ever met who is beyond patient, understanding and supportive of my anxiety disorder and its ramifications. It's one thing to limit myself, it’s another thing to limit this remarkable man of mine, but it's something else entirely to limit my children. My two tremendous treasures who daily-hourly-minutely burst forth with energy, joy, optimism and adventure, all of which continuously seeps from their tiny, microscopic pores.
It stops today.
Lynn (Gracie's developmental psychologist) told Ryan and I tonight that we have two to three more years where Gracie's brain will be flexible and receptive to early intervention methods and therapies that will help her cope with her high functioning autism and sensory needs. These next 3 years are instrumental in creating prompts, norms, tools and growth that will stick with her for the rest of her life. We need to be doing everything possible to immerse her in daily opportunities towards progress and practice of living in a predominately typically-neuro-developing society. Essentially, every decision we make regarding her care, routines, education and therapies over the next few years will dictate how well she will be able to handle adolescence and adulthood with developmental disabilities.
No pressure right.
She should be playing outside everyday (no-brainer), getting swimming lessons (to be expected, right?), interacting in public scenarios (duh), limiting her television (ok, I get it) and many, MANY other real-life-everyday-completely-stereotypical scenarios (as well as a laundry list of non-stereotypical scenarios that involve developmental psychology appointments, IEP standards for special education immersion in the “regular” classroom, occupational therapy, sensory integration therapy, psychopharmaceutical and sleep aid regulation, potential dietary restriction…to name just a few autism parent realities) that will help her develop tools and stretch her brain before it begins to solidify during adolescence…Adolescence; Every autism parent's pending nightmare, or, in my case, one of the MILLION anxieties that prance about in my brain daily.
The rambling paragraph directly above that I just vomited out of my stream of consciousness is but a grain of sand on the anxiety shoreline that is my mind. There is a whole ocean of possibility "out there" but I can't ever get past the sand.
And I’ve only been referencing random sand in between my toes of anxiety pertaining to one my children; let’s not even attempt to talk about the anxieties of parenting a toddler.
An energetic toddler.
A headstrong toddler.
A toddler who wriggles her tiny hand out of my clammy, sweaty, shaking panicking hand and runs away all while giggling with gleeful anarchy.
Needless to say, the realities of living with an anxiety disorder while raising a child with autism and a toddler have brought me to limit.
As far as I see it, I have two choices; I can “live” the way I have been “living”. Day by day growing exponentially worse and giving up on myself, my husband, my children OR I can step out in faith and begin to help myself and by extension, my husband and my children.
It has just dawned on me that I’m not quite sure how to go about helping myself. Not encouraging but my tenacity speaks louder.
So here goes my journey. One day at a time. Figuring out what works and what doesn't. Celebrating victory and picking myself up after defeat. Reveling in the freedom that comes with confidence and facing my mistakes while learning from them. All while documenting change.
Right now I cannot promise anything but that.
Change.
It’s a start.
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