I just started reading How To Give Up Plastic by Will McCallum. I was surprised to realize that I already do some of the things that they recommend. Such as using a reusable water bottle, rarely eating out and using plastic utensils/straws/food containers, using a shampoo and conditioner bar wrapped in compostable materials. Now, that I’m thinking, I also use bamboo toothbrushes that are also compostable.
Anyway, the point is that I am and have been making changes and I’d like to share them here. So… I found out (not from the book, I can’t recall where) that you can register to reduce the amount of junk mail that you receive, and I wanted to leave that link here. You just register and pay five dollars for processing and bam,10 years of reduced junk mail.
I’m feeling sad today, or no, more accurately, I’m feeling sad right now. Today I am feeling all kinds of emotional and my mood is all over the place because I’m ovulating and apparently, at least for this month, this is what it does to me.
I don’t really get it though. I’m ovulating. My body, my hormones obviously want me to have sex (oh, yes they do) because the whole idea is that I have an egg and biologically we want it fertilized (biologically only. I in no way, shape or form want more kids. I love my son but… I’m Good), right? So…. Why make me wanna curl up in a ball and sob? Doesn’t seem helpful. Hormones, what do you do?
Apparently, my grandpa died five years ago. I know because a poem I wrote at that time came up in my Facebook memories today. No need for condolences, it wasn’t that kind of death. My grandfather was a narcissist and a womanizer and a child molester. No, that’s not what is bringing up the sadness. What it does bring up is the confusion I felt at the time of his death.
The Patriarch
Confusion bleeds As invisible as the wounds left By your hands upon my skin My sadness repulsive Tears staining my face Despite my own disgust Your death Inconvenient Causing guilt To stain my conscience Saturated in filth I cannot cleanse Unlike your hands Washed clean All of the ghosts you’ve disavowed Buried in shallow graves They haunt me This scarred lineage your true legacy And yet I am surrounded By your false image And all of this grief
I think maybe, a long with pain and trauma, confusion is one of the biggest legacies left behind by abuse of any form. I’m reflecting on that today. My whole life has been shrouded in confusion. Confusion in the wake of abuse. The confusion of a child. Confusion stemming from being if a different neurotype and not knowing it. The confusion of not understanding my place in this world.
I still don’t… understand my place… But I’m working on it… And I have more pieces of the picture that is me…. And maybe that’s all that really matters. And maybe for the moment, I just need to grieve for that little girl with none of those pieces. I just need to be sad.
I got some reusable grocery bags and some books on living more sustainably.
Originally, I intended to just tell you guys and let you know that I will share any changes that I make in my life attempting to minimize my impact but… Then I saw this.
The tone of the meme suggests that making changes in our personal lives is pointless. We may as well just give up. I call bullshit.
Yes, I absolutely agree that behaviors like flying across the world for cheesecake make a larger impact than someone using paper straws or something similar. I also agree, wholeheartedly that we need to push back against the behaviors of the rich, whether it be celebrities, business’s or government but that doesn’t mean we just give up.
I believe every little bit counts but also, it’s the right thing to do. If you’re saying well Kim Kardashian is doing x,y or z so I don’t have to do anything, you’re just as bad as they are, in my opinion.
This is an argument that I see come up a lot…More of the problem is coming from big business so individual action is futile, we should be lobbying our representatives instead of reducing our impact. If that is what you are called to do, please do that. However, for me it seems the opposite. I can’t see the government or any business making any changes unless or until they see that the public wants it. How do we show that we want it? By living the change. So, that’s what I’m going to do. Join me or don’t but please, for the love of God, don’t just sit there twiddling your thumbs while calling out other people. That helps no one.
Man, reading this book was like reading about my life. Like, hey Steph, are you sure you weren’t a fly on the wall in like all of my therapy sessions, with all of my previous therapists? Memory after memory kept coming back. I wish that I could say that they were good ones, but….
Unfortunately, they were more along the lines of that time my well meaning therapist would stop interacting with me in conversation until I made eye contact. Her assumption being that my lack of eye contact was shame based. Nope, I cannot find words, verbalize language, when I’m doing something other than speaking. That definitely includes trying to make eye contact. Or how two separate therapists restricted my use of the phrase “I don’t know”. Again, this was assumed to be shame based or a form of avoidance. Nope, I literally did not know… Their questions too vague and open ended. I need specificity. Come on now, I’m autistic, yo!
It brought back all of the ways that therapy had failed me. All of the ways that I thought that I had failed at therapy. After more than a decade of failed attempts, with at least 6 separate therapists, I assumed that I was not meant for therapy. That there was something so wrong with me that no matter how hard I tried, I was destined to fail.
Recently, I did decide to try again. I’ve been back in therapy for probably getting close to a year. The reason being that my naturopath recommended EMDR. If I was going to go all in on this healing physically thing, I needed to give it a shot. That along with this fear that I had. As much as I wanted to heal, who would I be on the other side? So much of my identity is tied up in being sick. Who am I? Did I ever know?
Enter autism. My missing piece. I don’t think I want to get into how I discovered that I am autistic in this post, it’s going to be long enough already. I’ll save that story for another day, but here’s what’s important to know right now. Even though I’ve known for almost a year that I am autistic, it’s been a struggle to accept that (again, reasons for that, another day, another post).
I’ve spent more time then I care to recount going back and forth in my head over the validity of the idea of my son and I being autistic. At this point, I no longer question it. I am autistic. So is my son.
While I am on a waiting list for a professional assessment right now, in the mean time, I am seeing a therapist who is also autistic. They have confirmed their belief that I am autistic. This along with all of the research I’ve been doing has been extremely validating. Honestly though, I didn’t get to full acceptance until reading this book. That is how spot on it was regarding my experiences with therapy. It highlighted so much of my life that I was finally able to say, yes, without a doubt, I am autistic.
Here’s the thing though… I already knew… I always knew. I just didn’t know what it was that I knew. I can’t count the times that I’ve tried to explain it to someone… “Yes, I struggle with anxiety/social phobia/depression… But… There is something else”. I’ve said that so many times it makes my head spin thinking about it. I didn’t know what that something else was but I assumed it was the thing that was broken in me. That if I could figure that out and fix it, then I would be able to function like everyone else. Then I would be healed.
Had I understood that it wasn’t something that needed to be fixed. In fact, it’s not something that can be fixed, but instead my neurology and there’s nothing wrong with that. There is nothing wrong with me. I may have been able to save a lot of pain. For myself and those around me.
If I had gotten a diagnosis as a child maybe I wouldn’t have used an eating disorder to feel some kind of control over my life. Maybe I wouldn’t have turned to drugs and alcohol to as a cover for my extreme social anxiety. Maybe the social anxiety would never have gotten so bad, had I known there was nothing wrong with my way communicating and that I didn’t need to change it in order to be enough. Maybe I wouldn’t have pushed myself to the point of burnout and self harm and suicide attempt or multiple daily meltdowns, had I known.
Maybe, maybe not but… I whole heartedly believe that had I known that my way of being in the world was not wrong, only different, I could have found a way to accept myself. If I understood that I am not neurotypical and there was no amount of healing that would change that, I could have found a way to live a life that took my limitations into account and focused on my strengths. Perhaps I could have thrived instead of fallen so ill.
Education about autism and it’s myriad presentations is important. Diagnosis is important. Listening to autistic people and their experiences is so important. As a society, we are failing so many people like myself, people who fall though the cracks. Keeping this conversation going and sharing our stories is important. I invite you to share yours, as well.
When my son and I wake up each morning, we spend some time in bed, cuddling and talking, before we get up to start the day. This morning, I mentioned that today was going to be cooler. My son’s immediate response, “no, it isn’t”. I started to explain a bit but was again hit with immediate denial and a bit of emotion.
“Ok, baby. I thought it was but I guess I was wrong.”
Period. End of conversation.
We go upstairs and my mom mentions the weather.
“It isn’t cold” Anger. Panic.
Grandma proceeds to push.
“Alright Mom, drop it.”
She knows he is PDA. She understands what this means. She continues to push. She needs to be right. It is in fact cool outside.
I snap and yell at her.
Why are we arguing with a four year old, period. A four year old with a nervous system disability….
PDA isn’t easy for caregivers but… It’s much harder for the child experiencing it. Every choice we make as caregivers either activates his nervous system or accommodates it, helps him to regulate. He doesn’t get a choice. He is just constantly in fight or flight.
There are decisions that are difficult to make. When and how often to push for him to take a bath, change his clothes, try a new food… But this… This was not one of them.
It is cool outside. I know this. My mom knows this. Accommodating a four year old with a nervous system disability by stating they opposite? Not a big deal.
I went to the zoo the other day, which by the way, is massive in terms of my healing. But anyway, I went to the zoo and I’m pretty sure that someone, a fellow zoo visitor, referred to me as a whale.
I posted this on Facebook awhile back…
This came up in both my memories and my sister’s. We talked about it, you know, haha weren’t we cute. Then she said something that surprised me. She said that my arms look so skinny that I look so small. I am 15 here and 132lbs. How do I know that? The 132lbs part? Because I thought I was so fucking fat. Honestly, I can tell you how much I weigh in damn near any picture of me. I’m more likely to know my weight than my age. I have never been comfortable in my skin unless I weighed between 110 and 122(preferably not over 118). I am currently obese. There are no pictures of me because I can not stand to look at myself. Not only am I overweight but I have severe diastasis recti, my abdominal muscles are separated, deformed and I look very pregnant. I have an understanding of why my body is the way it is currently. The diastasis recti was caused by a lack of energy, my body is unable to convert food into energy in the way that a body is meant to combined with a C-section that caused the muscle to be unable to move and kept them in their separated position. My body overcompensated to get my son here healthily. I am incredibly grateful for this. Many people who suffer from mold illness gain a lot of weight and are unable to shed it. I forget the technicalities of what is happening in the body (though I can find articles that explain it). Mycotoxins store themselves in fatty tissue and the body basically convinces itself that it is starving to death in order to gain fat and prevent the mycotoxins from storing in the brain causing brain damage (this is why liposuction is a legit detox treatment for some people with mold illness). I am also grateful for this as well. There is no good reason that I was able to get my son here healthily or that I am even still alive except that my body is amazing and it did what it needed to in order to protect me and Eli. Miraculous. Yet, knowing this I still cannot stand to look at myself and going in public is hard. I’m filled with shame. I am 15 in this picture and about to start dating the boy, who became the man, who is now my ex husband. The boy who referred to my stomach as squishy…pudgey. I am 15 here and I’ve already lived through years of my mother hovering over me while I ate, making comments about how I didn’t want to end up fat like her. I am 15 here and about a year away from anorexia and decades of disordered eating. I am 15 here and 132lbs I am 15 and my worth was not, is not, will never be determined by my weight or body shape… But I didn’t know that. We need to do better.
I absolutely believe that… That my worth, your worth, anybody’s worth, is not determined by the shape or size or anything else having to do with our bodies. And… I so badly do not want to be bothered by that comment… The one in which I was compared to a whale. I mean, the comment really is not a reflection of me but of the commenter. It says nothing of my character but a lot about his.
I want the comment to roll off of me like water, having no affect. I want it to be a non issue, unimportant but…It did affect me. It hurt. And honestly, I spent a good deal of time berating myself for that fact.
How dare I be concerned about something so insignificant when there are real problems to worry about? Things that affect everyone, not just myself. Most notably, in my mind at the moment, the environment… climate change… Mama Earth. I should be using my energy to figure out ways that I can change… That I can help (I’ve been using more sustainable/non toxic products more and more but that’s not enough!), not worrying over an insignificant… unimportant comment about my weight.
The more I thought about it though, the more I realized that it is important. It’s like I said in my Facebook post… We need to do better. It is important that we, all of us humans, grow up knowing our worth. Not just intellectually but in our bodies. It’s important that we know it to and through our bones. That it resonates in our thoughts and feelings, minds and hearts. That we are at home, at peace with ourselves. People who feel good, do good.
Conversely, people who feel bad are more likely to do bad or at least become complacent, not believing that they are significant enough to make a difference. Or like Mr Judgemental Commenter, to spread more of the same… Not seeing others as human, as deserving… seeing others as separate.
We’re not… separate… Not really. We are in this thing, this life together and just like we do all need to do better in the ways in which we treat our planet, we also need to do better in the ways we treat each other and ourselves. I’m not sure the two are mutually exclusive. I think they may actually be the same thing.
I finished reading No Impact Man by Colin Beavan. I am sobbing. I’m talking full on body shaking, convulsing, cathartic sobbing.
When I was looking through the reviews for this book on Goodreads, I was surprised. While it received many more positive reviews, there were a surprising number of one star ratings, complete with negative reviews. There seems to be a lot of criticism of the author himself for not initially knowing seemingly simple solutions to eco problems (like diapers or tissues) and writing about his personal revelations during the project.
I do not agree. The point of the project, of the book itself, was for Colin, a regular dude and his family to reduce the negative impact his family is having on the environment as much as possible. The point was to figure it out as the project progressed and write about the impact that had on him and his wife and daughter. To me, it seems, mission accomplished.
Regardless of whether or not you liked the book or the author himself, it does highlight things we should all be concerned with. Is the life you’re currently living, the life that you truly want to be living? Do all of the things you do and buy and consume and support really make your life better? Is this way of life that we are living worth our health…our happiness…our fucking planet?
For me, the answer is no. I need to start to do things differently.
I sent this email to a former therapist of mine earlier…
“Hello,
I know it’s been some time since I was in therapy with you but I’m feeling the need to share with you a couple of recent revelations that have taken place in my life. I feel that knowing these things prior to engaging in therapy would have been helpful, and I wanted to share on the chance that they could possibly be helpful if you encounter similar clients in the future.
In the past couple of years, I’ve come to discover that my chronic illness was in part caused by chronic exposure to toxic mold. I’ve been diagnosed with mast cell activation syndrome. You had insinuated time and again that if I did more, I would be able to do more. I now have a four year old son. Raising my son has forced me to do a lot more and I became more and more unwell, the more that I had to do, until I ended up in the hospital. Without the mold piece I was never going to be able to progress further with my health. I’ve been out of the mold for about a year and a half and I am just now seeing real improvement. I’m able to eat regularly (not every few hours and through the night) and am beginning to tolerate heat a bit more.
The other thing, I’ve recently been diagnosed with ASD. After realizing that my son was displaying some autistic traits, I did a lot of research and realized that it was likely that myself and many members of my family are autistic, prompting me to seek assessment. I don’t have a lot to say about this other than that I can now see how a lot of issues I experienced in therapy with you were due to my being undiagnosed autistic. It may benefit you(and most clinicians) to do a little research in order to gain a better understanding of autism and the myriad ways it can present.
Thanks for you time,”
This therapist was incredibly helpful when I was working towards leaving my then husband. After that, not so much. Therapy with this therapist actually became harmful to me in many ways. This is just a reminder to anyone, if something doesn’t feel right to you in therapy, listen to yourself. You know you best. This is especially important, I think, for autistic people. If you have a non autistic therapist and they’re trying to treat you the way they would someone who is neurotypical, it very well may do you more harm than good. Look out for yourself. You matter.
I have so many things that I need and want to do yet, every time I have even a moment to myself I feel the need to rest. I have no idea how to figure out any sort of balance in this.
Take today for instance. My son is out in the garden with his father. I would like to work on assembling my cookbook, or assembling (for lack of a better word)this blog but….I spent all day at my sister’s for Mother’s Day yesterday. It was too much, I was beyond exhausted. I am surprised at how well I feel today but I know if I push it… If I don’t rest today…a crash is likely.
When then, do I work on things? I suppose it comes back to focusing on healing, doesn’t it? The more I heal, the more I will be capable of. *Sigh*
I’ve just started reading No Impact Man by Colin Beavan. The book follows a man and his family, over a year, while they try to lower their impact on the environment to virtually nothing. I bought this book because I’ve read other life as experiment books and enjoyed them and I was hoping to pick up some tips on decreasing my impact.
This is something that I think about a lot. And when I say think about, what I actually mean is panic. There are so many changes that I’d like to make, feel like I need to make, that my illness gets in the way of.
Things like making my own self care products, shopping locally, walking instead of driving… Are all rendered impossible when you don’t even have the energy to get through the basics of living on a daily basis.
I am constantly telling myself to focus on my healing. The more I heal, the more I will be able to do and the more I will be able to live a life aligned with my values. This is true, but… The guilt I feel…. And the panic…
*Sigh* One day at a time, one foot in front of the other…
