What you need

The juxtaposition of feelings this weekend has me reeling.

I have never felt so much like a great mother and a terrible mother all at once. Simultaneously. For the exact same reasons. 

Over the last two days, we have systematically faced -and conquered- "The Mat." That is, the matted hair that was so ever present it gained -to my horror- it's own personification. 

"I like my mat," she would declare. Honestly.

💀

The matted hair has been a battle for a while now, though maybe not in the way you might expect. There have been plenty of discussions about it, sure, but most of the battling has been internal - within myself.

By outward appearance, I'm obviously not doing something right. Everytime I watch her walk into school, with her hair so horribly matted, I hear what [I imagine] everyone must be thinking.

"How could her mother let her leave the house like that? ... My parents would never have let me get away with that ... She must have a really rough home life, I wonder if her parents even care for her at all ... "

And I silently plead my case with all the judgements I'll never get to hear or refute. 

Please, understand how difficult things are for us at home, that this isn't a priority for us right now, for good reasons. Please, understand how difficult it is for her to even be AT school and face the school day. How difficult every sensory stimulus is for her. How routine demands of everyday life are too much to bare. That merely surviving each day, sane and together, IS a success and accomplishment. 

Why does it feel like sending my daughter to school -or anywhere- with matted hair is a "bad mom" sentencing. It is, though.

I let it get that bad.

I didn't have the energy to fight that fight.

Not for one day or one week, but for months.

For months on top of months.

It wasn't a priority.

It literally couldn't be.

How can brushing your hair be a priority when just surviving from day to day takes so much? 

"But it's just hair! Get over it. It can't be that bad."

Or, my favorite - "Everyone has to do it."

Maybe it isn't "that bad," for someone without sensory processing disorder. Someone for who soft-touch doesn't register as literal pain and threat to their nervous system.

But when you undestand the cost of the task to them, it changes. It changes from,

"It's just hair, just brush it and move on with it already."

to,

"It's just hair, it's not worth the sacrifice of peace it would cost you to accomplish this task that's so difficult for you right now."

And so, we wait.

We prioritize. 

And one week turns into one month and then another and then, God-knows-how-many later, the stars have aligned and we are finally able to start tackling The Mat.

And I am so sad at how bad it is. So disappointed I wasn't able to do more. Grieving over how bad things must have been for us to paradox-acceptace the reality of the matted hair as part of our lives. 

And I am simultaneously so proud of us. So grateful we have been able to see past the matted hair and screams of protest. To see the need for safety and trust. For peace and rest. For help that didn't come by force. 

And it is the weirdest feeling in the world to be simultaneously so sad and so grateful.

Care Fatigue

It's not that I don't care.

I just, can't.

Like, when you've cried so much, you can't cry anymore. You're still sad, hurt, lost, feeling... but you're also numb. And your tears are spent.

I do care. Or, I would. If I could. If I cared to.

But I don't. Because I can't.

I'm all spent.

I've started saying something - mostly to myself but also to anyone I'm talking to... 

"I have more important things to worry about."

Are there problems that need to be fixed? Sure. So. Many. Problems. 

Work drama. Life drama. House drama. Clean the dishes drama. "She said what?!" drama.

And I just literally Can. Not. with any of it. 

I have more important things to worry about. Than all of that. Today, I have to survive. I have to make it from the start of this day to the end, and then get up and do it all over again.

I'm not trying to be all holier-than-thou here. This isn't me saying, oh my problems are so much more important than theirs. No, they're probably not.

It's just me saying, I have spent every last cent of care I could afford and I am broke and have nothing left to give. Nothing, except, 

Dust. Dry tears. Understanding. Sorrow. Fatigue. Deep, deep soul-fatigue.

Trauma

It would be really nice if every day didn't feel so damn traumatic.

*Rainy day on the way to work, stopped at a red light. This isn't the trauma but it reflects the mood. 

Christmas Eve Communion

Christmas Eve communion. 

An impromptu, informal, multi-cultural, meet-us-where-we-are, moment.

Father Nathan Monk, thank you.

"You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need." 

Confused

You know those moments?

The moments when you finally break down,

and start yelling your feelings, 

and words just start coming out, 

and then you hear yourself and you realize, wow, 

I didn't even know that's what I was upset about

Alexithymia

"I'm confused. I work so hard to not be confused and it doesn't matter because I ended up being effing confused all the time anyway" 

And after I said it, frustration seething, tears running down my face, I heard those words and thought,

"Oh my God. That's it. 

My entire life experience in a nutshell."

The goal

This feels simultaneously like a very "duh!" thought and a very "wow this is brilliant" epiphany. So bare with me, cause somehow, I think it is actually both. 

I'm starting to think that [*all of this*] ...life, world, process, thing(s) we're experiencing... it's not actually about the destination.*

*This is the "duh!" part. Like, how many times have we heard this? So. Much. So much that I'm rolling my eyes and am done with this post, and I'm the one writing it.

So let's say it again, differently...

Maybe [*all of this*] is not about the destination - at all. In any way. 

It's not about the destination. At all. Not even a little bit. 

I don't know about you, but that hits different for me. It feels kind of uncomfortable. 

You see, I'm a very goal-driven person. It took me a long time to realize this, actually. I'm going through life with a check-list. "What's the thing we're doing now? Let's get that done. Great, what's next?" 

Without a goal, what are we even doing? What even is the point??

The point is the process. 

I'm realizing that "the goal" is not actually the goal. It's not finally "arriving" at some destination, or "completing" each task of life as if it were part of a rubric. 

The process is the goal.*

*I will totally acknowledge here that, this may or may not be true of everyone. Maybe there are tangible goals in your life for you to complete, and I wish you well on them! 

But also, there is [so much] more to be gained from the process, than from the destination itself. 

When you study for a test, the goal (presumably) is to do well on that test or, at least, to pass it. But the actual goal of that whole excersize - the whole point of it - is to learn the material. There's a reason you're taking that test, and the reason isn't to just earn another letter grade or random certificate.*

*For the sake of this analogy we'll leave out the whole "I'm in school because my parents made me" - and even so, the larger goal there is still for you to learn! 

So cheating the system to somehow obtain the apparent goal (an A on the test, congrats!), is actually cheating the whole process and keeping you from the actual, intended goal - knowing more about [that thing].

-----

The "wow this is brilliant" epiphany part comes in as I'm starting to really accept the process. To embrace the process as the goal. 

To accept, and not begrudgingly, maybe there is no "arriving." No having-it-all-figured-out. I'm in process. Always. And not only is that okay, it's the whole point.

There's a lot this is opening up for me. But the point I want to make with all this is... 

The process is messy. It's learning. And making mistakes. It's bumpy. And dark. And imperfect. And scary. 

Elyse Myers was asked how she manages her nerves and she said, "I don't. I just do things scared."

So here we go. 

I'm in process and no longer waiting to arrive somewhere. It's messy and I make mistakes. But I'm learning, and I have something to share. So I'm inviting you along. 

For a moment... for a while... for until your process takes you another way... 

I'm Heather, and I'm glad to have you here. 

🧡

What we needed

----part 1, written 8.2.22---

"You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometime, you just might find, you get what you need." -Mick Jagger

This is what our win looks like today

A beautiful, confident, new haircut. Soft and silky and, if you didn't know any better, looks like any other cute haircut you've ever seen.

Any other cute, twenty-dollar, made-my-appointment-walked-in-and-walked-out-happy haircut. 

But the haircut isn't the win. Not really. It might be the trophy, I suppose. Or the prize-winnings. But it wasn't the win.

Behind this silky smooth hair is months of neglected, matted hair. Several victories of their own right - battling the mats - and then watching them return with a vengeance. Six months late for the "next-trim-[over]due" date. Two missed hair appointments. Weeks of on-again, off-again discussions of will-we, won't-we. Several determined agreements, later negated. Bribe attempts. Plea bargains. Lots and lots of tears.

For children [/anyone] with the disabling combination of sensory processing disorder and social anxiety (and God-knows-what other anxieties) haircuts are not /just/ haircuts. It is 100% torture. And not in the fun, jokey way.

Imagine someone with a fear of heights. This is an understandable fear. It makes sense. If we fall, we die. The end. 

I have an innate fear of heights that I only began understanding the extent of when I visited the Grand Canyon at 17yo and again later, when I attempted a high-ropes course in my 20's. My body was in pure fight/flight/freeze/fawn and there was no reasoning to be had. No amount of coaxing, determination, discussion - nothing - had an ounce of affect on the outcome. I *wanted* to enjoy myself. And my body noped right on out. 

----part 2, continued on 12.1.22---

While it's a bit of an extreme physiological reaction to have your legs decide to stop working properly while 20 feet in the air, it's still an understandable reaction.

It's understandable to be afraid of heights (falling could actually hurt or kill you!) and so, it seems reasonable when one's nervous system responds with fight/flight/freeze/fawn. 

But let's take this back to the 8 year old, screaming and crying in the bathroom because... "They don't want to get their haircut." That seems pretty unreasonable. Is that really it, though? 

Let's try that again ...

Let's take this back to the 8 year old, screaming and crying in the bathroom, because [their nervous system is in fight/flight/freeze/fawn] ... because having a stranger wash their hair (with water in a sink they can't see, leaning back uncomfortablely, with other strangers in the room, with new/weird smells from the shampoo) and then (painfully) comb their hair and spend many long minutes slowly and carefully cutting it (i.e., light sensory touch, which is often very overstimulating) ... 

And all of that sensory overwhelm has their nervous system in a state of panic. 

It doesn't feel so unreasonable anymore.

Understanding the sensory sensitivities at play here takes me away from disciplinary mode - "you better straighten up right now or no TV for a week!" - to empathetic and reassuring - "I  know this is so hard and painful. I know you're scared. We'll get through this together. If we can get this haircut done, I promise we won't have to do this again. I'll learn how to cut your hair myself, so you can feel safe."

That was our win.

I saw her need. I validated and supported her. Miraculously, my offer helped calm her enough to get through that experience (we were literally in the chair y'all, and I was trying so hard not to walk out on this poor hairdresser who was being so patient with us)

I'm finally finishing this story, four months later. And I'll have you know, the hair has now been matted -again and again- for weeks. We have talks and plans in place to work it back out, and it's still in my to-do to learn to trim her hair.

If the "win" that day had been about the hair - you might now call it a loss. But it wasn't. (I am grateful she was able to have a nice haircut when school started; and she was too.) But, the WIN wasn't that. It was seeing her in that moment and being able to speak to her need instead of her behavior.

I am so so so much more grateful for that. We both were. She was so humbled and kind when we left, so grateful and appreciative. She didn't need correction. She needed to feel safe.