I have taken a break from blogging for a while, since there
is something a little bit soul-destroying in it, I’ve found. I don’t really know what I expected when I
started this journey of words and feelings, I just blindly jumped into it without
thinking or feeling anything much except ‘Woooooooooooooo I’m doing it!’ I didn’t think about who my audience might
be, if there was any audience at all.
Then I thought I did know. Surely it was other mamas like me? Mamas living with Boos of their own, mamas on
the front line, mamas in the trenches of Autism. Mamas covered in spaghetti sauce, bite marks
on their arms, sleep deprived, depleted, yet so full of love for their kids
they could burst.
Then there was the inevitable self-doubt. Who do you think you are, Mama, to be sharing
your story as if anyone cares? What can
you tell these women that they don’t already know? I’m not an authority on this. I’m just one of millions. And there are thousands of amazing ladies
(and gentlemen) out there, blogging about life with their Autistic children,
doing it so much better than I am. I
don’t really have anything new to say, that they haven’t already said more
eloquently and beautifully.
Not being much of a self-marketing maven, my readership is
pretty much limited to my mum and a few kind souls who know me already and read
out of interest or politeness (thank you, guys!) And a few lovely people I’ve
never met out there in FaceTwit land who stumbled across my blog (and I’m so
glad you did!)
I haven’t been writing at all lately, but I’ve been really
busy. Good busy. Raring to go, motivated busy. I’m
going to take the spotlight off Boo this time; give her a break, and shine it
on… ME. Because I am a mum, living with
Autism – like so many others out there – and we mums (ALL mums, and especially
mums of kids with special needs) never, ever shine the spotlight on
ourselves. It is just not done or proper
or heard of. So I’m doing it now, just
cuz I'm nearly 41 and I can.
For those of you who have never met me, I am 5’5” and used
to weigh 240 lbs. That was around 160
lbs of *me*, and around 80 lbs of frustration, inadequacy, depression, hopelessness,
sadness, anxiety and ice-cream. I am
what you might call an emotional eater.
My weight in my 20s settled at around 160, so I have never been a skinny
mini, but as I approached 30 life brought more and more challenges, and I
started to eat my feelings. I turned 40
last year and didn’t really celebrate it, in the truest sense of the word,
because I wasn’t ready. Not not ready to be 40 – I didn’t care about
the age thing- no, I was not ready to be the centre of attention. Which, if you do know me, is a joke. I am the girl who sang, ‘Fame- I’m gonna live
forever…’ at age 10, and truly believed it.
I wanted to be a star – all singing, all dancing, all daahhhling. Limelight was what I lived for. Anyhoo. People
change. I have spent the last decade trying to hide, trying to avoid being noticed at all.
When my 40th arrived and it was my chance to be
the star- if only for one night- I declined the
leading role, and went for a very low key, family thing and a quiet
little lunch and a few afternoon cocktails with one of my beautiful besties. All my friends threw parties for their 40ths.
I didn’t understand myself, not feeling ready to throw myself a party, I mean,
what was I waiting for? Much
contemplation followed.
After rummaging around in my feelings and unpicking them, I
figured it out. My life had not turned
out the way I thought it should have. I
was feeling unsettled, because at 40, my actual real life bore no resemblance
to the one I had imagined years before.
I thought I’d have it all together by 40. Er, no.
My life had been on hold.
I had been so busy with the kids lives that I had stopped living my
own. I had been exhausted for
years. I hadn’t been looking after
myself. I was out of shape physically
and spiritually. I was totally depleted. My idea of fun was a Chinese takeaway and early
to bed. I had no career, no job. I couldn’t (and wouldn’t, even if I could!)
call myself a housewife, since I did no housework, and some days, I wasn’t even sure if I was a
wife, since I had very little to offer that he seemed to value. Even worse, I found I didn’t really care
whether he valued me or not. There was a
lot of resentment, that I had the shitty end of the stick in our marriage. When all your energy (hardly any at that) is
used up just getting your kids up and off to school in the morning, there’s
nothing left for anyone else. I felt
underappreciated and angry. More on that
another time maybe. I just wanted to get through my day, with the
kids fed and in one piece, so that I could get to sleep. This was not living.
And yet, when I was 18, I thought I wasn’t thin enough, or pretty enough, or anything enough. At 18, I looked to the future with hope that one day (and definitely by the time I was 40!) I’d grow up into the person I thought I should be. I felt sad, remembering this not-enoughness. If only there was a way to get a message from your 40 year old self to your 18 year old self – DAMN, would I give that bitch a talking to! And I realised this: that one day, twenty-odd years from now, I will look at photos of myself at 40 years old, and think I was gorgeous. As I am right now. And it suddenly dawned on me, OH MY GOOD GOD, I have just spent my entire life not doing things that could have been fun, because I thought I wasn’t this enough or that enough – what a RIDICULOUS waste.
So I thought about the things I had always wanted to do, and
set about doing them. Not major things
to anyone else, maybe, but exciting for me.
I wrote my articles for the freebie mag, started my blog, went to see
Adam Ant (it was like I was 9 years old all over again!) I started volunteering at my kids’ school,
which I love. And I got busy looking
after myself. Eating better, sleeping
earlier (if not all night!), getting some exercise and chilling out. Listening to ‘Love Action’ by The Human
League really loud on my ipod. Singing
in my kitchen. Pinteresting. Reading.
Listening to podcasts.
Meditating. Power-walking around
my neighbourhood like a loon. Smiling at
dogs and waving at babies. Planting
sunflowers. Tweeting under an alias. Humming in the supermarket. Living my life! I’m fortunate to have had the time to do
these things this year. After being at
home with the girls for these past nine years, I decided that I deserved a year
off to do whatever I wanted to do, even if that was only napping.
Have the kids suffered because I put myself back onto the to
do list? No, of course not. Is life now perfect? Is it chuff.
In many ways life is as shite as ever.
Money-wise, we have had an awful year.
And recently there have been extra challenges to overcome, in that I am
now a single parent Monday-Friday. I
have to make my own tea and everything.
But it’s a healthy tea. While the
kids are in school, the house still doesn’t get cleaned, but that’s because I
am busy pounding the streets of my neighbourhood, working up a sweat and a good
few endorphins, blasting my ears with fabulous 80s grooves and feeling like I
am in the video. I feel so much better
for it. And I lost some weight too.
Win-win.
Mamas, put on your own oxygen mask first, before helping others. If we diminish ourselves by ignoring our own
needs, there’ll be nothing left of us worth having by the time we are in a
position to really give back. Fill your
own cup first, so that you can nourish others from the overflow. Just go, ‘Wooooooooooooooooo!!! I’m doing it!!!’ Not everyone will like it, some people will
slag you off behind your back or even to your face – so what??? You might make an arse of yourself - again,
so what???
In the words of Hunter S. Thompson, “Life should not be a
journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well
preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, in a cloud of smoke,
thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, ‘Wow! What a
ride!’”
If your question is 'Shall I?' Then let the answer be a resounding YES.
What are you doing for yourself today?
