30 Days of Truth-Day 03: Something you have to forgive yourself for

Nothing comes to mind. At all. Seriously.

This is not because I'm arrogant and unable to recognize my own faults, but because I so regularly screw up that forgiving myself is an almost constant inner-affair for me (see my Day 01 post). I think my friend, Leanne, at Writings and Ruminations articulated it best when she said, "Self-forgiveness is an ongoing thing... From our smallest poor choices to our life-altering poor choices, we are always in process of needing to forgive ourselves." So for me, I am being totally honest when I say that right now, in this moment, as I sit here wearing yesterdays t-shirt while sipping on a  tepid mug of french roast, I really have nothing specific I'm blaming myself for (except maybe a tummy ache from my latest choco-binge!). I've already forgiven myself at least three times this morning, probably eighteen times yesterday, and an estimated one-hundred-twenty-six times for the entire past week. (Remember, I'm the mom of a five and a seven year old... my patience is tested in copious amounts resulting in multiple failures). In looking at the larger picture, I have already walked through the process of pardoning myself for all the oh-so-stupid choices I made throughout high school and college, for the various ways I've let strangers down over the years, and for a surplus of other ways I've wronged people I care about.  I've forgiven myself for having a sometimes rather crappy walk with God (because he forgives me); for letting down my husband time and again these last ten years; for moving far away from my beloved Grandmother as she teetered on the edge an harrowing diagnosis; for failing to fully be there for my sister when she lost a newborn child; for allowing malignant distances to grow between myself and friends I had no intention of drifting away from; for not making a big enough stink about my irritable uterus during my first pregnancy resulting in a way-to-early birth and life-long challenges for my child (truth-be-told, that one still rears up and stabs me every once in a while); and for not "doing enough" with my kids  before they hit elementary school (which I've learned is actually a common reaction among all diligent moms when their babies hit kindergarten). Honestly, this list is monotonous and without end, and the point of this exercise was not to share what I have forgiven myself for, but what I have not forgiven myself for. All that to say, my life has been spent learning how to stand on the shore and wave when I miss the boat, rather than jump off the dock and drown. I've had to forgive myself so many times for both those small poor choices, as well as those larger life-altering poor choices, that the steps to doing so are immediately visible in my mind's eye when they need to be scaled. Often times, as soon as I take that first step, I start to feel better. For me personally it's prayer... talking to God, receiving his forgiveness first, then moving on to deal with myself. It's quite reasonable to assume that right now there is something lurking around in my spirit that needs absolution, but it's not surfacing at the moment. However, I promise to deal with it when it does! Also, I still have at least fifteen mistakes to make before the day is over, if I am going to uphold my average...

30 Days of Truth-Day 02: Something you love about yourself

Writing an entire blog post on what I love about myself is a completely foreign concept to me. It comes very natural to write about personal struggles, or even hopes and dreams. In the end, all of that usually swirls around to expose some personal achievement that I can be proud of. But to center myself enough to blatantly reveal self-satisfaction, just doesn't seem right. However, I know that self-love is one of the most important, if not the most important, step in learning to be real. And since the whole point of this exercise is to be real, I know I have to answer this. (I'm glad I only have to reveal one thing, though!).

This is initially going to sound incredibly superficial, but I am going to say it anyway: I love that I am a, lets see... I think the trendy phrase is "crafty person." Yes, I get called that a lot by people who claim not to be one. But honestly, I think they are all deceiving themselves... I mean, everyone has the ability to create. It's just that some of us choose to tap into our creative side a little more often than others; we explore it with more depth. And through that, we have discovered a love for producing things with our own hands and we've become addicted. Once the addiction grabs a hold of you, there is no turning back. You've become a crafty person--meaning your eyes are permanently peeled for ideas and when "free time" emerges, a battle erupts in your brain over what to do with it. (Typically, if you're like me, this will result in a huge, spontaneous mess, but you'll have a new "something" when all is said and done). Okay, okay... I admit some of us are, in fact, simply better at it then others. And obviously there are those who just flat out do not enjoy the creative process at all, they'd rather mop their floor or go for a jog (which I applaud, but do not comprehend!). Here's where you get into that whole right-brain vs. left-brain thing. We all have different strengths, talents, and pleasures, that's for sure. I fully recognize the perks of having a more organized, sequential, logical-thinking brain. So, if that's you... I think you are awesome and please don't be offended by this post for one second!

Having said all that, I adore my crafty little self! I love that nearly every gift I give is handmade; I love that I can buy a junky foot-stool at a yard sale for $1 and give it new life with a single piece of fabric and a staple gun; I love that I own a vintage suitcase filled with half-empty bottles of acrylic paint and that I see potential for a cute, rustic-looking sign in almost every scrap of wood I encounter; I love that you have to watch where you sit at my house because you never know when  stray crochet hook is going to pop up; I love that I own enough yarn to supply inventory for a small-scale vendor (but somehow I never have the style or color I need!); I love that I don't have to spend a lot of money to decorate and that nearly everything in my house has a story (i.e. it came out of an old barn, etc.); I love that I own a sewing machine (even though I have a lot to learn about it); I love that know how to turn an old sheet in to a bowl; I love that my kids don winter accessories stitched together by their own mommy;  I love that I have an entire closet dedicated to craft supplies;  I love that I wear self-made jewelry; I love that I borrow my husbands tools and use them for entirely different reasons than he does; I love that when I'm dragged into stores like Harbor Freight, I find things I need; I love that I own a button collection;  I love that my neighbor once asked if she could pay me to sew a button on her jeans and we ended up using my hot glue gun; I love that being out of play dough or bubbles is never a problem in our house because we know how to make our own and have the ingredients to do so; I love that my daughters bedroom curtains are actually shower curtains because I fell in love with the fabric; I love that friends contact me when they are pregnant--or know someone who is--because they admire my work; I love that when I pick up a basket with a wire bottom, I don't see a basket, instead I see something to nail on the wall and dangle earrings from...

 Being "crafty" is fun, incredibly rewarding, and self-satisfying. It saves you money (although, my sweet-heart would contest that statement) and it even has the potential to make you money, if you want it to. It certainly does take a particular disposition to be in harmony with the constant mess, the time consumption, and the inevitable mishaps that occur.  It requires flexibility, free-thinking, and the belief that there is no right or wrong way to do something. So while I started this post off with the trivial statement, "I love that I am a crafty person," I think it says a lot about me, as a person. The things I make are truly made with love, whether they are to be hung on someone's ears or on my own kitchen wall. It doesn't matter what it is; There are tiny pieces of me snuggled into everything birthed by the union of my hands and imagination, and I appreciate that about myself! I've discovered freedom in scattering bits of my soul out into the world...

30 Days of Truth-Day 01: Something you hate about yourself

A friend of mine is doing this writing challenge over on her blog and I decided to follow her lead. I haven't been writing much lately and I think this may be just the remedy for that! Writing prompts usually serve me pretty well (plus Leanne says she's learning a lot about herself through this process). So, here we go...

Something I hate about myself:

It's not hard to identify what I hate most about myself; I am constantly on damage control as a result of the issue. While hate is not a word to be tossed around, I feel comfortable using it when it comes to the discrepancy in my temperament: Yes, I have an anger issue that I utterly hate! My emotions ebb and flow all day long, just like waves on a seashore, only much less tranquil. If it weren't for this dark part of my soul, I would be nearly perfect. Okay, I'd remain far from perfection (very far), but at least I'd be a little closer and my poor family wouldn't get snapped at so much. The majority of people within my hula-hoop probably don't even realize that I struggle with anger. In fact, if they're reading this, they're probably thinking I'm full of bologna right about now. But trust me--it's there, lurking in the corners of my heart at all times, right along side of everything else I feel on a daily basis. I do a really good job of keeping it behind the curtain, unless you are super close to me. My husband, kids, mom, dad, and sister (people who live--or have lived--with me) could all testify to my inability to manage my words and actions appropriately once the gasket blows (and the gasket tends to blow rather hastily, unfortunately). As a result, I am a self-proclaimed Professional Apologizer. That just means I am really good at cleaning up my messes; Coming full circle and making things right after I've failed to love.  My husband and kids are incredibly understanding and they always forgive me for whatever beastly thing I've said or done, but man, is it hard to forgive myself! Even after I've confessed before my Lord and received his forgiveness, as well. I've struggled with this my entire life, and it's not something I am proud of. Whether it is inborn, environmental, hormonal, whatever... it's an affliction I have spent a lifetime trying to rid myself of with very little progress. The good news is, it's manageable--as long as I stay aware of it, constantly work against it, and balance it equally with love. It even provides me with some great "teachable moments" for my kids (but I still hate it!).

I am not an "angry person" in the sense that I don't hold grudges or stay mad for long. It's simply not in my nature to be resentful (or to enjoy being resented), so I will do nearly whatever it takes to "fix" things after a conflict. Growing up, I was the "peace-maker" in my family. My mother says I have a "peace-at-all-cost" personality. And she's right; Never mind the fact that I am often the one causing the problems to begin with! It's complicated, to say the least. But that's my thorn... I get mad fast, like greased lightning, and all rational thinking goes out the window for a little while. When all is said and done, and the thunderhead has rolled away, I am left wallowing in tremendous guilt and self-disgust until I am able to convince my soul to forgive itself one more time. But another test is always right around the corner for me and I often question God's plan for my life with words like, "God, why on earth would you make me--someone who grew up in a dysfunctional family and doesn't know how to control themselves--the parent of an Autistic child?" Or, "God, what compelled you to allow me the blessing of parenthood?... I suck at this. I am going to ruin my children's lives." But he always has an answer for me that involves personal growth of some sort. They say Satan hits us hardest where we are weak... well, I could be the poster child for that phrase! Anger is my weakness and I've got two wonderful, but ridiculously challenging kiddos. Coincidence? I think not.

So, I hate my anger. I want it gone. I want it removed from me as far as the east is from the west, and then some. But I don't think it ever will be, because it is by far the Lord's greatest work in me. It is what keeps me clinging to him and gasping for him like the very air that I breath. It's a part of who I am... a very ugly part, but a part none-the-less.

P.S. Obviously my kids don't see things quite the same way I do; It is not uncommon for me to stumble across things like this while cleaning up scraps of paper off the floor:

 Thank God for forgiveness!

Autism Moms and Stress

I didn't really want to title this post the way I did, but I wanted people who might benefit from it to be able to find it. Otherwise I might have called it something sarcastic, like, "Me? Stressed? Really?" Anyway, on with the point...

Did you know that I belong to to one of the most stressed out groups of people on the planet? It's true. Statistics show that moms in my shoes have cortisol (the hormone released by the adrenal gland in response to stress) levels consistent to those of soldiers in combat. Seriously. I'm not joking. This life-long chronic stress can lead to all sorts of issues for us--physically, mentally, emotionally, as well as spiritually. And, without going into all the pathological details of my own unstable physiology, I am no exception. The statistics are scary and they are true. Raising a child with special needs, more specifically Autism, is one of the single most challenging things any person can do--especially if they are determined to do it well!

I don't like to think of myself as a mere statistic, though, and I just can't help but wonder what the public sharing of this information does to people on a subconscious level. I mean, if no one tells us that we are supposed to unravel faster than a knit sweater in a kitten's claws, would we? On the other hand, it does bring a sense of relief. Just when I thought there was something really wrong with me, I picked up a book and found out that what I'm experiencing is "normal" for women in my situation. That doesn't make it healthy, but at least I can rest in the fact that I am not alone.

But I haven't yet said what I really intended to say. And that is the fact that just because research tell us that we should be experiencing unhealthy, chronic levels of stress, doesn't mean we have to let it manifest itself to the point of drowning. There are a lot of things we can do to  free ourselves from the impact of our hardships in an effort to have peace in our souls. In fact, research also shows that mothers of an individual with autism are just as likely to have positive daily experiences as those whose children have no developmental disability. (See my essay titled Diagnosed with Chronic Celebration for some deeper thoughts on that subject). Where there is great burden, there is also great blessing. You just have to look for it, allow it, and embrace it. It's there, I promise!

So, what are some things I, personally, do to keep myself afloat?

Here are a few thoughts just off the top of my head... they may sound simple, but they seem to keep me "somewhat" grounded, amidst the chaos:

• I remind myself every single day that both of my children are amazing
• I pray for strength, wisdom, and patience 
• I "cry it out" every once in a while. (Why not? It feels good)
• I've accepted that "it is what it is." (There comes a point when this little phrase is life-changing)
• I provide my son with plenty of growth opportunity, but try not to make him into something he's not
• I ask myself if he is happy... the answer is almost always yes. (If he's happy then shouldn't I try to be, too?)
• I have hobbies and I give myself permission to enjoy them whenever I feel like it. (Yes, I crochet, read, write, and craft... a lot. Is there any reason I shouldn't? The other day my husband joked that it seems like I have to do "something crafty" every day or else I'm grumpy. I realized he had a point, and then I realized if this is what I needed to do to keep myself sane, then so be it!)
• I pray for strength, wisdom, and patience 
• I've tried to stop comparing myself to other moms. (This is huge! We are all different and our kids are all different)
• I recognize that most situations are only as stressful as I allow them to be. Read that one again, please. Let it sink in...
  
• I allow myself to have somewhat of a social life and not feel guilty for it. (I worked hard to make a few good friends and I am going to work even harder to keep them!)
• I fully admit to cruising Facebook and Pinterest... a lot. Big whoop! They make me feel normal
• I pray for strength, wisdom, and patience 
• We have pets--one cat and one dog. Yes, they're extra work, but again, they make me feel normal
• I decided that reading books on Autism, ADHD, Sleep Disorders, etc. (pretty much any "self-help" type content) makes me feel incredibly overwhelmed, so I don't do it very often. I read online articles here and there; I keep my eyes and ears open for thoughts or ideas that might pertain to my son; I talk to people (doctors, teachers, etc.). But I don't submerge my brain in more information than it is capable of holding--testing the limits of my cranial threshold doesn't solve anything 
• I decided that my son doesn't need to be in therapy every hour of every day for his entire life.  Some might disagree, but there is a happy medium for these kiddos, and sometimes what we're already doing is enough.
• I've made a point to recognize the signs of my own individual "breaking point," so that I may seize the opportunity to walk away when I need to. Autistic kids are very difficult to discipline and there comes a point where backing down may be more important than winning the fight. I handle things the best way I know how and when that doesn't work, I give myself permission to bail from the situation. It's not being inconsistent, but rather it's avoiding a catastrophe that will leave me feeling guilty for the rest of my life. I ask you--what's worse? Please, moms, slam on the breaks on when you sense yourself spiraling out of control. (There will be plenty of other opportunities to practice consistency and follow-through!)
• I give lots of hugs, kisses, and tickles. We are very fortunate that our son loves touch, which is not typical of Autism, so I take full advantage of this! I guess I am saying, take what you can get and run with it
• I pray for strength, wisdom, and patience
• My husband and I spend a lot of time together...alone. Often all that amounts to is staying up late to watch our favorite shows. We are swimming against the current of another statistic which says that parents of kids with special needs have an extremely high divorce rate. Now that's a number I don't want any part of!
• I keep an open mind. For years I absolutely refused to even entertain the thought of putting my son on medication. When I finally reached the tip of my fraying rope and gave it a chance, it did wonders for him (and for me). Just sayin... 
• I am currently trying to change the way I eat. We all know--or should know--that our diet has a tremendous impact on pretty much all areas of our life. So, moms, eat healthy. I can't stress that enough!
• I take lots and lots of slow, deep breaths
• Did I mention that I pray for strength, wisdom, and patience?

I could probably add something new to this list every day for a month and still have more to say, but above all I have come to abide by one simple rule: DO WHAT WORKS FOR YOU/YOUR FAMILY! It really is the only way to parent--and that goes for raising any child! I fully believe that we choose whether or not to be happy each day. In fact, I hung a sign on my living room wall recently that reads: "Today I will choose joy!" My husband laughed and teased me, "um, are you going to abide by that now?" (After all, he sees me on my grumpiest of days!). I told him that I hung it on the wall as a simple reminder that it's my choice. I may not always make the right choice and there will always be those days when I feel utterly helpless, broken, and out of control. I'm not gonna lie--I break down quite a bit. I don't handle this life nearly as "wonderfully and beautifully" as friends often compliment me for, but there has to be balance. There has to be. By doing/remembering some of the things I mentioned above, I am able to find that balance and apply it to my overall existence. I'm still a part of the incriminating statistic I first mentioned and I don't think I can ever avoid that, but at least I can try with all my might to be a part of the group that comes out the other end alive and well... with a husband and children who are alive and well at my side!

By the way, I love this song--check it out: 

A Valentine's Day Blessing

Have you ever been in the presence of small children and elderly people at the same time? It's astonishing. Older folks literally light up when they see kids. It's one of my favorite circumstances to find myself in (which happens to be quite often since I am a Mommy!).  This morning I got to witness first hand the love and joy that bubbles up when young and old come face to face.  My MOPS leadership team, with children in tow, headed over to a local retirement community and passed out Valentine cards and treats.  As one of the few members of the team with older children who are in school, I was blessed with the ability to simply tag along and greet residents without the distraction of parenting duties. I use the word "blessing" strongly because nearly the entire time my consciousness swirled around the beautiful effect my friend's kiddos were having on the individuals opening their doors to us. It was a heart-warming observation and one I will not soon forget. Each person received a hearty "Happy Valentine's Day!" as they answered the unexpected knock, and then several tiny hands shoved cards at them while us moms offered a festive snack. They were recognizably overwhelmed, but in a good way, and their eyes were glued to the babes. A few of them invited us in and it was hard to decline, knowing they probably don't find themselves having much company. But overall, one thing was clear--their days were made! And it was certainly not because of me or my friends standing at their threshold with a plate of pink cookies, it was because of the two-foot-tall angels hovering around our knees, giggling and looking up with curiosity.  I can think of several reasons why a person who has lived the span of four generations would appreciate the face of a child, but my intuition suspects that somewhere deep inside, they remember what it was like to be one, and they miss it. I think that for a brief, bitter-sweet moment, being in the presence of kids sweeps them away to another place and time and they feel young again. To be completely honest, I can't imagine gazing through eyes that have beheld nearly a century's worth of life, but I hope that when I do, someone will place a sprout upon my lap, that I may remember where I came from! 

 My 5-year-old daughter and her 84-year-old Great-Grandfather

 copyright © Veronica Johnson

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and whoever "they" are,  I'd have to say I agree with them.

When I was twenty-years-old I found myself in the most serious relationship I had ever been in with a boy. Up to that point, no "love" relationship of mine had stretched beyond the span of two or three months. But suddenly, my boyfriend and I were coming up on our one year anniversary... it was new territory for me and I panicked.  Through a course of circumstances we ended up going our separate ways. But not for long! The break-up was temporary--a sort of soul-searching, month-long "pause" in our relationship, and it was exactly what we needed (well, it was what I needed) to realize the magnitude of our attachment to each other. We have been married for nearly ten years now and I find it uncomfortable to be apart from him for more than a couple of days. That's just one example of what absence will do for the heart. Another is how each week-day afternoon, starting at about three o'clock, I can't seem to take my eyes off the clock for more than a few minutes at a time. That last hour of waiting for my little boy to get home from first grade really drags. Kindergarten is a breeze, they are home before you know it... but man, after that, it's a looong day for kiddos. And for Mamas, too! A major highlight of my day is greeting him fresh off the bus and getting my afternoon squeeze.  

I also know the expression to be true because of the way my walk with God is constantly shifting and changing. When I drench myself in the word, or in prayer, after a dry spell, I fall madly in love with him all over again. Why I am ever "out" of his word or not in constant communion with him, is beyond me... but it definitely leaves me parched and desperate for his voice and touch. So when it comes, it comes with great affection. I wonder if he feels the same way about me? Lets see... 

For the Lord your God has arrived to live among you. He is a mighty savior. He will rejoice over you with great gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will exult over you by singing a happy song.  Zephaniah 3:17  (Note: Exult means to be joyful, delighted, elated, jubilant, overjoyed, cheerful... while exalt means to elevate. We are talking about the first word here, just to be clear!).  

When you read this verse within context, it is basically talking about what God does when he renews his love among his people, e.g., he sings a happy song.  So when I pose the question of whether or not the Lord rejoices over me when I admit to straying off and humbly "come back" to him, I'm going to assume the answer is yes. He's pretty smitten with us, dear friends, especially when we've been distant and he's able to catch our attention, even if it's just for a brief moment. Nothing brings him greater joy than being in the presence of his beloveds. As human beings, I know we can relate to that... at least, I can. 

The not-chosen piece

The following is a story that I submitted to Chicken Soup last summer for their upcoming book called "Chicken Soup for the Family Caregiver's Soul."  I submitted an inquiry in December to ask about the status of my piece and was told that authors of chosen submissions would be notified through-out the month of January. Seeing as how today is February 1st, I have no choice, but to assume my story will not be included in the book. No worries. I'll keep trying. I am actually quite pleased with myself for the basic act of getting off my derriere and actually submitting something. That step, in and of itself, holds a lot of purpose for me.  So, here's my story... and I'm stickin' to it:

Diagnosed with Chronic Celebration

copyright© Veronica Johnson

When my 1lb 14oz. son blasted into this world like a freight train at just twenty-five weeks gestation, I knew right away my life had been drastically changed. But what I didn’t know, at first, was that I was about to gain an entirely new prospective on what it means to celebrate my child’s milestones. I suppose the celebrating commenced when he miraculously survived his untimely birth and the many challenges that came with his four-month stay in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. We started early intervention services (i.e. tons of therapy) upon bringing him home from the hospital, and so began a perpetual wave of celebration. Landon, now six and a half years old, has a diagnosis of mild Cerebral Palsy and an Autism Spectrum Disorder (accompanied by high energy, impulsiveness, and a remarkably brief attention span, I might add).  When you roll up all of these predicaments into one little boy, I would be lying if I said we didn’t face a myriad of daily struggles, however, I can’t allow myself to tell you that without also making sure you know he literally does something (several things!) worth celebrating every single day. As his primary care person, I am known to be just as enthusiastic about the correct pronunciation of a word, or an entire bowl of cereal eaten independently with a spoon, as I am about the rare night of uninterrupted sleep. By the way, you have never seen true celebration, until you have witnessed the mother of an autistic child dance around a toilet bowl while practically in tears. We are still working on this issue, but I have never been so excited as the first (and one of the few) times this determined child relieved himself in the preferred receptacle! When we finally see the day he does this on a regular basis, I assure you, there will be a party in his honor. Perhaps a Potty-Party? A Burn-the-Diapers Party? Call it what you want, but we will be eating cake and donning silly hats. The point is--I keep my eyes wide open for any excuse to shout with joy! One of the best things about this stream of jubilation that takes place in our home, is it provides the entire family with the encouragement we need to remain positive and keep moving forward, despite the fact that our family is on a unique, and often very frustrating, journey. I believe the best “medicine” I can provide my son amidst his struggles, is to congratulate him on even the smallest achievements and let him know that I am proud of him, even for something like taking his dinner plate to the sink without getting distracted by the car magazine calling his name from the counter.  It’s these small day-to-day accomplishments, piggy-backed by the occasional sizeable over-coming (like the first jump in which both feet finally came of the ground!), that remind me why I didn’t hesitate to sacrifice my cash paying job over six years ago to give my son the full-time attention he needed. The return for this job is much more valuable than money! I can’t imagine not being the one to assist with the majority of his needs, or not being there to cheer as he leaps over hills and scales mighty peaks. As with any permanent disability, there has been, and will always be, a slew of hurdles to overcome as Landon presses through daily life as if it were an obstacle course. However, I can attest that the suffering found in the hardships is no match for the blessing found in the steadfast celebrating!