Interrupting My Distraction

A couple of days ago I felt like my agitation with everyday life had reached it's tipping point. Not so much with my family as much as with everything else. There was this constant tightness that rested just beneath the surface in a tense little ball of swirling irritation, nervousness, and sadness that sat in my chest. I knew I needed to do something different, and since Facebook seemed to always make that ball grow, I thought that I needed to take a break from it.

So here I am on day 3 (I think it is?) on my Facebook break. I have checked in twice now at the notifications to be sure I am not missing important messages from the sales groups I belong to, but since I had not I didn't read any of the other notifications. I have not checked in over 24 hours. I do have a few items for sale, so I probably should soon, but I am almost enjoying my small hiatus.

You may be wondering if that ball of tension has reduced since I have taken a Facebook leave of absence. It has, but not really. It has shifted, and it has dispersed into a ton of tiny emotions, as if the ball were made of glass, and it had cracked, and shattered. The pieces went into different directions, and landed in different places, each with their own meanings assigned. As each hour passed I began to feel the significance of each shard of glass from the tension ball.

I began to notice where the pieces lay, and the shape, and sizes of each. As the hours turned into a day I began to feel the ache of piece where they lay inside. I struggled for a distraction, but my usual go to was not available. It was as if I had been using Facebook as an external distraction of my own pain, anguish, upset, anxiety, and every other emotion one could ever feel.  Without it I started to examine all the pieces of glass from the ball of tension I'd been carrying for their significance. I realized that a lot of my inner turmoil was something I may have been projecting

Are You a People Pleaser?

Have you ever found yourself in the middle of explaining your reasons for not doing something, or apologizing for not being able to oblige someone else's wishes with your heart beating, and sweat building on your forehead? You can feel their disappointment, and it feels awful. If you're speaking to them the look on their face, and skillful interruptions may guilt you into caving. If it's a text based interaction the breathing space may allow you enough room to escape the guilt enough to stick to your convictions.

If any of that sounds familiar, you may be a people pleaser, or perhaps just someone who is socially gullible in a sense. Maybe, a good mixture of the two.

There's a lot of ways a person can arrive at the role of being someone who falls prey to pushy people who tend to take advantage

Embracing Awkward

"You're the coupon lady," the sales clerk said as he walked past me in the store. I looked up from my coupon book confused by sudden conversation. "I see you on FB."

"Oh. Yeah, " I mutter. "It's my thing."

"Hey! Gotta save, right!" He says. He knows who I am, and chats with me every time I go into the store when he's working.

As I finished shopping I waited for the familiar shame of one of my weird interests being noticed to come up, but it didn't. Maybe, a slight embarrassment trickled in. A slight wonder of how the people in our small community perceived me definitely came up. There were worse things to be known as as than "the coupon lady". For instance, there is a lady known simply as "the crazy lady". I know it isn't nice, but it's how she is known in our town. I certainly didn't give her the moniker.

I did feel a bit exposed, as I always do when people call attention to one of my interests, or hobbies that I find out of the norm. I don't have too many interests that are pop culture, so many of the things I do are solitary activities off the beaten path. Even my favorite television shows are not what other people are watching, and I watch very few movies. It can feel a little scary sitting out there on my own, sometimes not really part of any group. These common threads are often what builds friendships. I don't have anything to add to topics of television shows, musical artists, and movies I have never heard of.

The few days following the store incident I kept going to back to what happened. I wondered what might have been different with me in that an incident of that nature in the past would have made me upset. I would have taken it as an insult, and as if the person was making fun of me. I would have avoided them in the future, and probably would have cried after leaving.

This time, I felt

We're All Transitioning

The day before yesterday was my middle son's high school orientation. Since he isn't my first child it's not my first time going to one. I thought there would be nothing new for me to learn. I know this is the beginning of high school for my teen, and it's time to be thinking about what they might like to be doing after they graduate, so they can be on the right path with all the best credits under their arm in four years to be off to the best start. I know this, and I've heard all this. I prepared for boredom of the long speech I knew I was about to endure.

At the beginning of the meeting the principal always asks for a show of hands if this will be your first child going into high school. Then, he always asks if it will be your last, and applause always follows for those parents who have done their dues, and are sending their last child off to high school. Bubby raised his hand.

I was confused.

I spent most of the rest of the meeting trying to understand why it was that he had raised his hand. He is not the youngest child.


I surveyed the room.

Once while we were leaving one of my daughter CJ's event's my husband leaned over, and whispered, "Please, tell me we don't look as old as these people." referring to the other parents. We didn't. Since we had CJ at such a young age we were a couple years younger than most of those parents. But, this set of parents? We were about right in line with. Some had on Vans, and other styles that nostalgically reminded me of my 90's days. Unlike CJ's peer's parents no stupid questions were asked, and each, and every one looked as eager to leave as I was. I was pleasantly surprised at how short the meeting was turning out to be!

I also wondered which parent belonged to the shitty kids who had been picking on my Bubby. I wondered if they knew that their kid was shitty to autistic kids in school for fun, or if they'd care. Probably not, since from what I've been told the main child acts the way he does because "he's spoiled".

My eyes gazed over the upper levels of the school where the classrooms, and lockers were. I wondered how Bubby will do here. I wondered how much different it will be to middle school. I glanced over to the vice principal who used to hold another position at the elementary level, and made Bubby's life a lot worse than it had to be. I worried for more than a minute about that scenario.

I think our road to sitting there in that big, open cafeteria planning out high school classes was so different than most of the other kids who occupied that space. It was a long journey that didn't seem that long. It didn't seem that long ago that he was in kindergarten. The educational environment is so much different now than what it was ten years ago when we started out. Only one teacher believed he was autistic, and only because she had a child like him. They all chose to believe that he was just difficult, some chose to believe that even after he had an official diagnosis. Things have really changed drastically in the last several years in relation to what people think autism is, and isn't.

So, the meeting ended, and I kept wondering what the hand raising I mentioned earlier meant. Then, later than evening it hit me after I got home. Bubby is the last child to go to high school in our home.  Beans is home schooled, and even if he weren't he'd not go to a high school. If he were enrolled in a public school due to his level of need they'd have him in life skills, or some similar classroom, but there would not be a meeting about classes for him, or college, or anything like that.

My heart sank a little.

Spaghetti Sauce and Gaslighting

I would bet that most of you (if not all) reading this have read articles online about gaslighting. You've probably seen all the signs of it lined up neatly in bullet points, and yet felt like you still were unfamiliar with exactly what it was, and how it applied, if it even did, to your life. At least, that is how I always felt when I read articles like that. Sure, they felt familiar, but I don't generalize well. I need examples. Exactly what does it mean by gaslighting? How would that look in a real life interaction?

The other day I was making some dinner with a can of sauce. I always make my own, so I was nervous it wouldn't taste the same. That's when I recalled this story you're about to read, and realized that it is exactly what gaslighting means.

Several years ago my family went to go visit my parents. Must have been a good thirteen years, or so ago. I was in the kitchen helping my mother prepare dinner. I could tell she was in one of her strange moods, because nothing seemed prepared, and she seemed to constantly forget what she was doing. She had planned on having spaghetti, but the store had run out of the regular spaghetti sauce that she normally buys, so she bought another kind to try. She said this straight out in the kitchen in front of my husband, and I, because she was hoping she would like it. We get dinner made, and tables cleared off so we can eat.

We are all sitting there eating, and all is going great, until my father has his second bite. She knows it's coming. She has to know. We all know. He is really picky about his food. The texture, and brand, ect... It can be frustrating to deal with a grown man who has so many issues with food, and his hissy fits about it, but still....

"Is this sauce different?" he asks.

"No." she replies.

My husband looks at me as if he needs to verify what he just heard.