I got the potty-trained regression blues
My kid’s pissin all over
the places I snooze
This shit could not be fun-er
An outright hazmat summer
regression blues!
(Cat puke reprise)
It’s morning, and I’m lying in bed, alone in my thoughts…for now. The kids could wake up at any moment. Once they do, it’s game over solitude/calm/sane for the rest of the day, about 13.5 hours. I’m trying not to be cranky, going inward, mind matters (and not the other way around). Instead of counting my blessings, I actively admit to spirit that I don’t understand the way right now. Im tired AF. I would give almost anything to lie in bed today.
Before kids, those days were regular occurrences, F it, do nothing but ‘be’ days. Try to mix some time-wasting, the distraction of entertainment, with some solid reading, writing, listening to music while staring at the window, things that stir the soul. Or maybe making art, making food, meditating, moving my body, stretching, making love. Regulation, relaxation, recovery. Ahh.
Days like that are relics of the past. I know, not forever, but long gone and long until re-discovered. I had one, exactly one, as a gift this year, but let’s be honest, a mother’s mind doesn’t just turn off. I don’t mean to be pessimistic. My life is beautiful and privileged, I do feel this way often. We have a lovely home, a fridge full of food, two personal vehicles that run, bodies that can feel good. To some I might sound ungrateful, complaining about ‘my time’. After all, the gift and responsibility of a child is a choice, whether made actively or passively. And mine were active choices despite all things, easily desired, easily conceived.
Little cherubs, they came to me. Loved beyond measure, I was willing to sacrifice essentially all of my time and attention to them without question for personal balance. Attachment parenting (rather militantly), figuring I would get to the ‘balance’ component naturally, eventually, age three being a major milestone in security and individuation (my youngest will be three this November). To me (and my highly social children), it’s a good time to start preschool, mommy’s proper break, Val’s triumphant return! But it’s been a long time to go mostly without, nonetheless. My eldest is six and a half. I didn’t mean to space my kids almost four years apart, life just happened. So I’ve been in the trenches.
Other things I didn’t expect: the obvious I suppose. That they would be like me/us. And I didn’t know myself, not nearly a sliver of what really made me tick. I had ticked off a requirement box in my mind, years of therapy ‘completed,’ major symptoms of mental illness healed. Ha ha ha. That’s the rub with kids. You go right back to your unhealed upbringing emotionally, that which stems from physical memories, a full embodiment of all that was and all that is, returned before you. Stirring the mud from a settled body of water. “Deal with this!” your inner child screams. Looking at other families: why is ours different, why is this hard? From new awarenesses to new diagnoses: ADHD kid (spouse already knew he was), ADHD+ mom, ‘neurospicy’ family. WTF does that even mean? Different wiring. Living like a plant growing in an exotic environment, comparing itself to natives, wondering why it can’t thrive.
High needs. Sensitive, emotional, sensory issues, nervous systems looking for constant stimuli, anxious, provoking, then overwhelmed, exploding, shutting down. Mostly typical traits in child development, yet intensified in frequency and duration. More and longer sleep issues. Pickier eating. They say being a parent to young kids is akin to an active-duty-solider stress-wise. A ride one can’t actually prepare for. And when you are also on this ride within your own body, re-parenting your inner child, undiagnosed til now, masked hardcore for a lifetime…oh my darlin, giddy up!
What would I be without a devoted partner? Jell-o. An involved mom? Mince meat (so gross). A babysitter with the patience of a saint? Higgeldy-piggeldy (yep). Understanding family and friends? I would be a hodge-podge of mush, nonsense, and evisceration. I couldn’t do it. My children are so amazing, so brilliant, so easy to love, yet my nervous system matched to theirs makes me a hot mess of panic regulation too much of the time. I do want to be a great mother above all, I don’t care how old-fashioned that is.
So forgive how much I complain, I’m working on it, please instead notice that I’m doing the work, every single day for years on end minus my two surgeries and the one afternoon I was in the hospital with covid (but thought it was Mercury poisoning). I signed up for this under whatever subliminal circumstances, biological proclamations, and logical fallacies. Im doing it full force, with heart. I tend to be all-or-nothing, and I’m not running away from the biggest role of my lifetime. But a little more downtime sounds !!
So how to cope when life gets extra complicated (injured spouse, emergency bills, blah, blah)? History shows I am adept at depression. Oh, really good at that. Staying in bed was ‘it.’ But not an option anymore. And I’m not actually depressed I realized. Just burnt out. Parents get burnout innately. And now I know I have an extra layer called autistic burnout. It’s like regular burnout but with the ‘stylish’ eccentricities of ND, the subtleties for which I have neither the time nor patience to explain. It’s when my (yes, too rigid) tendencies and preferences can’t be honored (they almost never can now) and I struggle to stay regulated for extended periods of time. If a routine gets broken, I have to start over with a flawed executive function. I still haven’t figured out a new routine for summer break and I’ve been in it for…6 weeks.
Someone I follow on IG explained the difference between burnout and depression, which is actually super helpful to understand: feeling like “I can’t” vs “I don’t want to.” Burnout is just plain broken down. The desire ‘could’ be there, but the mind and body’s ability is spent. Parents of young kids know this particularly well. Putting out fires all day, keeping them alive and fed let alone engaged. Depression is when motivation has outright left, desire is destitute. And this can happen from extended burnout. I’ve been there a few times. One must toe the line carefully and attempt to replenish in fits and starts. Writing ‘mad’ poetry could be your thing, it’s one of mine!
I fear myself crossing over that threshold and I dig deep to stay above it. Mental mind games are my speciality. I practice leaning into the autistic when I need to be repetitive (which is a lot), and adhd when I need to entertain the kids. Not that it’s that simple or easy, I just have specific cues I use, questions I ask myself, memories in my mind, to spark a train of thought that carries me down the path of routine or spontaneity. They aren’t always available though when I need them. It’s not a ‘superpower,’ just another trait that has survived evolution, purposeful, but with limits and side effects.
What I want to use more of is a sense of humor. Life itself sure has one. It can seem cruel or mocking, the cat puking right in the middle of the room you just cleaned up piss in for the second time while the kids threaten further chaos in your peripheral as guests are supposed to arrive. But I gauge my mental health by my ability to laugh (lots of ASD people have a great sense of humor). That’s a full-spirited presence to me. Most kids sure have their humor intact; they are still close to creation itself, having come out of the mystical life-portal only two winks or so ago.
Where does humor come from, what shapes ours? I feel that mine is distinct due to the macabre, a closely felt sense of death and the void that looms under us and seems to close in at sleep and darkness. I like the witty and absurd, a cross between the two is great. The sitcom Fraiser is a favorite and one of my obsessions ties them all together nicely I feel, Twin Peaks. Self-depreciation comes too easy, I’m trying to be nice, but usually don’t mind the expense for a laugh, that’s much more valuable than ego.
Watching my kids play with each other (when they aren’t fighting!), I’m reminded of the hi-jinx my sister and I created together growing up, getting completely lost in fantasy, play being one of life’s great ecstasies. We would tape our own comical radio shows and commercials on cassettes, create mini ‘zines like ‘dump truck press,’ and later, in our teens, record skits with friends on vhs like ‘le bistro skit’ where an old woman in a bad wig sits down at a cafe to order food. After applying layer after layer of pink lipstick on and around her mouth, she is served, only to discover hair in her soup. Drama of course ensues, she is ‘flabbergasted’ and demands to speak to the chef. I enter stage left, in my own ridiculous black curly toupee piece and paper mustache, an Italian chef with a bad accent and an old-fashioned hand drill to fix the soup. Riveting stuff no doubt! But still gives me a chuckle when I need one, staying power.
How do you pull laughter out of nowhere when all air seems to be leaving the room? I’m not sure, you have to want it at least a little. It can come from different places. Watching a show or movie may be a go-to. Personally, I might use a song to move things. Any good song starts to shift my energy to a more open space. The annoying music my children prefer can either send me over the edge or, without noticing at first, gets me humming along, realizing it IS fun to eat ape-pulls and ba-nay-nays. I laugh at myself singing about garbage trucks or being a Pokémon master with some kind of emotion. Making a goofy face seems to be a helpful transition from glum back to playtime chum. Movements of the body are very revelatory; I recall following the Laughter Yoga movement by Dr. Madan Kataria many years ago, his emphasis on exaggeration and just showing up, get moving, fake the laugh til you make it.
I’ve always measured health with the questions ‘how well are you sleeping? How well are you eating? How well are you playing?’ I think ‘the work’ will take care of itself after those are met. My red flags are insomnia bouts, throwing away vegetables I didn’t cook, and being a sourpuss for days on end. I get the most traction by tackling the latter first.
We could stand to take play more seriously. Dare ourselves to look or feel foolish more often. Behold the little ones, our own inner children, for guidance on what moves and tickles us. And do tell, what is tickling you?