I just can’t post much here, currently.
It’s a struggle, which you already know if you’ve been following the sporadic posts of late.
I’m still living and thinking and hearing all the news from Jack’s world. But my thought processes are not very uplifting at this point in time. Things are hard and emotional, for no particular reason. Just all the million ongoing reasons.
I posted on Instagram last night about being exhausted and LOATHING (the actual word I used) special-needs parenting. Then I took it down early the next morning because it seemed too drastically honest and *not positive.*
If I have a “brand,” it’s probably something like “Whoa! Check out this bonkers life defined entirely by special-needs parenting. Also, trust Jesus.” And if indeed that is my brand, I don’t know how to move forward in it.
I still trust Jesus. I’m still parenting kids with special-needs. But I am in a dark place, hedged up by weariness, emotional fatigue, PTSD, my kids’ neuroses, and Jack’s omnipresent behavior issues (which are at a distance now, but are still just as real, pressing, and consequence-filled).
I lie awake for an hour or more every morning around 3:00 am. It’s as though this is the only time in a 24 hour period when I am still enough for all my worries to sneak up and catch me unawares. And my hip and glutes hurt from all the physical therapy I’m doing in an effort to stop my back from hurting. I guess you could say I’m consumed by emotional and physical pain in my early-morning mind-churning sessions.
I’m filled with rage at the ongoing battles between me and kids whose autism-born rigidity is controlling my life. I’m frustrated at the messes and the belligerence and the executive functioning deficits which result in every jacket, coat, scooter, backpack, toy, and pair of shoes being lost. Always.
I’m tired of being the recipient of all of my children’s angst when things in their lives don’t match their inner expectations.
Maybe this makes me selfish. I don’t feel inspired or filled with wisdom from these experiences.
I feel weighed down, gray, flat, and irritable.
And this, Reader, is why I’m not saying much here.