I Think My Get Along Button is Broken Too, But That's OK

Being the parent of a child with complex needs is hard work. It is often draining and exhausting. I am like most humans on this earth, I crave social interactions. I desire to have meaningful relationships. I, like my daughter with autism and bipolar disorder, want to have friends who understand me. I have known for years that my daughter's "get along button is broken." She can make friends just fine. Keeping and maintaining those friendships, however, is difficult for her.

I'm discovering that I am more like her than I want to admit. In the past year, two of my very closest friendships have ended. I wish I knew what to do differently. Some of it, most of it, is beyond my control. Since my daughter has more needs than her typically developing peers, we have to miss out on many events where I can foster those friendships. Just this spring a dear friend of mine invited me to her son's play. We bought the tickets and looked forward to going. The morning of this event was a difficult morning for my girl, so I contacted that friend and we stayed home. My friend was gracious and understanding. From her viewpoint, that was no fun as I am sure she really wanted to see us. She was a proud mom and wanted us to celebrate her child's success with her. Then in April my daughter had a brain tumor that required my full attention for several weeks. I had to miss out on being a support to another friend who had foot surgery. I wanted so badly to be able to cook for her and take her to doctor's appointments. It never happened. For that I am sad. Still another friend had to go out of state to attend to her extended family. I really wanted to help her pack or bring her a care package. That didn't happen either. I am failing my friends.

 I'm not failing my daughter, though. Often I am on the phone, attending doctor's appointments, emailing my child's teacher or figuring out insurance snafus. When my child is home, I cannot leave her unattended. Although she loves people, peopling can be exhausting for her so we adjust to her schedule and her needs.

I have been told that my focus is too narrow. I only talk about my kid. I have become something that I never wanted to be; one of those parents who talk incessantly about their children. It has become ad nauseam.

Here's the thing though: If your child had cancer, wouldn't you do everything in your power to save them? Wouldn't you stop at nothing to find a cure? This little being who I love with every fiber of my being is depending on me to help her.

If I abandon her so that I can nurture my friendships, then I am a failure as a mother.  I am sorry that I cannot be the kind of friend that my friends need me to be. I'm not sorry that getting my daughter launched for life, leaves little time for anything else.

Society will pay for the alternative. If I don't step up and become a warrior mom, my daughter will look elsewhere to get help. She could very easily end up as a pregnant teen or a drug addict. She could even end up committing suicide. My due diligence is to raise her up to be a productive member of society not one who is a detriment to it. Unfortunately, this requires more of me than the average mom.

I'm not going to stop trying to be a good friend. I just might not be able to be the kind of friend my friend wish I was.

If you are a friend to a mom of a special needs child, please know that she is grateful for your friendship even if she has trouble showing you that. She may never be able to reciprocate that friendship equally. Thanks for understanding that and for loving her in spite of this.

One thing that I have learned from my daughter after all of her failed friendships is to never give up. There might be someone just around the corner who I have just not met yet.

When a Mommy Friend Understands What It’s Like to Parent a Special Needs Child

Many parents of special needs kids talk about how they need people to be supportive of their situation. I find that especially true since I am a parent of a child with the dual diagnoses of bipolar disorder and autism. Having a child with these invisible disabilities, ones where a child looks like a normal child, but responds to her world very differently from most, can be very isolating. I’m happy to say that I have found a person who is not related to me by blood, but who has embraced my family as her own.

This afternoon I was at my best  friend’s house sitting around her kitchen table chatting with other moms. Eventually the topic of children came up. One thing led to another and I found myself telling the other moms our story.  One mom in particular wanted to know how my daughter was diagnosed. She also wanted to know what were the signs that something was amiss. Before I could even speak up, my best friend spoke and explained things so eloquently. She told of my daughter’s sensory issues and mood swings. Another mom who has met my child uttered the famous “But she doesn’t look autistic!” line. My wonderful friend rose to the occasion and replied, “That’s just it, you might see a child like Princess in the store and think, ‘Boy, that child is a brat!’” She went on to explain how everyone needs to be more accepting of children like Princess. People need to show kindness not judgment.

 As the conversation progressed, and I shared more of our story, I couldn’t help but be grateful that my best friend truly “gets it.” She understands the challenges my child faces on a daily basis. She knows the lengths that I have gone to to get my child the help that she needs. She even remarked, “I knew that Cate needed a friend who would stand by her side. I decided to be that friend.”

As the afternoon turned to evening, I gathered my things to head home. On the way out the door, I told my friend how much I appreciated her support. Her response solidified what a great friend she is, “If people are going to come to my house, they need to know how to support you. If not, they will not be welcome because you are my family.”  That is the sign of a true friend. I may have shed a tear or two on my drive home.

My Best Friend and I

A Failed Suicide: My Story

In 2012 I was in a really dark place. I had a bully boss who was micromanaging my every move. I tried to measure up to her high standards, but I could not. I don't think that I would have ever been a good enough teacher in her eyes. In March of that same year, I contemplated suicide. I wanted the pain to stop. I erroneously thought that my life would be of more value if I were dead than if I were alive. I was driving on the 55 Freeway and figured that if I drove fast enough, I could smash my car into another car and end it all. Fortunately, I chickened out.

Let me take you back to the day that led to these horrific thoughts.

A few weeks prior to my failed attempt and months after months of harassment, I was working hard to become a better teacher. One of the things that I was asked to do was to have a mentor work with me to create a plan to improve my craft. My mentor and I decided on a few days where she could come help me. We notified my principal in writing of all of these days in sufficient time.  That particular day I planned on teaching for an hour then working with my mentor for a few hours and end the day collaborating with my colleagues. Apparently, my principal forgot about the days because the morning in question I was greeted by the office manager who asked me why I needed a 1/2 day sub that day. I informed her of the plan and told her that Mrs. B, the principal, knew of this plan. I went on my merry way, because it was almost time to get my students. About twenty minutes later, Mrs. B. burst into my room. She called me over and in front of my students lambasted me about the situation stating that I did not have prior approval as stated in the Teachers Who Need Mentors manual. I reminded her that I had previously turned in paperwork with the dates that I would be working on my improvement plan. A paper that she signed and approved of. As she walked out of the door, I stood there flabbergasted. I could not believe that I had just been yelled out in front of 30 five and six year olds. By my supervisor no less! I'll never forget the look of horror on those scared little babies' faces. One of them piped up and said, "What was that all about?"
I collected myself as best as I could and then returned to teaching my precious students.
A month later as I was recounting this story to my therapist, she wisely noted, "I bet some of your students see their parents act like this on a regular basis. This event just further traumatized them"
When the substitute came, she could sense that something was amiss, but told me to get on with my day. She would figure out what needed to be done.
I tried to calmly walk out of my classroom as I went looking for my mentor. As luck would have it, there were no empty classrooms that we could work in. I did not want to work in the teachers' lounge because I feared my bully would interrupt our planning time to yell at me again. We decided instead to go to my mentor's car to work. A few minutes after we got situated, my phone rang. It was the school, they wanted to know where I was. My bully had sent out the office manager looking for me, but she couldn't find me. For the record, I did not have to tell anyone my whereabouts. My students were cared for. I could have gone off campus if I wanted to. It probably would have been more comfortable instead of balancing my notebook and laptop in the front seat of a compact car.
When I answered the phone, I could hear my bully screaming in the back ground, "You tell her to get back in campus right now. She needs to return to her students. She does not have permission to work on her plan today." I immediately gathered my things together and reported for duty as my drill sergeant had requested. I stuffed my emotions for the third time that morning.
Whether I followed protocol or not, it is never Ok for an adult to yell at another adult in the presence of children. I will never know the impact that that day had on my students. I only know the impact that it had on me.
For days after that event, I was unable to sleep and started to lose my hair. Then one day on the way to work as those scenes flashed through my mind, I became overtaken with anxiety. I could not breathe. I parked my car, called the office and told them I would not be working that day. I then drove home in tears. The incident on the 55 Freeway happened a couple of weeks after that.
I could not see my future. I could not envision returning to that hostile environment. I knew that my family needed me to provide for them because at the time I was the primary breadwinner. I thought the only was out of this mess was to end it all. After those scary thoughts,  I arrived at my friend's house. I told her what I had been thinking. She encouraged me to speak to our family therapist about those thoughts. Later that evening before I left her house, my friend made me promise not to act on my thoughts.

When the therapist heard my story, she encouraged me to speak more to a psychiatrist to see about taking some medication. So I did. For over a year I took medication and I saw a counselor until I no longer was in that dark place. One of the things that my counselor told me was that children whose parents commit suicide are more likely to commit suicide themselves. I could not imagine my daughter killing herself, because she knew that's what her momma had done when things got rough.
I am forever indebted to my friend and my therapist for talking me out of that dark hole. I am also grateful for medication that was available to me during that time.

**I did eventually return to the scene of the crime so to speak, but things were never the same. I'll write about that experience in a few weeks.

An Epic Meeting

After the AACAP Legislative Conference, which you can read about beginning here, my daughter and I stayed an extra day in Washington, D.C. seeing some of its historic sites. That afternoon we left D.C. to head to Virginia for more sightseeing the next day. The evening that we arrived at our new hotel we met up with my blogger friend Julie from Ketchup with a Side of Autism.
Julie drove down from Maryland and greeted us in the lobby of our hotel in Virginia. We had planned on having dinner at a nearby restaurant. As we were leaving the hotel it started to drizzle. I debated about running upstairs to get my umbrella but at Julie's suggestion I decided against it. After all, the restaurant was just around the corner. How wet could I get?
Julie used her powers of persuasion to convince Princess to try this little Italian restaurant she'd seen. Princess's first and only choice had been McDonald's, but she agreed to try something new. When we got inside the restaurant, Princess was thrilled that they had gummy bears in their reception area. She put a few in a cup and followed us in. Princess happily played on her iPad while she ate her cheese pizza as Julie and I chatted. I could sense that Princess wasn't exactly keen on Julie that is until Julie offered to help her pick out a dessert.
After we'd had our fill of both food and talk, Julie asked us if we'd walk her back to her car which was within walking distance. Unbeknownst to both of us, that darn car moved itself or else the parking garage moved. We spent the next two hours getting soaked in the rain while looking for the blasted car. We asked several people who worked at the mall where Julie parked her car where the elusive garage was. We followed their directions explicitly, but we were only following a rabbit trail. I was pretty worn out from all of the walking we had done earlier in the day so I was a little slow. Julie, however, was on a mission. Princess was caught in the middle. She kept asking a panicked stricken but composed Julie to slow down and wait for her mother. I felt bad that I couldn't keep up and Julie felt bad she couldn't find her car. Julie is a passionate person, but she kept her cool in all of this because she knew that if she lost her shizzle that Princess could lose hers as well. Since Julie's daughter is Autistic, she knows that would not have been a good scene for anyone. Besides I'd left the Ativan back in the hotel room. If I'd had it, I'm not even sure who I would have given it to.
At one point, Julie suggested that Princess and I go back to the hotel since we knew where that was. I told her that I could never live with myself if we left her to fend for herself and something happened. I remembered the military phrase, "No one gets left behind." Unbeknownst to many people, Julie has gone to bat for me on more than one occasion. What kind of friend would I be if I left her when she needed me most?
Finally, Julie was struck with a lightning bolt of an idea. She pulled out her iPhone and entered the address on her parking stub into her maps app. Neither one of us had even thought of that idea. Once she had the address and Siri talking to her, we found the car in no time flat. We all piled in and she drove Princess and I back to our hotel.
As she drove, I shed a little tear because in some small way I had repaid a little of the kindness this friend has shown me time and time again. Or maybe it was just a raindrop from my non-waterproof windbreaker. We'll never know.
 I'm happy to report that Julie made it back home safely to her family. I made sure that she texted me when she got home.
Princess learned a valuable lesson in perseverance that epic night. I learned that I am blessed to have people like Julie in my life. What did Julie learn? The Mother of all Ketchups learned how to how Siri and I are her best friends.

Here's a picture of Julie and I before our epic adventure