Decisions. Here is another one. I pay $186 annually for this blog to be hosted. I write in it twice in three years. Now if I want an SSL certificate, it will add a cost of between $50-120 (depending on which level I choose- more decisions).
I have realised decisions seem to be great impediments to action for me. I deliberate extensively, in pursuit of the 'right' one. But how to decide on even the meaning or value of 'right'? The most efficient? (and how is that term judged, and who the judger?) The one that gives most benefit? (to whom? By what standard?). To choose becomes mired in the need to define, to understand, to analyse the whole basis of my value systems. To examine from where they arose, to question whether they still now serve me. To listen to the stories I tell myself and decide if they are worth repeating, or whether new ones would bear more fruit.
For those actions or processes to occur, I need vast amounts of time and space in which nothing else is required of my mind. Solitude, in peace and quiet, so that my nervous system does not have to strain against the overwhelming barrage of input that it is simply otherwise unable to filter adequately.
Louis was born five and a half years ago. I have posted about him twice, the last time at three months. The silence in between has been about nothing more than the sheer relentlessness of parenting, of losing the time and space in which to process the stories that have developed along the way. And nothing less than how to make decisions: about how to spend my energy and time - to what do I choose to give attention? This is a story about loss and also about gain and the decision I make now is to tell this version, in this way - so that some things will be said, and other things will be left unsaid. Leaving things unsaid jars with the perfectionist part of myself, the one that can't bear to leave undocumented, unexplained or unconnected every single iota that passes into my consciousness. And yet, I am doing it anyway, because otherwise the silence will continue and nothing at all will be said. Life is a series of compromises, if nothing else.
In losing that connection to/with my sense of self and my ability to expend much energy at all on anything else but sheer survival, I have gained a vast knowledge of my self. My new self - stripped down, pared back, bare bones, essentials. This new self, however, is still intimately connected to the old self, and a particular revelation uncovered in my present life also makes a new sense of re-interpreting stories of my old self. So that in fact I have reshaped much of my self evaluation through this new lens and as a result, once I made it through the mental health crises of years 2.5-4.5, I am much more accepting of who I am and more inclined to meet my needs with generosity and kindness.
Therefore, although the presence of Louis in my life created so much trauma as to almost tear me apart, it also granted me the gift of reassembling myself with new information, that created a much more identifiable and understandable whole than I was currently working with.
Louis was a 'difficult' baby. He ate all the time, he slept erratically. He needed to be strapped to me for security at all times. He maybe had colic or reflux or something that unsettled him and he could not sleep lying down for the first six months, which required I hold him and attempt to sleep sitting up. He did not sleep through the night until he was 2.5 years. My sleep deprivation levels were off the charts.
And yet, these years were easier than the following 2.5, when I may have got a little more sleep but the waking hours were even more fraught. Among many other discomforts, I was thrust into the world of mothers via playgroup (not my natural habitat). Louis caught every cold going and I caught them too. It was obvious our immune systems were not as robust as other folks, and whenever he got sick (which was 50- 75% of the time- and still is, by the way) his anxiety levels would rise, his OCD would get out of control, he would become demanding, aggressive, obstructive, oppositional in the extreme, and these behaviours were very draining especially when I was also ill and had not much to give.
You may well be guessing that things were adding up, and you would be right. To me, they added up to a clear case of Autism Spectrum Disorder, and so I began putting the wheels in motion for the diagnosis. Thankfully the process only took six months, mostly due to having excellent professionals on our side, and one who was pivotal to our cause (the psychologist) had been my friend since high school. At our first "take a look at this" appointment, Louis was 2.5, and six months later he had a diagnosis of High Functioning ASD level 2. By the end of that year (3.5) he was on a National Disability Insurance Scheme which gave us $13,000 a year to cover therapy costs and he began right away.
As I slowly unravelled further (still unable to spend much time in solitude and feeling as though I was literally being driven mad from it - at one point I was beginning to dissociate pretty badly), I also dove deep into adult autism blogs in an attempt to make sense of autism - what it was, what it meant, the myriad ways in which it could manifest, what you 'did' with it - and what I discovered was like an illumination from a lighthouse on the darkest night. It stood out like a beacon (of hope? of truth? of reality?) or a lightning bolt from the sky. Of course! Suddenly my whole life made sense as I realised that I am autistic too.
And there is much more to say, which will not be said in this post, and perhaps never. Many interconnected threads - of ideas, of examples, of explanations, of experiences. But this is the bare bones of that gap. Louis was born, he was (is) autistic and his behaviours were (are) difficult and demanding. I am autistic (though late to the memo) and my coping strategies (unbeknownst to me for what they were, being late to the memo) were dismantled by Louis' arrival and his demeanour and his ever-presence. I found myself in autistic burnout and with that revelation discovered the underlying explanation for so much of my life's experiences, and my interpretation of the world around me. From the suffering came the gift.
A new journey has begun, and I embark upon it as my authentic self.
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