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I Remember When

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I remember when I found out I was pregnant with you and I remember exactly how I felt to know I’d get to be a Mom. I felt excited, relieved and proud.

I remember when you were born. I remember peace, joy and pain.

I remember seeing your dimple for the first time and thinking you were the cutest, sweetest little thing – alien-like and all – that I’d ever seen.

I remember when you had months of cholic and I remember feeling helpless, exhausted and defeated.

I remember when you said “Mama” for the first time. That was pure love, pride and awe.

I remember when you became a brother and met your sister for the first time and I remember seeing your gentle soul instantly love and cherish the role of “big brother”.

I remember when you started preschool for the first time and hated it, so I remember pulling you out knowing you weren’t ready…WE weren’t ready.

I remember when you had your first day of kindergarten and I remember the MOMENT you let go of my hand and toddled away with your teacher and class, Cars backpack and all. That moment was simply bittersweet.

I remember when you believed in Santa, the Easter bunny and the magic surrounding it all. I also remember when the magic changed and I remember feeling sad to watch that magic go.

I remember all the days, the crafts, the sports, the concerts, the growth, the friends, the foes, the learning you did in elementary school.

I remember when we used to laugh at how dramatic I’d be when we imagined you starting high school. I would pretend to sob and throw my arms in the air and cry “My baby! My baby! He caaaaaan’t be going to high school!”. And, you’d laugh and giggle and call me “so silly”.

I remember when you used to answer “It’s a beautiful day, Mom” when I asked you what kind of day it was.

I remember when you struggled. I remember when you panicked. I remember when we didn’t understand all you were and all you are. I remember feeling hopeless in moments and constantly in awe of your strength.

I remember when we became a team that no one could beat. No one.

I remember when you continuously showed me the strength you have within yourself to get on the ice after battling and battling. I would sit in the bleachers, depleted. And I remember you – out there shimmy-shaking, smiling and letting me know you were okay.

I remember when I realized how much stronger you are than I am. And yes, yes you are.

I remember when you started middle school and I remember feeling proud of you but also terrified for you because, well, middle school is weird.

I remember when you started talking about friends I didn’t know and feeling excited for you, if not just a little left out of your life.

I remember when you stopped calling them “playdates” and started calling them “hangs”.

I remember when you stopped calling me Mommy and you called me Mother for the first and last time. Mom or Mama will do, son, I ain’t no one’s Mother.

I remember when you dyed your hair and didn’t care what others thought. I remember feeling proud of you once again.

I remember when you taught me to be open about talking about autism, mental illness and all the things people usually shy away from. I remember the moment of acceptance and releasing any stigma I had because YOU ARE THE COOLEST and why shouldn’t we talk about anything and everything?

I remember when you made me laugh with your sarcasm for the first time and I remember realizing just how very funny you are.

I remember when you hugged me and had to bend over to do so for the first time.

I remember the laughs, the tears, the frustrations, the joy, the wonder of these first years of your incredible life.

I remember feeling like I was the luckiest person in the world because you chose me to be your Mama.

I remember when it was your last day of middle school because that day is today and although yes, I want to throw my hands up in the air and hold you tight, I also cannot wait to watch you create more memories. I cannot wait to watch you become the person you’re meant to be.

I remember when I thought the days were so long and that high school was so far away. But the years are short, your life continues to march on and aren’t we unbelievably lucky for that?

I remember thinking “I wonder who he’ll be” when you were born and in this moment, I could have never ever EVER have imagined the memories you’ve imprinted in my mind and the complete and total love and respect I have for you and the person you are.

I remember when I celebrated you and your life and all you are – I remember when because that moment is exactly right now.

I love you to the moon, around the stars and back to your heart – and yes, I remember when we first started saying that to one another; you were two and I remember hoping we’d say that to one another forever. And we do.

I remember when…

All my love,
The luckiest Mom alive

My Son is Autistic and No, He Doesn’t “Look” Autistic

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Last year, we found the piece of the puzzle we’d been missing for my son and I’m going to share that with you today, with his permission.

If you’ve followed our journey at all over the past 7 years, you’ll know my son manages severe panic disorder, social anxiety and generalized anxiety disorder. LIKE A MOTHER F**KING rockstar, might I add.

Last year, we were struggling. Panic attacks had come back full-force, my son started to miss more days of school and signs of depression were written all over his sweet face. Your neurological system can only be in fight or flight for so long before it shuts down and then – well – hello, depression.

We managed to get in to see our psychiatrist, as I thought “He’s grown A LOT the past few years, I bet he needs to increase the dose of his meds or maybe we need to switch them up or something?”. Bear with me, I’m still learning every day about mental illness.

Our psychiatrist is THE BEST. I’m so grateful. My son and I met with her, they chatted awhile, they agreed that he had grown A LOT since his diagnosis two years prior (13 and almost 6′ tall) and an increase is meds was definitely needed. My son was then asked to leave so the doc and I could talk.

The next conversation changed our lives.

Doc: Lindsay, I’m going to ever-so-gently float an idea out for you that I’d like you to consider.

Me: Um. Ok. Always. *gets nervous because…wtf*

Doc: Have you ever considered that your son may have Autism Spectrum Disorder?

Me: *jaw drops*

Me: No. Not at all. He’s social. He has loads of friends. He plays sports. He does well in school.

Doc: Oh yes. I know this. But, I’m wondering if we’ve been so focused on his anxiety that we’re missing a piece of his puzzle. I wonder if he may be on the spectrum?

Me: I really don’t think so.

Our psychiatrist then went on to ask me a list of questions like:

  • Does he focus on one subject for awhile and speak mostly on it for month or so? Yes.
  • Does spend time trying to understand why his peers are acting a certain way? Yes.
  • Does he often fixate on a problem he is having and is unable to let it go for weeks at a time? Yes.
  • Does he worry and wonder why he doesn’t “fit in” with his peers? Yes.
  • If an issue arises, does he fixate on that and does that cause him anxiety because he doesn’t understand what he did, what went wrong or why someone might be irritated by him? Yes.

Oh. My. God.

Wait. How could we miss this?

When I talked to my friends, his teachers, his counselors, everyone…and I mean EVERYONE had the same reaction. “No way”. I’d then ask the questions to them the psychiatrist asked me and everyone immediately changed their answer to “Oh wow. How’d we miss that?”.

And so it went. We went on to get him assessed and the results were that yes, my son has autism. And holy shit, looking back, of course he does.

How’d we miss this puzzle piece?

Simple. We’re not superheroes and we cannot think of everything. I berated myself for months for not seeing this sooner. I could have been more patient over the past years. I could have been less frustrated. I could have yelled less (you know – lack of patience and all). I could have been a better Mom.

But no. That’s not right. We ALL missed this. And that’s OKAY. We got that puzzle piece now and it allows me a new perspective. I see his beautiful mind and I also see when he’s now not understanding his social disconnect.

We call it his Greek brain when he’s not really understanding a social cue. I’ll say “O, your Greek brain is on, you might just have to let this one go” and sometimes, that’s the permission he needs to let that go and not fester and worry on a situation. This has exponentially decreased his anxiety – at least I believe it has.

My son is also very open about his autism. As he is with everything about his mental health. Again, he’s a F**KING ROCKSTAR.

I do have to say though, he gets a lot of pushback from his friends when he shares that information.

“No, you’re not.”

“Shut up. No way.”

Mostly, people don’t believe him or they think he’s joking.

We were driving in the car a few weeks ago and my son made a comment about his autism and his friends said “Wait, you weren’t kidding about that? You really are?” and I confirmed with the friend that he wasn’t kidding and we all had a little chuckle. His friend then said “Huh. Cool. I thought he was just really funny”.

I saw this quote the other day:

If you’ve met one person with autism, you’ve met one person with autism.

-Unknown

I like that. Because autism has a spectrum of behaviours. No one autistic person is the same. What I would like to do is encourage you to continue to learn, as I am, about autism. I’d like to encourage you to teach your kids to not judge or refute a diagnosis when a friend shares this information. Teachers, too. We’ve had pushback there, too.

Assessments are there for a reason – for diagnosis. So, if someone has been through an assessment and they are on the spectrum, please don’t refute that with them. If someone is diagnosed with ASD, maybe just say: Cool. Is there anything you need in support or how does your autism affect your life?

Truly, it’s that simple.

Autism doesn’t have a “look”. I stared at my son’s beautiful face for 12 years. I knew him inside and out. Until I didn’t. Until we found that missing puzzle piece. I’ve always had a son with autism but now I know it and now I can honour that.

I hope you can do the same.

Anyone Else Got a Case of the Blahs/Fatigue/Overwhelm/Grief/Hope?

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You know those moments when you don’t really know how you’re feeling so it’s like you’re feeling everything? I don’t know whether I’m depressed, covid-fatigued, life-overwhelmed, sad, missing my Mama, hopeful for our future or what…but damn…today I can’t seem to pinpoint how I’m feeling in this world.

I’ve spent the past two days trying to nail down my emotions and dive into my actual thoughts and feelings but I think what I really need to do is write it out. I haven’t written for awhile, so perhaps this is the therapy I need.

I write this for myself but, always an over-sharer, I’ll most likely post it on the blog for the haters to hate and lovers to love. I’ll listen to both because – well – I am who I am.

I hate Covid.
I hate the rules.
I hate not knowing what’s okay and what’s not.
I hate overthinking every tiny thing.
I hate my impatience.

I worry about peoples’ mental health.
I worry for my kids and their mental health.

I’m overwhelmed by all the emotions I go through each and every day.
I’m overwhelmed by all the emotions we ALL go through each and every day.

I ‘m done with the negativity.
I’m done with judgement.

I love science yet I worry about what’s right and wrong.

I miss faces.
I miss smiling at people.
I MISS HUGGING PEOPLE.
I miss my Mama.
I miss my Daddio.
I miss my ugly brothers.
I also miss traveling.

I love this extra time with my family.
It also drives us all banans.

I’m grateful to be healthy.
I’m grateful to be loved.
I’m grateful for good hair days.
I’m grateful for my daughter who randomly bakes the best cookies in the world.

I hate the days when I don’t feel anything.
I hate the days when I feel everything.

I’m hopeful for my son and the puzzle piece we’ve found.
I’m proud of my son’s strength and determination as he moves through middle school.

I’m hopeful for my daughter and the light she brings to this world.
I’m grateful for her loud love and all-encompassing support.

I’m sick of seeing people not following health orders and seeing the numbers go up.

I’m tired of the blame game.

I hate saying “no” to my kids when they ask for sleepovers.

I hate this fucking pandemic but am grateful for the lessons we’ve learned.

I love my family.
I love that our family is a team.
I love our mornings all together – ones we wouldn’t have if we were rushing off to get to work.
I love working from home.

I hate working from home.
I hate the bickering.
I hate reminding my kids to pick up their damn dishes.
I hate the monotonous day to day.

I dream of this being over.
I dream of all-inclusive trips to Mexico to restore and rest.
I dream of hugging my friends and family.
I dream of our girls weekend away with loads of cheese and wine, yoga and surfing.

I’m annoyed all the time.

I have little to no patience.

I have all the patience in the world.

I have no idea who I am any longer.

I know 100% who I am.

Phewf. See what I mean – ALL OVER THE MAP!

Can anyone relate? Just me? I wouldn’t think so.

So, I’ll end with this: I could have written all day long about the things I I’m grieving for, the love I feel, the overwhelm that rolls over me or the gratitude I cherish. So I guess in those moments we need to pause and remember that maybe we don’t have to analyze all the emotions all the time. Maybe, just maybe, we can give ourselves some grace and just…feel.

Let emotion swallow us for a moment. Wallow there. Then look for the light within…the light you need to make it through. Then, hold onto the light and let it beam out of your heart and into your soul – if only for a moment. Take those small moments of light and let them lead us through this into a better, more understanding, more compassionate place.

Or not.

Fuck if I know. Sheesh.

Dear Parents: This Sucks & We’ll Be Okay

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Pandemic.

Before March 2020, if you’d asked me what a pandemic was I would know that it was global, not awesome and pretty tragic. Now, in November 2020, 8 months into a pandemic I 100% know that a pandemic is global, not awesome and extremely tragic.

I’m sure I was taught about the Spanish Flue in Social Studies in my youth but it pretty much went in one ear and out the other – much like my knowledge of Canadian history, it isn’t something I’ve retained in this brain of mine. But, I’ve read about the Spanish Flu now and yup – that pandemic sucked, too.

Spanish Flu: 1918 – 1920

I was doing a comparison – because don’t we all love to compare our suffering to others – and I came up with: (buckle up, I’m about to blow your minds) pandemics suck no matter when they happen. Sure, times have changed – but overall – pandemics change our lives on a global scale whether they happend in 1918 or 2020 – pandemics are horrible, horrible things.

As a parent, I must say – Covid-19 can suck some big balls. We all have pandemic fatigue – we’re tired of the rules, masks, social distancing. We’re exhausted from trying to figure out if we can go in so-and-so’s house or figure out bubbles (and who knew a cute word like “bubble” could cause so much stress now?!) because the rules change so often.

Remember when we could just…go out? Drop by? HUG? I see people shake hands on t.v. and I instantly flinch and think “c’mon, man…COVID!”.

WTF, Lindsay – get it together.

I must say our kids are handling this whole thing well, aren’t they? For now. I mean – my house is a bit of a shitshow – we’re battling depression and anxiety – parents and kids – so it’s a slog of mental and physical health check-ins on the daily.

I digress.

Listen up, parents:

Yes, this sucks.
Yes, we all hate this.
Yes, the rules are hard to follow.
Yes, working from home is hard.
Yes, going to work is hard.
Yes, making dinner sucks.
Yes, laundry still sucks.
Yes, kids are needy right now.
Yes, we, as parents, are needy.
Yes, outbursts from your kids are normal.
Yes, outbursts from your soul are normal.
Yes, feeling sad and missing your old life is normal.
Yes, not hugging sucks in the most suckiest of all sucky ways.
Yes, parenting in a pandemic is really FUCKING HARD.
Yes, you can breakdown.
Yes, you can shower cry.
Yes, you DO have to pick yourself back up each and every day.
Yes, you HAVE to be strong.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES. You have to do it all.

But parents, we’re going to be okay.

Quick idea though – how about you show yourself and others a little compassion? A little grace? Emphasis on the “YOURSELF”.

We haven’t done this pandemic thing before. So – yell and rage if you need to, then pull yourself together by any and all means possible – and live the next day.

We’re all going to need A LOT of therapy after all this but I figure if at the end of the day you’re still alive, your kids are still alive and you managed to find joy in the mini-moments – we’re going to be okay.

Find your mini-moments, parents….those are the moments that are going to get us through this pandemic and make it all…just…okay.

Childhood Anxiety – You Slippery, Fickle F**ker

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First and foremost, please know my son has approved this post. I would like to continue to honor and share his journey as I know our words have previously helped many adults and youth , and will do so only with his permission. As he grows, I want him to know that he has the power to help through sharing and educating – but should he choose to stop sharing at some point, I will honor and respect his wishes.

Quick review

For those new to my blog, here’s what you should know: I’m a Mom to two wicked kids, I used to own a business but now I happily work for others and I’ve battled my own mental illnesses in the past, present and most definitely future. My adorable and smooshie son was diagnosed with four mental illnesses at the age of 10: generalized anxiety disorder, social anxiety, panic disorder (this one is a real bitch) and depression (also a real sneaky shithead).

Anxiety & what we’ve learned

We’ve learned in counselling (about a year of it now), that anxiety is slippery and sneaky. We’ve learned we can shrink anxiety and worry, but we’ve also been educated that it’s always there, making plans and scheming how to take over again. Sneaky fucker.

For many kids with anxiety, Covid-19 was a blessing. No school, no sports, no problem. This was true for my son. He thrived at home. No panic attacks, much less worry, no depression. Now granted, for others, anxiety increased during Covid because well – HELLO GLOBAL PANDEMIC. But, for my son, it seemed to give him a chance to rest his neurological system, his physical body and worry was just a shadow of who he used to be.

Oh, FYI…my son named his anxiety “Dickson”. So, if I talk about Dickson, we’re talking about anxiety.

Fast forward to present day. School is back in session for us, full-time. Hockey ice times and now assessments are running. And Dickson is back and PISSED he’s been quiet for months. He’s now puffed up his chest like the total dickhead he is and forced himself to be heard, seen, felt and feared.

Panic has been back in our house now for a few weeks and it’s exhausting. My son has “high level” anxiety, says his counsellor. And when she says it, she looks at me like “Linds, babe – he’s got it bad. You’re not wrong that he battles – his anxiety is mucho mucho grande” – probably not those words – she’s a professional – but that’s how I read her face.

Panic attacks have occurred numerous times over the past few weeks. The fear and dread of seeing these come on for my son is all-consuming. I knew they would come. We all did. But DAMN, did we all wish he would be the one that it wouldn’t happen to. DAMN if we didn’t all hang on to the hope that maybe, just maybe, he was the kid to outgrow it.

Erm. No. Not gonna happen, Linds. Nice try.

DAMMIT.

So, we see Dickson coming – all puffed up, furious that he’s been ignored, DEMANDING to be heard, seen, felt and fear – and my son and I – we strap on the battle gear and stand our ground.

The difference now though is that these attacks are bigger, harder, tougher than before. Dickson is mad at being ignored and forced into the background so he’s grown, gotten sneakier, gotten stronger. The attacks are also bigger because now WE are mad. We’re pissed it’s back. So now we have panic AND we have rage.

That’s not good, fyi.

Hockey is a big trigger for my son. We can’t pinpoint exactly what it is about hockey, but currently if we mention it – my son’s anxiety “tells” begin. Dancing feet, tongue moving side to side, fidgeting – they show up. I strap on my armour of strategy and get ready to work with Dickson and basically tell him to “fuck off and leave my kid alone”. Dickson doesn’t want to listen right now. He ravages my son and leaves him exhausted, depleted, apologetic (that one kills me) and yup – pissed at the fact that this is something he has to deal with.

“Why me, Mom?”

Aw man, buddy. Because you’re strong enough to handle it? Because it’s actually a gift you’ll understand later – this sensitivity of yours? Because you’re a mother fucking warrior and will get through this?

Nah. I just say “I don’t know, pal. I would take it away if I could”.

Back to the subject of hockey. If hockey is such a trigger, why not just quit?

“Because I love it with all I am, Mom”.

Good reason. Got it.

And that has worked for a few years now. We agree to play hockey. Our family supports our guy as he panics and we cheer and shimmy-shake when he gets on the ice.

The big decision

But this year is different. Covid has added an extra stress to a place we don’t need extra stress and Dickson has taken full advantage of this and is running rampant through my son’s mind and taking over his body.

If I may just quickly: Fuck you, Dickson.

My son and I have had numerous conversations about hockey this year. My husband and I have, too. It’s a constant thought in our minds – is all this suffering worth it?

For awhile, from my son, the answer was yes. But recently, there’s been hesitaton.

I feel my son worries about letting us down, feeling like a failure, “letting anxiety win” and there are a few things he should know:

  • As long he does what’s right for him, he won’t let us down.
  • There is no failure when you make a decision based on personal health and happiness.
  • Anxiety isn’t winning, we’re just controlling it – that little beast doesn’t get the best of you, O, you get to control him and the decisions you make to shrink Dickson back down? – THAT is winning,

We are in assessments right now at hockey. We haven’t been able to get to any ice times yet because – because well anxiety/panic. A few days ago I let our son know he had a practice coming up. The immediate panic response was visible. As we watched tv that night, my son turned to me and said “I’m getting really nervous about hockey”, and so began our conversation on the option to continue on or to not play this year.

We left it at “Let’s just table if for tonight and see how you feel in the morning”.

That night at bed, my son let me know again that he was nervous. It was all over his face. I said to him “O, why don’t we just take hockey off your plate tomorrow and see how you feel after that?”.

The visible reaction was incredible. You could SEE the weight lift off his chest and he took the biggest breath I think he’s ever taken in his life. A moment later he said “Whoa. That was a big breath”. I smiled and said “Yeah, I saw that and I did the same, buddy”.

We smiled at one another in that moment of knowing and, our continued support of one another grew again. As I left his room that night he quietly said “Mom, I don’t think I’ll play this year”.

“Sounds good, pal. How does that feel?”

And we both took another huge, cleansing breath and he said “Those were some big breaths for us both. I feel good”.

So, friends. No hockey for us this year. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love the sport. It 100% doesn’t mean he’s given up on managing anxiety. It means he’s chosen to put suffering away and choose a path he can manage and as his Mama – I COULD NOT BE PROUDER of that hard decision he just made.

Most adults I know aren’t as mature when it comes to doing what they need to do for their mental health as my 11-year old son.

This year, we play basketball. Practice last night was “the best basketball practice ever”. There was some nervousness going in – but hey – everyone gets nervous going into their first practice of the year. That is normal anxiety.

I’ve had a lot of people asking how our family is. To answer – we’ve been through the wringer the past month – but we’re growing, learning and managing. We’re happy and supported. My son is finding his voice when things bother him and THAT is worth it all.

Thanks for being here. Thanks for supporting us. Thanks for caring and asking. Our journey is not over and together we can do anything. From supporting one another, to knowing I have support from my husband at home to knowing I have a ray of sunshine from my daughter always waiting for us – we’re okay.