Failing

I wrote a bit about my inner critic always calling me stupid and how it was the sharpest pain of all my self sabotaging attempts. 

I also told you about how I was able to trace it back to being called stupid and an idiot for my entire childhood and adolescence.  How I was able to recognize that the people who called me this were also calling lots of other people stupid and idiots. 

Those words and names cut me deep.  Because I believed them. 

Since I did bad at school I thought I was an idiot.  I was unable to learn and also had no interest in it.  I was lost on education. 

Fast forward to age 35 and I now realize that being called stupid and an idiot repeatedly was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. 

When you can push past looking like an idiot and assume that you are going to make mistakes, it really takes away the risk. 

You are more apt to try new things. 

You've tried and failed and tried again. 

You truly grasp that it's a numbers game. 

You can't keep trying and not find something that works. 

There is no fear of failing because you have failed, and you know it's not a game ender. 

Studies (I can't recall them but have read convincing ones cited by Tara Mohr and Grown and Flown) have shown that kids and adults who have succeeded and/or done well on tests and were then praised immensely for it are less likely to make attempts at something more difficult because of fear of getting it wrong.  That people that are used to succeeding are more negatively affected by failing at something and more fearful to try something new, or push the envelope, in the future. 

So be it verbal/emotional abuse, or ego, that is keeping you from attempting new things let this recovering idiot assure you, it is so worth the risk.

Post-Partum

When the little one was 6 weeks I packed him and the 3 year old up and drove up to NY to visit my parents.  I needed help.  Ryan was working 6 days a week with a crazy schedule and the instability and lack of being around humans was driving me batty. 

The effort of packing, driving, stopping, pumping, not being at home, the water (NY has hard water...on skin and my tummy) it wasn't the respite that I fantasized it to be. 

Not that my parents didn't try to help, or in fact help a lot, it was that I was very hands on and extremely paranoid. 

Looking back on it now I know how hormonally imbalanced I was after the birth of both boys. 

I never thought of hurting myself or them but I thought others would. Intentionally. Like bad. The places my mind went was pretty unbelievable and frightening. 

Sleep deprivation, improper nutrition and I believe PTSD from the traumatizing delivery from the first birth experience really did a number on me. 

Because of how supportive and "there" Ryan was during the birth of both babes he was the only one I completely trusted with the boys.  Thank God for that.  I can't imagine how much more difficult it would have been had I not trusted him and tried to do it all on my own. 

It was weird.  My brain was weird.  Hormones are weird.

Many people have told me over the past few years that making that trip and the many solo trips that followed was so brave.  It wasn't bravery, it was me running to my parents because the only thing I could do was run. 

Although it was more work to get there and be there and come back to an empty home, it was reassuring to be with my parents because they had survived 4 kids of their own.  

And I do do (hahah) brave things now because in those desperate times I started a pattern of running towards safe people and places and somewhere along the way my hormones balanced out (well for 26 days of my cycle) and I truly grasped that it is all going to be ok.

The scenarios we can come up with are way worse than what can ever happen to us on the path.  So start trotting! 

Numb

The boy is coughing.  The last time he coughed I started him on albuterol every few hours as directed by an ER doctor. 

He sounded like crap the next day and told me he wanted to go to the hospital so I scheduled an appointment.  His pediatrician wasn't in so I got someone else. 

The same doctor I had when I slammed my hand in the car door and had to literally open the door to get my hand out.  As in, my hand was freaking stuck in the door.  Ugh.  Anywho, I saw her the day after my hand incident (after the advice nurse said I should go in) and she kind of mocked me for going in although there wasn't any bruising or swelling.  My hand. A door. Ouch. 

Ok, this isn't about me.  It's about the boy. 

So I tell her I'm concerned about my son because he was saying he wanted to go to the doctor and get the red medicine.  Also how the previous times he's told us that we've ended up in the ER.  She checked him out and said all we needed to do was continue with his morning and evening breathing treatments of budesonide. 

That was a Tuesday or Wednesday, by Friday he was very bad.  I scheduled him the earliest appointment available.  On the way to the doctors my neighbor and I backed out at the same time.  We smashed into each other.  I was hysterical.  Luckily Ryan was home so he came out and dealt with the neighbor who was more than understanding that I needed to get to our doctors appointment.

We were there for hours getting treatments and brought home the red medicine.  We'd taken him off the morning and evening treatments through his pediatricians guidance because we thought he had winter asthma but turns out he's got not just one season asthma.  We'll keep him on the morning and evening treatments until we take him off again and see if he ends up in the same situation. 

After this latest stint I saw a friend I hadn't seen since before September of last year, his first asthma attack.  She and I hung out a lot when the little guy was an infant and early toddler.  Before I sobered up.  While he was colicky and I was in constant pain from my 7 botched epidural attempts.  Forgiveness is about him.   

She saw me watching him from the window.  She said, "You really have a soft spot for him now huh?". 

I started to tear up as I told her how traumatizing it is to see him gasp for breath.  To not know if he's going to die when we are lying in bed, in the back of an ambulance or in a hospital bed.  That no mother should ever have to deal with that feeling, especially repeatedly. 

How the families I know whose adult male children who had serious health issues as a child are enabled by the moms...and I get it.  I can totally empathize.  I've felt what they have felt.  How I feel like those men that have little ambition, are addicts and completely enabled were put in my life so I wouldn't do the same to my son. 

Although I'm fucking terrified, I will do my best to push my son and not let him use his illness as a crutch or become lazy and complacent.  I will attempt to help him improve his lungs and stamina and whatever the hell else needs help all while treating him like his brother. 

All these things I will attempt.  For his benefit.

Asthma sucks.  Colds suck.  Not knowing sucks.  And not being able to escape it sucks.

A very moving quote from Brene Brown I saw on a Playing Big sister's perfect photo of the ocean: "Numb the dark and you numb the light" 

I believe writing is my light and I've been numb for a while, too long.  Hopefully I'm back.