Because Life is pretty mixed

I always notice when the kids around me turn 10. I notice how different my life was than theirs and I remember what it felt like for me. Too often I wonder what it could have been like, what it could have felt like if God had rescued me, if He would have protected me more viscerally. No birthday is more pungent than my 10th.

It was my first sunrise, the first time I watched it that is. At this point in my life, my 10th birthday, I had seen many dawns (you know that point where the darkness breaks into the light). But I had never seen the sun actually rise.

It wasn’t glamorous. But it was beautiful, meaningful. Meaning is one of the most beautiful things to me. It leaves purpose, reminders, a marker as a way of processing and reframing difficulty with joy. That sun rise has stayed imprinted to my memory my entire life. I have not seen another since that day, that really difficult day.

I don’t recall my birthdays being special or well celebrated, but my mother tried. If anything, she tried hard with what she had and I am grateful to her for that. Each birthday she’d take me to get a cappuccino from the local gas station. She loved coffee, and of course, I admired her.

As a kid, it felt special to drink this sugary caffeinated beverage. IT. WAS. THE. BEST. And my mom would sit and drink it with me, just the two of us, on my birthday. Perhaps it was only 10 minutes, but for a shy, quiet, chronically sick child who felt like the center of every financial and marital problem, 10 minutes of time focused on me was a luxury. And I looked forward to it. It was the best gift.

It had been a hard night that eve of my 10th birthday. Our house became unsafe again. My mother gathered myself and one of my younger sisters into the car frantically. It was the dead of winter in New England, a snow storm. We didn’t have shoes on, not even pants. And our car had been the undesired benefactor of my mother’s husband’s anger: another smashed windshield and caved in roof.

But she drove us in that car anyways, frantic to get us somewhere safe. We slept on the side of the road. My mom, too afraid to draw attention to where we were, needed to keep the car off, and therefore the heat off. My little sister, 6 yrs old at the time whimpered in pain from the cold. We interlocked arms and I held her, trying to keep one another warm. I pulled her in under my big night shirt and we stayed like that, both unable to sleep in our pant-less, shoeless, painfully cold skins.

And as the light broke into the darkness that morning, I watched the sun rise from our smashed in car roof above my head, the bright pink and purple bursting through a light snow fall. I watched the dawn of my 10th birthday. And I made a mental note to never forget it. To never forget what it felt like. The bitterness and the beauty. The mixed.

As I sat up, I breathed in the terribly cold air as it stung my lungs, felt the snow that had slowly accumulated around us, the tender pain of freezing limbs, and I thought, “this is God’s gift to me. This is so beautiful.”

You see, I didn’t grow up being taught much about God or Jesus. Mostly they were only cuss words. But I hoped that there was a God and that He would save me, and help me, and cry for me.

And when my mother woke and brought us somewhere safe and warm, I could see it in her eyes that she forgot it was my birthday or perhaps it was too painful for her to acknowledge. There was a coldness in her, too, as if the winter night had seeped through her soul.

There were no cappuccinos that day, no gifts, no cake. No birthday.

My 10th year of life was one of the most challenging I can recall. But all these years I’ve held onto that sunrise, the only one I’ve ever seen, as one of the most beautiful pictures in my head. I felt as if it was God’s gift to me, a reminder to hold tight, He was coming. He would rescue me. The people around me hardly knew I existed, but God did.

As my ten year old self sat watching this sunrise, I had never been so excited for light in my life, so excited to see another day. warmth. hope. All of it. And I decided then that I refused to inflict the same pain I received on others. I wanted to be like the sunrise, not the cold, bitter, winter night.

My tenth birthday was a day I won’t forget. And I hope that someday I can watch the sunrise again and experience that hope and beauty once more, with someone in solidarity to share the meaningfulness of it with me.

We don’t always get the things we want and need in this life. We make it. We survive. We learn to thrive and get by at times. But then there are moments amidst the pain, shock, confusion, betrayal, whatever at may be, that God sends us reminders that He’s coming, that there’s hope, and that joy really will come in the morning. Sometimes we just have to hold tight and wait through the winter for it. Unfairly, unjustly so. Because life is pretty mixed. It’s both bitter and beautiful, empty and full, painful and passion filled. And I wanted to hold the meaning, this gift of imperfect beauty, in my mind forever.

FMF:TEN

And when a season turns unexpectedly into years, you wonder if you will ever accomplish anything, let alone your dreams.

I recently watched my first college graduation. I felt sad and excited. I knew some of how much it takes to get a college degree. I knew some of how hard this journey had been for her, the ups and downs, the starts and stops of college life, financial pressure, adulthood coming at you too fast, requiring you to take a break in your education for a season. And when a season turns unexpectedly into years, you wonder if you will ever accomplish anything, let alone your dreams.

I watched her, them. All several hundred of them walk in their dark blue cap and gown. Saw families and friends and a whole lot of excited people celebrating.

There were flowers. I overheard people discussing celebratory meals and graduation parties. Blue gown after blue gown that walked up the stairs, across the stage, and down the stairs. College graduates.

I did everything right. I went to college 12 hours away from where I grew up to get out of my comfort zone. I worked hard and had most of my undergraduate education paid for. I received outside scholarships, high school scholarships, federal and college scholarships. I worked in college. I spent my weekends traveling in ministry. I worked summers, I interned, I graduated with a 3.8 GPA. I was sick. I was constantly under pressure to figure out how I would provide for myself. Where would I stay for winter or summer break during those college years? Would I be alone during the holidays? Did I want to be alone? Who’s family photo would I take on Christmas day (because they always ask the “guest”, who’s not in the family, to take the family photo. Please stop that.).

I never got to walk in a cap and gown. Never received that graduation picture or party. I did graduate from college, twice actually. Almost three times now. But I never got to celebrate it. Never had anyone cheer me on.

Recently a relative commented that they had no idea I even graduated, let alone with nearly two master’s. I’m not sure anyone even knew it happened. I was a wallflower. I walked a quiet path.

Looking back it seems like one of the more challenging obstacles I faced wasn’t completing a degree. It wasn’t 20 page papers written during the weeks of hospital stays, blood transfusions, IV treatments. It wasn’t navigating group projects from the confines of my dorm room during flu season when everyone else ran around campus like nothing.

The most challenging obstacle wasn’t my health, even though I was scheduled for major surgery the day after what would have been my 2nd college graduation and health being the reason I had to leave my undergrad studies early and finish from home. The challenge that gripped me, that I never knew I was facing, was realizing that I was worth celebrating. I wasn’t sure if anyone would show up if I walked in the ceremony. And it cost $100. $100 is a lot to pay when you $60,000 in medical debt, jobless, homeless, and just hoping for the generosity of a friend’s spare room to get you through until you can afford your own place again, at 21 years old.

As I sat in this room full of hundreds of soon to be graduates in blue caps and gowns, a part of me felt privileged to celebrate a piece of their history. Part of me wished I had tried harder to get that $100, to know what it felt like to be celebrated like that. Even though there were twinges of grief, it was such a privilege to be a part of this, to celebrate.

Friend to me, “I have been thinking about how I got here. And I realize that a lot of people helped me get to this place through support. I want to celebrate them too. I want to celebrate you.” And she handed me a note. A thank you note. And we celebrated. Together.

 

FMFParty: Blue

On being an adult with sensory processing disorder

Imagine if:

• You could see obstacles in your way, but you could not make your body move the direction you wanted it to, to avoid them.
• Your clothes felt like they were made of fiberglass.
• You tried to drink a cup of water from a paper cup, only you couldn’t tell how hard to squeeze it to hold onto it. So, you squeezed it too hard and the water spilled all over you. The next time you didn’t squeeze it hard enough and it fell right through your hands and onto the floor.
• Every time you tried to write with your pencil, it broke because you pushed too hard.
• The different smells in this room made you utterly nauseous.
• The humming of the lights sounded louder than my voice.
• You couldn’t focus your eyes on me because everything and everyone in the room catches your attention and at the same rate
• The lights are so bright you have to squint, then you get a pounding headache half way through the presentation
• Sometimes when people touch you, you feel nothing at all. You itch, and your scratching leaves a bruise.
• You could only sit here for 15 minutes and then you had to take a run around the building or do 20 jumping jacks so you could sit for another 10 minutes before your muscles felt like they were going to jump out of your skin.
• People’s whispers sounded like they were yelling.
• You wanted to write something down but it took you at least 5 seconds to form each letter. You can see the letter in your head, but your hand will not go in the right direction to write it. Or you read words, but you have to read it 5 times to get the meaning of the word and remember it every time.
• You had to pull the car over 3 times on the ride somewhere because the motion makes you sick.

Sensory processing disorders affect children and adults differently. For some it affects maybe 1 or 2 senses. For others it affects them all. Some people are hypersensative (feel too much) and some are hyposensative (feel too little). If sensory processing disorders are found before the age of 7, they can be best treated because the nervous system is malleable. After that, the challenge increases greatly.

I’m not sure what causes SPD, but it has to do with neuropathways in the brain. People with SPD can not effectively process or interpret sensory input.The senses give information to the brain and the brain processes the information which tells us what’s going on around us so we can interact efficiently with others and our environment. With SPD, the information may not be accurate or reliable! As a person that has sensory processing issues, this creates a whole host of challenges, personally and socially.

Stanley Greenspan, the author of The Challenging Child: Understanding, Raising, and Enjoying the Five “Difficult” Types of Children has an insightful analogy to help us understand what people experience:

“Imagine driving a car that isn’t working well. When you step on the gas the car sometimes lurches forward and sometimes doesn’t respond. When you blow the horn it sounds blaring. The brakes sometimes slow the car, but not always. The blinkers work occasionally, the steering is erratic, and the speedometer is inaccurate. You are engaged in a constant struggle to keep the car on the road, and it is difficult to concentrate on anything else.” It’s no wonder people with sensory processing disorders feel out of control, exhibit a whole host of behaviors, and have difficulty concentrating and focusing.

I happen to be one of those lucky people to whom it SPD affects most every sense. As a kid, it wasn’t easy living with SPD, I didn’t know I had it, not until more recently.  I didn’t know I was different in a lot of ways earlier on. But I was a fearful and skittish child as a result of it, even before significant trauma was a part of my life. I went on to get two (almost 3) college degrees, participate in meaningful activity, sports, relationships, and community involvement. But I felt different. I worked harder at things that none of my peers needed to ( like reading and memorizing). I was good at almost everything from trying so hard to fit in, but never was great at anything. I was exhausted all the time. I would end up in the hospital every few months when typically others would have sensed how sick they were getting. I felt nothing when someone would hug me (I need pressured hugs) and I didn’t understand.

To sum it up, I have hypersensitivities regarding hearing, light, smell/taste/texture, and cold. On the other side, I’m overly tolerant to heat, pain, and touch.

This means that:

• In a room filled with inconsistent noises I hear everything at the similar volume, which distorts my ability to focus and remember what’s being said to me. Sometimes if there’s too much noise going on I have to fight the urge not to crawl in a corner and curl up with my hands over my ears… this is NOT socially acceptable for an adult. But it physically hurts me. It’s hard for me to go to crowded and loud places. An unexpected noice can send me disproportionately jumping.
• I have sensitivities to touch and texture, for example, I can’t wear jewelry that touches near my wrist (think Alex and Ani), or is around my neckline (I’ll gag). Nail polish on my finger nails or dirt under my nails irritates me. Certain foods I cannot stomach, because the texture of the food will make me sick immediately as I try to eat it politely (green beans, ground meat). Somedays I can tolerate more food textures than other days. Some textures I’ve never been able to eat. This has been really difficult for me, especially because there’s food allergies mixed in. I like to touch things a lot to remember them.
• I’m very sensitive to light, especially flourescent light, and I can easily be blinded by the sun at the beach or over the snow. With light bulbs, they literally hurt my eyes and I see stars everyday. I can hear white noise of lights and other technologies long after others ears quickly adjust.
• Highly sensitive to smell, good or bad. Either way it can affect me. Smell is my strongest sense. For better or worse. I’ve had to have distance in some relationships because certain smells of another person was so hard for me. I also remember a lot by smells and it affects my ability to eat. Sometimes the smell of certain foods is enough to make me throw up and other times I can’t think of anything else until I have that food.
• I am hyposensitive to weather. I can wear sweaters and sweatshirts in the summer and flip flops during a snow storm. My body does eventually catch up and in nearly all “extreme” weather, I develop fevers that require a hot shower and rest to correct and “reboot” my system. My blood pressure is always low and wavers to dangerously low weekly. I have a terrible auto-body regulator.
• Being hyposensitive to pain is terrible actually, since I have chronic pain conditions. When the doctor asks me to rate my scale of pain, I have to estimate going by what I think other people would say, because I have a tendency to ignore pain. This ignorance of pain has landed me in the hospital near dying before. Not a great thing overall and not a choice I make. And when my body does catch up to the pain, it is over the top, as if the pain came out of no where even though the condition has been going on for a while. So I try to say I am acutely sensitive to pain, with a high threshold.
• Visually, I have what’s called double vision and I sense light through my closed eyelids acutely. It also takes me 3 times longer to read than others (which I’ve always known). I was taught how to predict words using the first 3 letters when I was younger by a teacher who felt bad for me. I know how to use words, but not what they mean often. I can see words in my head but not be able to get them out. Sometimes I can read a word and not be able to say it immediately, especially when overstimulated.

This whole Sensory Processing thing has been difficult for me. I have real neuro issues and this complicates it even more. It’s hard to separate out what caused it, trauma, genetics, upbringing, etc. I haven’t figured out how to explain it to others, so I haven’t mentioned it much. It’s hard to not feel understood. It’s harder when you’re not able to answer others questions or help them understand and know you. It’s hard because it fluctuates. When I’m overstimulated, even a trip to the grocery store is too much, and could be, for days.

Imagine being in constant fight or flight mode, as if you will be attacked. That’s what Sensory Processing Disorders do. Your brain literally can’t handle the sensory input. It’s overwhelmed. The neuro synapsis and pathways function differently. I understand why it’s happening now, why I want to have a fit and shut down often. But even now that I understand it some, it’s still frightening. And it’s another notch on my “I’m different” belt. My body literally shuts down when I’m over stimulated. Pain in my ears and pressure in my head forces me to lay down and shut my eyes. I become unable to hear much and my vision becomes very blurry.

So what are the solutions? Well, everyone is different. I need a lot of quiet time, but not silence. Silence=white noise and white noise is TERRIBLE. I use sunglasses for sensitivities to light. I wear them inside sometimes, in the grocery store, at church, and at night (headlights and snow blind me often). I stay away from mirrors and stagnant water. Reflecting light hurts. We try not to put on overhead lights in our house. I’ve found warm showers help to readjust my body temperature during changing seasons or a trip to the beach. I have ongoing nausea from other chronic health issues, so I’m on near constant nausea medicine which helps with motion and smell sensitivity, but strong scents still hurt my nose. I try not to go anywhere that has loud music and too many movements or moving people. My bible study group keeps the worship music low so I can participate. I don’t wear clothings that touches my neck line. I hope for strong hugs so I can feel them, and I try to pay attention to bruises and ANY skin markings or even subtle health changes daily. I take my temperature every couple of nights. All in all, I’ve just had to find solutions to minimize that flight or flight anxiety mode. I really thrive on close connection, a period of quality time with someone else, that’s slow and allows me to get out what I want to say and receive care and love and touch in such an environment that’s not overstimulating. It’s rare to have that, rare to find it. Rare to be given it.

I don’t like knowing I’m different. I don’t like that I have so many starkly different life experiences from others. I didn’t choose this, any of it, and that’s hard. It’s hard not having cut and clean diagnoses that are definitively from “this” or because of “that”. It’s probably likely trauma, genetics, and nurture played a role together. It’s hard because I can’t explain to others as I could explain how I received a broken leg. But I’m finding ways I fit in the world, even if it’s not the life I hoped for. I understand kids and adults with ADHD. I handle melt downs of kids far better than most of my friends. I’m able to hold it together until I am alone enough to cry. I perceive things in others. I notice a lot. I’m sensitive and compassionate.

I have no permanent solutions to resolve any of my medical issues yet. But I have a lot of partial solutions, and partial solutions are solutions I can work with!

 

It’s a hard season for me to swallow. It’s a hard season for me to be thankful: #1 Motherhood

You see, these two holiday months-November and December- don’t create warm fuzzy feelings in me. I am not thankful this time of year. I have whole lists (and probably lists upon lists if I am honest) of what I am missing in my life, places that have come up dry and hard, painful and sore. Missing holes that I’ve asked the Lord to fill, but for now He has chosen not to. It’s a hard season to swallow for me. It’s a hard season for me to be thankful.

Holes and wounds and brokenness- they just aren’t things we associate with thankfulness. But this season is about thankfulness isn’t it? Isn’t it about “1000 gifts”, prayers of thankfulness, and acknowledging those we love?

I don’t know. Maybe it’s about those things, or maybe it’s a season in the year to just endure. I can keep my lists of all the things I don’t have that seem profoundly long this time of the year and grow frustrated and lonely. But then there’s this concept of gratefulness that I do have.

Gratefulness: warmly or deeply appreciative of kindness or benefits received.

Gratefulness reveals a deep warmth of appreciation. It indicates something much deeper than thankfulness. It expresses the generosity of God in his Personhood (good, warm, loving, receptive, attentive, available). Gratefulness is receiving all the things I never knew I wanted but God gave me. I didn’t ask for them. I never prayed for them, but He gave them to me anyways.

Rather than listing all the things I am thankful for (don’t get me wrong, that is a good practice of the heart too!), I want to reflect on all the ways God gave me things I hold so dear now, that I never knew I wanted and never asked for in a few installments over the next few weeks. Here’s the first:

God gave me a desire for children, and not just any children, but the really hurt ones, the ones we’d rather forget.

I thought I hated kids. I used to say to myself and friends growing up, “I will never have kids. I don’t want to screw them up. I have no idea how to parent.” I babysat often because it was easy and I wanted money. The truth was I never enjoyed kids. I liked teens or young adults or the elderly. I even said when we started a church 5 years ago that the ONLY thing I would not do was participate, organize, etc. a children’s program of any sort.

I had an idea a year or two into that church plant to start a weekend kids outreach because I thought it was needed (that’s what I do… I see needs and how to build bridges of needs and resources). I planned it, organized it, recruited for it. I NEVER intended to participate in it. Somehow I ended up overseeing it and loving it. We would have 10-35 kids on a Saturday morning listening to bible stories, games, activities, and field trips; all elementary students from our local low income housing complex, several who came from non-english speaking families. We had staff that volunteered to tutor or mentor the students additionally. I had a couple of other women working alongside me in it who grew to become dear friends. I started helping out in our Sunday morning kids program at church, first out of need (because what church ever has enough Sunday school teachers) and then because I liked it, eventually better than sitting in the sermon! Some kids from our saturday outreach came on Sundays regulary. I would even pick some up! I’d hang out with them after and discuss what they learned, listen to their questions, pray for the things they asked prayer for.

When the monthly order magazine for kids crafts came in the mail, I got all excited looking through all the potential options and prizes. I spent countless hours making hand made bible verse puzzles and “model” crafts. I even would go by the park where the students lived to hang out with them on my free time. These weren’t 16 year olds. They were 5 and 7 and 8 year olds.

Fast forward 5 years. That then 5 year old is now 10 years old and doesn’t remember a time in her life when I wasn’t there. It’s a precious thing to partner with parents in raising their kids.It’s a beautiful thing to love someone ONLY because Christ loves you, to build bridges racially and socioeconomically. Learning to love your neighbor as yourself is hard work, but it’s the only work worth doing. It’s eternal.

I want to be a foster parent, a mom. It is the greatest desire in my heart, but not just any mom. I want to be a temporary mom who gives children back to their family of origin. I want to aid in restoring families through caring for kids.

I never saw that one coming. Shocker.