Why I sometimes don't publish on a schedule.
Life is hard. It's easier if we're kind to each other.
I’m not going to talk about the particulars of my children’s lives here.
When the blogging era of the internet began, most of us really didn’t know what we were creating. It’s easy to look back now on the “mommy blogging” era and think, “Why were they talking about their children’s lives so much?”
The answer? We had no idea people were watching this closely. We were only writers who wanted to write. We had no concept of what the internet would become.
I’m lucky that I was writing about food, instead of only being a parent. But of course, when I had small children, I included stories of their lives, the sweet things they said, the conversations over dinner. When my daughter was less than 4, I didn’t leave the house much or have adventures or trips to write about at all.
We didn’t have much money then — we have never had much money — and we had one car. My husband would drive to the restaurant, where he would be gone for 8 to 10 hours. Lucy and I walked outside our house and walked the little circle of a street where we lived. Sometimes I’d put her into the stroller or in the carrier on my back and walk her on the hike along the bluffs. We became friends with a wonderful family who lived down the street. Every few days, we’d go over there so Lucy could play with the children she loved and I could sit with my friend and talk it all through.
The rest of the time, I was at home with a 2-year-old who refused to sleep and had so many sensory issues — I understand now — that a little bit too much noise or icky sensations on her hands after playing with the food we made together would send her spiraling. And of course, after her terrifying birth — a week in the ICU not breathing without a tube and seizures — and then her major skull surgery when she was 9 months old, I was in the throes of symptoms from my cPTSD arising in my body.
I didn’t know that then. So when I had a hard time writing a recipe to publish on the day I announced I would, I felt like a wretch. I should have been able to get this done on time!
Now? I think: “Okay, woman with ADHD. Small child with definite and loud needs and huge fears. Husband working most of the time. When he would take her to the playground in the morning, I was working. Always working. cPTSD meant every hard thing reminded my body of other hard things. I was barely sleeping. I was always finishing up blog posts at 10:30 pm, after trying for 2 hours to get my daughter to sleep. And I was always exhausted and overwhelmed.”
Yes, during that time, I’d tell stories from my life on the blog. They were, for me, a chance to remind myself of the glimmers; the little moments of light that shimmered through the hard stuff. I’ve been doing this since I was a kid: looking for the light.
But when I only wrote about the light, some people reading must have thought I was full of toxic positivity and pretending.
Well, I’m not doing that anymore.
This week has been hard. One of the hardest of my life — and that’s saying something.
Our youngest is in a mental health crisis. That’s all I’m saying.
This is hard. And we’re going to get through this.
I was ready to schedule the dip recipe we were going to share on Wednesday when this crisis arose. Immediately. Loudly. Right now.
So I left it behind.
I never knew that until today. But the feeling of it has been burned into my body since I was small. Miss a deadline? I might as well die.
For years now, I’ve had people question me in emails, make fun of me online, and call me nasty names if I stopped publishing regularly on this newsletter. As though the worst I could do was to be inconsistent. I let it go. I didn’t address it. That wasn’t appropriate.
But here’s what I will say now.
I am not a machine. Neither are you.
If I have been inconsistent in publishing, or missed a deadline — in my mind or in real life — it has only ever been because my husband or one of my kids has been in crisis.
Some parents have kids who star on soccer teams, do all their homework on time, keep good friends over the years, please their teachers, and listen to the boundaries calmly stated in the home. Those parents might be disappointed when the kid doesn’t get a “good enough” score on the SAT or missed a job opportunity. But for the most part, their kids are happy and healthy, growing at a normal pace, shining smiles for the school photos.
Some parents don’t have that experience. Some of us have kids who struggle, whose brain chemistry is off, who have profound sensory overwhelm. Some of us have kids who cannot keep friends. Or cannot do homework because they are so damned smart that the boring task work of computer tests makes them exhausted. Or they don’t understand how to read because the letters loop around in their minds.
Some of us have extraordinary kids whose smile lights up our lives. And our hearts grow a little darker when that smile disappears. Some of us have kids who are easily terrified. Some of us have kids who cannot rest, anywhere, in anything, always uncomfortable in their own skin, because no school understands them or wants to try.
Some of us have kids who have stories that don’t make for good social media fodder.
And I have kids whose stories I do not — and will not — share for the public. They have a right to their privacy.
I know first hand what the internet is like. I will not submit my kids to that shit.
And now, because I have done a year of weekly EMDR therapy, and realized how much of a PTSD stressor it was on me to pretend that I didn't pay attention people's mean remarks, I am no longer afraid to tell the truth.
Our neurospicy family has been struggling for years. If you have a non-typical mind in this country, and a couple of acronyms on your medical record, you might not hear your stories being told in this culture.
And if you are the mama of two neurospicy kids and a husband who just emerged from 4 years of severe clinical depression 6 months ago? You're going to have to hold it all together. You're going to have to be strong. And stay calm. And text every friend you know who understands this.
There's an army of us mamas, barely holding it together but still showing up and doing the work. We talk to each other in texts and private Facebook groups and Marco Polos, when we have 5 minutes in the car and we just need someone to listen to our story before we gather our kind calm and try again.
And if those women are, like me, the one bringing in most of the money for the family, these spiral times mean there is no way to work. And the bank account dwindles down again.
I woke up one morning, about 4 months ago, and thought,
“I can no longer live on a rural island where there are no mental health services, a broken medical system, and an unreliable ferry schedule. We have to go.”
That's the main reason we're living in the city now.
I will do what it takes to make sure my kids are safe, seem, supported, and secure.
We’re finally, finally getting some concrete help because of this crisis.
May there be more peace for everyone soon.
We’ll be back here when it feels right.
How can we help?
How so very lucky your family is to have you! May Seattle give you all the resources you need to help your kids. It's nice we have this safe space on the internet where by being exactly who we are truthfully we can all help each other through shared stories and hard won wisdom. I will take that over a dip recipe any day! Sending your family good thoughts.