Archives for April 2013

Guest Post: You Never Know What Their Quirks Will Become

April 25, 2013 By Kirsten

Today’s post started life as an email that my friend Jacquie sent to the autism parenting group that we both belong to.

Jacquie is the mom of two boys, aged 8 and 16, who both have special needs.

Her older son, Eric, has autism. He has his challenges, but as you will see in this post, he is finding his way in the world. I will not say any more – I will let you read for yourself.

8-year-old Justin has RAD (reactive attachment disorder), autism and intellectual delay. He is one of those unreasonably good-looking kids who you just know will be making girls swoon as soon as he (and the girls) hit puberty.

And Jacquie? Well, she’s just a fabulous friend and a fantastic mom. I am immensely grateful to her for allowing me to share this story of Eric. To special needs parents like myself, this is really a story of hope.

Without further ado… over to Jacquie.

Eric

When Eric was a baby, the only way you could soothe him was singing.

When Eric was a toddler, he used to stand in the windowsill of his bedroom’s gigantic window and listen to a cassette of kid’s songs sung by kids over and over. When the tape ended, he would scream until someone came and turned it over and pressed ‘play’ again. Then he’d scream until we got the hell out of the room.

When Eric was a preschooler, he’d sit in front of Windows Media Player and watch the visualizations you could choose to go along with the music that was playing. He’s spend hours just watching these graphics move and change with the music. God forbid you try to distract him.

When Eric was in kindergarten, he developed a musical crush on Shania Twain. I still shudder to think of that year.

When Eric was in grade school, he started to make music using free music programs like garage band. It was awful. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he sucked.

When Eric got to high school, he asked for a professional-grade music-editing software suite, so we gave him that for Christmas. Subsequently we began seeing him only for meals and The Big Bang Theory.

When Eric had a little experience with production, he asked for a Mac, which has superior music production capabilities. He was taking guitar lessons, piano lessons, and music classes at school, so we thought it was probably worth it. Subsequently we began seeing him only for meals. There are days’ worth of The Big Bang Theory episodes on the PVR that have never been watched.

When Eric was a week younger than he is right now, a Danish music promoter contacted him and, based on the free content Eric has put out on music sites and on the the contests he has won with his compositions, offered him a 6 month contract.

When Eric was 12 hours younger than he is right now, we signed. Eric is now represented by a dance music label in Denmark.

His songs will go up for sale on iTunes, Spotify, Juno, and Amazon. This company will help him design his logo, refine his sound, and establish a presence in the market.

When Eric was a little boy, we mourned the way music took him away from the world. Now he’s bringing his music to the world.

(Photo used with permission of Jacquie VonHunnius).

Filed Under: autism, Guest Posts, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, Hope, Jacquie VonHunnius, Music Tagged With: autism parenting, BIg Bang Theory, challenges, contract, Eric, friend, Justin, music editing, music production, music promoter, singing

Prince Of Dreams

April 24, 2013 By Kirsten

One of my assignments for last term’s writing class was to write a poem about two characters interacting in a situation of conflict. I baulked at this more than a little. I love to write, and I like to think that I’m good at it – but I absolutely suck at poetry. I struggle to read it, and I struggle to write it. Four hours before the midnight deadline, I was trying to figure out what the hell to do with this assignment. At the same time, I was locked in a power struggle with George, who was just refusing to go to bed. Eventually – EVENTUALLY – he went to sleep, and I returned to my dilemma. As I sat there sipping a glass of Merlot, the poem I had been searching for came to me. This is what I wrote…

Beautiful mind, gentle soul
The boy is different, yet strangely whole

He speaks with movement; he talks with his eyes
His spirit is pure; he tells no lies

He seems to be fragile, but has a strong will
Potential, desires and dreams he’ll fulfill

Tonight he won’t consent to be led
His mother cannot get him ready for bed

She coaxes, cajoles and softly convinces
He declines with a sigh, the most regal of princes

A thousands breaths later she lays down her child
By now he is sleepy, so tender and mild

She keeps watch by the bed and watches him sleep
The feeling of love so profound, so deep

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

Filed Under: Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, Poetry, sleep Tagged With: assignment, conflict, power struggle, writing class

Running for Boston: Toronto Yonge Street 10K

April 22, 2013 By Kirsten

There is something very strange, and very uplifting, about standing at the start line of a race less than a week after a marathon was targeted in an act of terror. Especially when you are one of several thousand participants, most of whom are wearing special bibs declaring their support for the city that the bombing happened in.

To say that the atmosphere at Sunday’s Toronto Yonge Street 10K was amazing would be a gross understatement that does not begin to describe what it was really like. Start-line energy is phenomenal enough as it is. Add in the fact that thousands of runners are all banding together in solidarity for those affected by the Boston bombing, and you have something truly spectacular.

For that reason more than any other, I was mentally ready for this race. I should have been nervous, considering that my worst race ever was just two weeks in the past. I had not exactly had a resounding start to the season. But instead of being nervous, I was excited about this race for days. Judging by the fact that you could almost reach out and touch the atmosphere at the start, my 6000 or so fellow runners were excited as well.

Not only was I mentally ready for the race, I felt physically ready as well. Just a week before the race, I had gotten my training back on track, and I had also moved back to a cleaner way of eating. I was realistic enough to know that I probably wouldn’t make a personal best time, but I thought I had a shot of beating a pace of 6:30 minutes per kilometre, which would have given me a time of 1:05:00. That would be enough to set me up for a good solid few weeks of training leading up to my next half-marathon.

As is my custom, I placed myself quite far back in my corral, and so when the race started, I found myself boxed in by runners slower than myself. For the first kilometre or so I kept having to slow down and dodge around people. I didn’t mind – in fact, I counted on it. If I didn’t get slowed down at the start, I would go out too fast and run out of gas before the first aid station.

As it happened, my first couple of kilometres played out exactly as planned from a pacing point of view. Sometime during the second kilometre, I found my space to run and I settled into my pace. In spite of the fact that most of the first 7km or so are downhill, I deliberately held back for the first half of the race. Downhill running can be easier from an exertion point of view, but if you’re not careful, it can be absolute hell on the knees and quads. Apart from that, I feared that if I went nuts on the downhills, I wouldn’t have anything left for the last 3K or so.

I made the halfway point in a little less than 32 minutes. I was happy with that. I was going at a pace I thought I could maintain for the second half, and I was on track to beat my goal time. I had a buffer of a minute or so, which would come in handy if I started to fade near the end.

Instead of fading, though, I ran the second half faster than the first. I was tiring physically, but absolutely uplifted mentally. The crowd support along the route was fantastic. There were little kids holding out their hands to high-five passing runners, people cheering us on by name, and folks holding handmade banners that said things like, “Run for Boston!” It occurred to me that coming out to support the runners in the aftermath of the Boston bombing was as much of a big deal for these people as running the race was for me. In a sense, I was running for them, for these wonderful folks who were showing solidarity with the running community, and I couldn’t let them down.

And so I sped up. I smiled and waved at everyone who cheered. I high-fived the children who stood there with their arms stuck out like traffic policemen. I gave a thumbs-up to the people holding banners. I drank in the positive energy that they all offered, and before long, I was sprinting for the finish line, where spectators and runners alike were cheering loudly, not only for the victory of runners crossing the finish line, but for the triumph of a community absolutely united against violence and fear.

In the end, my time was 1:02:48 – more than two minutes faster than my target, and only 68 seconds off my personal best. Not a bad showing at all.

During the winter and the early weeks of spring, my mojo went into hibernation.

I’m pretty sure it’s awake and ready to go for another season.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

Filed Under: Boston Marathon, Race, running, Toronto Yonge Street 10K Tagged With: atmosphere, Boston bombing, crowd support, downhills, energy, goal time, mojo, pacing, solidarity, start-line

What Kind Of Flower Am I?

April 21, 2013 By Kirsten

“The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all.”
– Mulan –

Today’s prompt in the Health Activist Writers Month Challenge is to reflect on this quote and say whether or not it applies in my life.

The quick answer is “no”.

I am not a flower that blooms in adversity. I’m not like those cacti that I’ve seen in hostile deserts, that sprout the most beautiful, colourful flowers even though it hasn’t rained for 40 years. Although I’m hopefully not prickly like a cactus, I’m tough, and I’ve survived some pretty intense stuff over the years. But I haven’t bloomed all through the process. I have, at times, been completely denuded of flowers and leaves. I have been shredded as I’ve been blown around by storms, and I have found myself having to take root in places other than my natural habitat.

I’ve always survived, though, and there is some merit to that. I haven’t always bloomed, and I haven’t always been beautiful – but I’ve always survived, and I’ve gotten stronger through my journey. I have always been – and probably always will be – prone to vulnerability. I used to think this was a bad thing, but I am starting to learn the value of being vulnerable.

Because if I wasn’t vulnerable, I don’t think I would be capable of feeling love with such intensity. I wouldn’t be able to tap into my son’s world as well as I often do, and I wouldn’t have the gift of empathy.

Am I a flower that blooms in adversity? I would have to say no.

But I am a flower that can withstand anything.

(Photo credit: Elsie esq. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

Filed Under: Adversity, Bloom, Flower, Resilience Tagged With: cacti, deserts, survived, vulnerable

5 Signs That I’m Approaching Burnout

April 20, 2013 By Kirsten

If you’re anything like me, you occasionally reach the point where your mind and body just shut down to prevent you from overburdening it any further. It’s always better, in my experience, to slow down and take a deep breath before reaching that point. I’m not always good at recognizing the signs,though, and when I do, I don’t always have the ability to prevent the train wreck that’s rapidly approaching.

The tell-tale signs may be different from one person to the next, and I would suggest that at a time when things are sailing along just fine (in other words, don’t wait for the crisis), everyone take a few minutes to reflect on what those signs are. Here are mine:

1. I lose the ability to make decisions. I’m not even talking about big stuff, like whether to move my kid to a different school, or whether to change jobs. I’m talking about stupid things, like what to cook for dinner. Any time I have to decide anything, I’m overcome with a feeling of panic that varies in intensity, but always makes me feel somewhat immobilised.

2) I lose interest in the things I like. If I stop caring about running, or if I don’t want to write, chances are that I’m approaching burnout. There are few things that scare me more than having to force myself to go for a run.

3) Little things annoy me. Things that I wouldn’t notice under normal circumstances make me want to jump up and throttle someone.

4) My relationship with food goes all out of whack. Either I stop eating entirely, apart from the odd nibble here and there to stay alive, or I go nuts and eat everything in sight.

5) Three consecutive hours of sleep counts as a “good night”.

What are your signs of burnout?

(Photo credit: bark. This picture has a creative commons attribution license)

Filed Under: Burnout, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, life, Warning Signs Tagged With: annoy, decisions, food, lose interest, sleep

Before…

April 19, 2013 By Kirsten

Today’s prompt in the Health Activist Writers Month Challenge calls for bloggers to post a “vintage” picture of themselves, along with a description of where they were in their journey when the picture was taken.

I don’t know whether this picture classifies as vintage, but it was taken when I was on the cusp of moving from one life to another. George was not yet born, but he was certainly making his presence felt. You can probably tell from the fetching attire that I was in hospital, and I was in the throes of labour. That expression on my face may look like a smile, but really, it was a grimace of pain.

George made his appearance about four hours after the picture was taken. My life has never been the same since, and the life I have now is infinitely richer and more beautiful because of the presence of my two children.

Filed Under: Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, Photography Tagged With: beautiful, hospital, labour, pain, smile, vintage

A Mom’s Shameful Regret

April 18, 2013 By Kirsten

He’s been needling me all day.

It’s a cold, rainy day and I didn’t get any sleep. The weather is too miserable for me to go outside for some invigorating fresh air. I’m trying hard to hide the fact that I’m irritable, and for the most part, I’ve been succeeding.

Just another hour to go…

Just sixty more minutes until I tuck him in, turn the lights out and kiss him goodnight. He’ll sleep well tonight. He usually does when he’s been fussing all day. Irritation and anxiety take a lot of energy out of him.

And there has been a lot of irritation and anxiety today. He’s kept on wanting stuff but not knowing how to ask for it. He’s been frustrated by my failed attempts to understand him. He has been pushing his little brother around, because he just doesn’t know what to do with the frustration. Sheets have been ripped off beds. Toy boxes have been turned upside down. Hampers full of clean, folded laundry have been upended. There’s a new hole in the drywall from a headbanging incident.

I’ve been taking it in my stride, talking in low, calm tones to soothe myself as well as him. Earlier I escaped to the shower for a much-needed ten minutes. I’ve been keeping myself going by taking this difficult day in five-minute chunks, by guiltily counting down the minutes until the kids’ bedtime, by promising myself a relaxing glass of wine as soon as the kids have dropped off to sleep.

They’re in their pyjamas now, and I’m preparing their bedtime cups of milk.

He comes up to me and yells something unintelligible. I sigh inwardly and look at him.

“What did you say?” My question comes out more sharply than I had intended.

He walks over to the door, and opens it for the express purpose of slamming it as hard as he can.

And just like that, I’ve had enough. That one small action has been enough to send me over the edge, to be the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back.

“I’m SICK of this!” I scream, surprising even myself. “Why can’t you just be NORMAL?”

Instantly, I realize what I’ve said and I feel like the worst mother in the world. This is my son, my beautiful boy. He hasn’t been difficult today on purpose. It’s not his fault he has autism, and he hasn’t enjoyed this anxiety-filled day any more than I have. And I have just yelled at him for not being normal.

I’ve done something terrible, I think to myself.

I look at my child, who I absolutely adore, who I have just thrown such dreadfully hurtful words at, and I wish I could have the chance to take it back.

I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world.

I sink down onto the couch and dissolve into tears. I am full of self-loathing, and every fibre of my being is wondering what damage I have done, and how much I have set back my child’s progress.

As I sit there sobbing, with my face buried in my hands, I feel a small movement next to me. I look up and he is there, looking at me with a combination of confusion and concern.

“Go give Mommy a hug,” he says softly, and wraps his arms around my neck.

And that makes me cry even harder.

(Photo credit: butupa. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

Filed Under: autism, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, parenting Tagged With: anxiety, frustration, fussing, guilt, hug, hurtful words, irritation, normal, over the edge, sobbing, soothe

Wordless Wednesday: Word Cloud

April 17, 2013 By Kirsten

Word clouds are super-cool things, and my favourite word cloud site is Tagxedo. You can play around with colour themes, shapes and fonts, and have a lot of fun. This is the result of my playing around.

Filed Under: Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, Word Cloud, Wordless Wednesday Tagged With: Tagxedo

My Message To Runners

April 16, 2013 By Kirsten

To my fellow runners,

There are no words to describe how I feel following the events in Boston yesterday. It hits very close to home for us runners. Our beloved sport – our refuge and escape, the thing that keeps many of us feeling safe and grounded when things are hard – has been targeted in such a violent way. This has affected the entire running community – not only the runners themselves, but race organizers and volunteers, and those people who make races truly special and memorable: the friends and family members who stand on the sidelines cheering us on as we race for the finish line.

I cannot imagine what it must have been like for those of you who were there in Boston, running the race. To those of you who crossed the finish line, I hope that amid the chaos and the sadness and the shock, you can hold onto the fact that you accomplished something incredible. Don’t let the perpetrators of this terrible act take the victory away from you.

To those of you who were forced to abandon the race, I hope you will be able to return another day to finish what you started. The Boston Marathon will be back – I hope you will too. Claim that victory that you so richly deserve.

To those who were injured, whose loved ones were injured, who are now having to say goodbye to friends and family members who lost their lives, my heart breaks for you. You are all in my thoughts as you try to rebuild your lives, recover from the injuries and adjust to a whole different life.

The people who did this want us to be afraid. They want us to either abandon our races or approach finish lines with fear. They want us to give up.

Clearly, they underestimate our ability to band together and fight back. They forget that we train our bodies and minds to accomplish great things no matter what obstacles lie in our way. They don’t factor in our stubbornness, our absolute determination to get ourselves across that finish line, no matter what.

Afraid? Don’t be ridiculous.

Let’s come back from this stronger than we’ve ever been before. Let’s train harder, race stronger and celebrate more joyously when we cross the finish line. Let’s make it clear that we will not let anyone bully us into hanging up our running shoes. Let’s make sure every race is full to capacity.

My friend Phaedra, who ran the Boston Marathon yesterday, said this: “A marathon is supposed to be about the triumph of the human spirit, not about senseless violence.”

We can and will make the human spirit rise up and lift us above this tragedy. The people with the bombs are cowards. We are the ones with the strength and courage.

And we are the winners.

Regards,
Just another runner

Filed Under: Boston Marathon, Race, running, Tragedy Tagged With: accomplish, afraid, determination, fight back, finish line, human spirit, injured, runners, stronger, triumph, victory

Guest Post: Surviving Post-Adoption Depression

April 15, 2013 By Kirsten

Today is Guest Post Swap Day at the Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge! I am delighted to have been paired with Becky, who looks at the world of adoption from a different vantage point to me. I am an adoptee, and Becky is the mom of adoptees. In her blog, Lessons from an Infertile Social Worker, she writes about her journey to motherhood and her life as a parent. Today, she shares an aspect of adoption that really needs to be given some attention.

When I think about adoption, there is so much to say; I find it difficult to narrow down the topic. Do I talk about how we came to the decision that the way our family would grow was through adoption? Do I share my journey to breastfeeding my two sons, both of whom we adopted? Do I discuss open adoption, why we chose it, and the challenges and blessings it has afforded me? Do I educate about proper adoption language? Do I ponder how adoption has changed my parenting philosophies? There are so many possibilities.

In my professional life, I’ve talked with hundreds of pregnant women and new mommies about postpartum depression, the feelings, the red flags, how to recognize it in themselves, how others around them could recognize it and be supportive, what can help, etc… I could assess whether a new mommy was experiencing symptoms, and I could diagnose it. I knew how to talk to her about it, and what resources to point her towards. What I never knew was that it was something I could experience. I’d told women for years that a big part of postpartum depression was their out-of-whack hormones. I knew that I wouldn’t have to deal with that thanks to adoption. I was wrong. I did experience it, even without the hormones to blame.

I can’t imagine any child being more wanted than my son. We tried for years to get pregnant and I was thrilled beyond belief when we were chosen by his birth family. I was thrilled to take him home, to put him in his bed, to cuddle him, to nurse him, to rock him, to read to him… But somewhere along the way things changed. Really, it may be more accurate to say that things didn’t change, at least not how I thought they should and would.

I told moms all the time that “over half of new parents don’t fall head over heels in love with their babies right away. You didn’t experience love at first sight with your partner, so why should you expect it with your baby. It takes a while to get to know one another. It will come in time. Don’t feel guilty if it doesn’t happen immediately, but don’t doubt that it will come”. I never even considered the possibility that I wouldn’t experience that all-consuming love for my baby immediately – I wouldn’t have the hormones going crazy, we were prepared, we were ready, we knew what we were doing, we wanted him so much.

I stayed home with him for about 8-9 weeks after he was born. Though hubby shared nighttime duty with me, I was taking 2 graduate level classes and I was still exhausted. In truth, I was at times a little jealous that hubby got to leave during the day (not to mention got to shower and brush his teeth before 3pm). I was rocking the baby one afternoon – it had been a difficult day for me and the 4 week old – when hubby came in from a great day at work. He leaned over the side of the rocking chair and tenderly said, “I never thought I could love anyone as much as I love you, but I sure love this little guy a lot”. I could see he had tears in his eyes though I couldn’t bring myself to really look at him. Because all that was running through my mind was, “well big deal for you. How wonderful for you to get to feel that way?!!!”. All I said out loud was “yeah”.

I was furious. At the time I thought I was angry with him, but I realize now I was angry with myself. Angry that I didn’t feel that way about our son, the baby I had so longed for, the baby I had waited and prayed about for years. Angry that hubby got to feel that way first. Angry that I hadn’t yet brushed my teeth that day.

But mostly I felt guilt. Guilt that this child deserved all-encompassing love that I wasn’t sure I could give to him. Guilt that I was angry which surely he could sense. Guilt that by not feeling that intense bond and attachment he would be permanently scarred. Guilt that obviously I wasn’t worthy to be a mother, which was maybe why God hadn’t *let* us get pregnant. Guilt. Dark, ugly guilt.

I don’t know when my love for my son became “big”, though I do remember when I realized that it had. When he was about 4 months old, we both had a nasty stomach virus. He vomited in hubby’s mouth (I know, gross, but I warned hubby not to play rough with a baby who had been puking all day) and I thought, “You show him, kid”. I realized we were a duo then, this adorable baby and I, we had something that was just between the two of us, and it was strong and intense. We had that bond. I hadn’t completely failed.

It took me a long time to recognize myself what I was experiencing after my son was born, and quite a bit longer to admit to it to anyone. I’ve now read research and talked with other parents through adoption and I know I’m not the only one to experience post adoption depression. I still carry some guilt about it, but I realize it’s nothing I can change. I also know I have the most awesome son with whom I now have an intensely strong bond. I know he wasn’t harmed by the natural progression of our relationship. I’m trying to forgive myself, which I know is silly because, as I would tell any of the hundreds of mommies I worked with, it wasn’t my fault.

Post adoption depression is real and it is no more a mother’s fault than postpartum depression. It’s not something to be ashamed of and it isn’t a dirty little secret. And, just like postpartum depression, it’s something we need to talk about so that no one else has to feel guilty or alone.

Filed Under: Adoption, Becky, Depression, Guest Posts, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, Mental Illness, Post-Adoption Depression Tagged With: angry, attachment, bond, guilt, hormones, new mommy, postpartum depression