Full disclosure...

Alright, time to get deep and painful.... and come out somewhat coherent. I am blessed to know most of my readers and that's kind of comforting as this post demands to be written, needs to be written, and must now finally be written.

So in the last post I rambled. Continuing on.....

When Beth was approximately 6 months old I discovered I was pregnant with Jolie. Literally days after we moved back here from Texas. The timing could not have possibly been worse. To say I was horrified was a serious understatement. We had just moved almost 3,000 miles with Beth who was still an infant. We had a little money saved but no job yet. I cried every single day... until I hit about 29 weeks and landed in the hospital for pre-term labor. And then I begged and pleaded with whatever universal power would listen to save my baby. True hypocrisy, I know. Labor did stop and Jolie hung on for 10 more weeks... life was good.

Only something was wrong. As I suffered through bedrest and 3 OB appointments a week Beth started regressing. She lost all her words, she refused to play with me, and holding her was likely to get a person hit, bit, and kicked. Initially I believed the regression was coming from my pregnancy. After spending the day with extended family, I learned that my aunt, who is a teacher, believed something was very wrong.

Fast forwarding again.... Jolie was born and not long after Beth gets diagnosed autistic. Early Intervention came in and prescribed 25 hours a week of one on one therapy. Two sessions a day. I was working 50+ hours a week, husband was there but exhausted, Jolie was confined to a playpen during the therapy because they asked that she not be a distraction. Jolie had a MASSIVE problem with... well.... anyone who wasn't me. She tolerated her daddy because she had to when I was working. Aside from that she screamed non-stop unless she was right up on top of me. I couldn't leave her sight. Beth developed a nasty habit of fecal smearing. Yes, its not pretty but there's a very real reason I'm including this. Early Intervention told me they had NO idea how to make this stop, no clue why she would be doing it, but I had better figure it out. Jolie's social anxiety went from bad to worse as all of my attention was on Beth and her behaviors.

Early Intervention decided that what I needed was DCF and we were reported for neglecting Jolie's development around Jolie's first birthday. That day I truly wanted to give up. I told no one... I was horribly embarrassed. DCF came in and referred Jolie to Early Intervention for developmental testing. Imagine my surprise when Jolie scored ahead of her age group. Did you read that? She scored ahead of her age group. But it was EI that said I was neglecting her development. DCF decided we could benefit from free daycare. They had nothing else. They did, however, remind me on a regular basis that they could take my children if I didn't fix the fecal smearing, the behaviors, and Jolie's anxiety. They asked me to get my own counselor and I did but she was so stunned by my situation that she admitted she couldn't help.

That, folks, was the help offered to me. Around the age of 3, as Beth was aging out of EI, hallucinations started to appear. EI and the pediatrician assured me it was pretend play. Only EI's evals kept coming back saying she lacked pretend play skills. The one psychiatric facility that would see a child that young (pedi's referral) wanted to start Beth on psych meds. I knew nothing of the great med debate but I knew that it was going to be over my cold dead body that someone gave my 3 year old psych meds without a diagnosis.

Can you guess where I was emotionally by this point? My 3-4 year old had no concept of reality, had hours long meltdowns screaming about voices trying to kill her, self injured like nothing I had ever seen in a toddler,  wandered off any chance she got and at one point jumped off my dryer with the cord from the window blinds wrapped around her neck. My 2-3 year old was violent, aggressive, destructive, mean, hateful and could only stand me for the most part. I was working full time overnights... and I had a newborn. I wasn't there emotionally. I checked out emotionally back when EI called DCF and reported me for neglect. I was emotionally stunted and felt numb and dead inside.

The years didn't get any kinder. No mental health provider would see Beth, my insurance didn't cover autism treatments, and Jolie threw fits that last 3-4 hours on a regular basis. UMass couldn't decide if Jolie was a 4 year old bipolar or ADHD but they said something was terribly wrong and they would help us find ongoing help... only the ongoing help never came. She grew to be violent, she destroyed everything she touched whether it was hers or not, she lied, she cheated, she stole, and she obeyed nothing. There was no amount of consistency or consequences that changed anything. And I got pregnant again. This time Mama was as gone as any one person could be possibly be. I was addicted to Xanax, losing my job, and Peter was starting to show signs of autism. Then my gall bladder went, the baby I was carrying was in danger, working wasn't possible, and I couldn't correctly parent my children. I wasn't able to emotionally or physically.The pediatrician kept telling me Peter couldn't be autistic... I was clearly seeing things because I had a child on the spectrum already. The pediatrician told me they were sure Beth was schizophrenic but none of the specialists would see her.

I changed pediatricians. (Oh, I quit the Xanax too... that wasn't easy and wouldn't have been possible without two people who refused to give up on me and to this day still haven't given up. I love you!) Changing pediatricians was the first step to real change (I didn't recognize it then, I see it now). The new pedi wasn't at all impressed with how much had been overlooked and started the eval process for Peter, the UMass mental health eval for Jolie, and real and true support for Beth.

Then I lost my job. I was given the option to resign instead of being fired but it was made clear I couldn't stay there. The cable company wasn't prepared to deal with my health issues and the time off I needed for the kids. This was step number two to a real change (Nope, still didn't recognize it). I had a TON of time now to dedicate to finding help, only there was none out there. I was finally starting to warm up to being a real parent (not a shell of a parent) but I wasn't all the way there yet.

We stumbled upon (with the help of the insurance agency who actually worked HARD at finding me help) a therapist who wasn't intimidated. She also wasn't fooled by feeble attempts to be an adult. She saw me for what I was.... a girl who got stuck developmentally during the teen years. I wasn't very cooperative for quite a while. I really didn't expect her to stick around. She earned my trust slowly and without judgement. She encouraged parental growth in small ways (mostly by making me think it was my idea...lol).

Waiting...

I've been waiting to post. I have a big huge idea for a post that I need to do, more for me than anything else. Really I write for me. When I do write.

This last week or two has been kinda rough for me. I'm 7 days away from a full month of not smoking and I ditched the horrible Chantix. I hit a point with the Chantix where dying was starting to sound like a beautiful and wonderful idea. That day I knew I had to stop. My girls are incredibly proud of me for not smoking anymore. I didn't realize how much THEY wanted me to quit. Their excitement over me putting down the cigarettes is reason enough to stick with it. I don't want to disappoint my kids if I can at all avoid it.

See, I haven't always been a great parent. I don't even know that I'm a great parent now. What I do know is that I have improved exponentially since the early years. In the early years I was overworked, overtired, and overwhelmed. My girls had their needs met. I worked long and hard hours, but emotionally I just wasn't invested or present. I couldn't be, I couldn't find time to be. I worked 45-60 hours a week and was lucky to get 4 hours of sleep a night. I wasn't taking care of myself physically, mentally, or even emotionally. I merely existed. I followed every step given to me by every therapist and doctor, faithfully, no questions asked. I truly believed I was being a great parent.

Fast forward a few years... it really wasn't until 2010 that I started to realize that I was doing things all wrong. That I really liked the Xanax prescription my doctor gave me a little too much (okay a LOT too much but that was a secret). I truly believe in many ways that Xander saved me. Saved all of us. I loved Xanax, but I loved Xander more. The night pregnancy test came back positive I stopped. I couldn't have done it without the support I was blessed with (and hours long phone calls) by two people who have never ever given up on me even in my worst moments. A lot more happened... we're just going to fast forward again.

So now we have this baby and we're desperately fighting to get services. Beth is over 3 so EI is out of the picture and there's NO ONE willing to help. She's too young for everywhere we try and the few people that will see her tell me they are pretty sure she's schizophrenic and they can't handle that in a 4 year old. Joelene is busy destroying everything she can get her hands on, Peter won't talk. Hell, he'll only scream. For hours. Every day. We start evals for Peter and my job says "Sorry, this isn't working out."

THAT is where I started to realize that I wasn't a good mother.

And this is a good place to stop because this is going to lead into where I'm headed next.

Change

Change is hard. Growing is harder. Growing and changing at the same time... well that's just painful.

Yet that's exactly what I'm doing.

It wasn't really my intention. Anyone who's every truly known me knows I traditionally resist change. I don't like my routine altered, even a little. I have never seen the point in growing because, well, that's a change. Change alters routines. I don't like my routines altered. See where this is headed? Rinse, lather, repeat....

When I was younger I made it work with my ninja like cunning manipulation skills that I didn't even realize I had. I found (and married) a man who didn't require me to change or grow at all. I lived in childish ignorance and was quite happy there.

But, see... life doesn't really work like that.

Each baby changed me just a little bit. Maybe it wasn't really noticeable at first, but it was happening. Had I noticed it was happening I probably would have fought it. I didn't do change.

Regardless, it was happening. And the behaviors started. Followed by the diagnoses. One child after another, like a row of dominoes being knocked down. The more dominoes fell the more I insisted that I could do this alone and that I still wasn't going to grow. I wasn't going to change.

Did I mention I've been accused of being stubborn?

Where am I going with this? Hell if I know... I'm rambling again.

Around March I woke up one day (almost literally) and realized how incredibly lonely it was not to have a solid extended family. My children were missing out on so much. You know why? Because that's exactly how I designed it. Not really consciously, but I did. I wrapped us in a cocoon and kept us safe from the possibility of rejection. Its one of the same reasons I make sure to minimize my interactions with the general public. I take online classes at the local community college. Why? Because social interaction is seriously exhausting. Really, this post is becoming exhausting.

Then I ended up forced into taking a class in person. Trust me, this was NOT my idea and I was not okay with it, but I really had no choice. Low and behold, I did just fine. It was uncomfortable and it was exhausting. It was beyond challenging and I missed a few days, but I made it through and got an A.

During the weeks that class was in session I got a phone call inviting my husband, children, and myself to a social event. The call was completely unexpected, just a few days notice. The polite decline was on the tip of my tongue when I suddenly decided that we could, and should, try. More than that, that I WANTED to try. That I wanted to try for ME. Not just for my beloveds, but for me too.

We went, we did well, and we were invited to visit again. And we have received another invitation. I'll admit this one seems a bit bigger and has me a little more nervous, but we were invited again. The rejected I feared hasn't come yet. Know why? Probably because the rejection was only in my head to start with.

Step by step, day by day, sometimes simply hour by hour.... that's how we're making it through. Today marks 12 days smoke free for me. I have two semesters left of my Associates degree and then its on to my Bachelors degree and I think I decided today that there is a Master's degree in my future. I spent a few hours today locked in fascinating research on Reactive Attachment Disorder and that is an area that needs FAR more attention.

Life is good, friends.

How are you making it through?

Christmas

Christmas has come... and is now going....

It proved to be a rollercoaster holiday emotionally, which was quite fitting since 2012 in general was a rollercoaster year emotionally. I'm happy to say that I've made great stride in learning to process emotions and reach out to people who can help me process emotions when I get stuck. Despite the hurts I've felt over the last day or so, I feel better and stronger for how I handled them. Can't really ask for better than that.

That being said, the most important part of this holiday was that my children be happy. And happy they were... (when they weren't overwhelmed and melting down, which did happen a time or two).

Had to skip pictures of Peter since he insisted on not wearing pants and I just don't think his underwear pictures really fit here...lol.

Its now 8:12pm. They are quiet. The boys and Joelene are asleep. Beth is quietly playing her video game and processing through the day. The dog ate some M&Ms. She seems fine. We are back to normalcy around here.

Friday night.....

As one son screams, two girls yell, and the second son looks on patiently..... I realize that this might be a great weekend to do some picture taking. And maybe some crochet animals. And finish the book I'm reading. And work on the afghan I've been crocheting for a year now. And... well, you get the point.

How does chaos bring about these thoughts? No clue, I thought maybe you'd have the answer.

This has been an insanely long and busy week! Beth started her after school program and she absolutely loves it! The girls are still going to karate and I'm slowly seeing some real improvements. They are building back the confidence they lost two weeks ago. Monkey-doodle has been chatting up a storm and running around like a crazy person.... and I'm loving every minute of it!

Peter had a rough week in school. Something (no clue what) happened at the end of last week. Something at school scared him horribly. Like to the point that he was simply never going back, in his opinion. All he could tell me was that school is scary, but no details. I called his teacher, I talked to the special ed coordinator, and came close to talking to the principal. No one could pinpoint what it was. A week later he still insists he's not going, but has a good day once he gets there.

Princess Jolie went apple picking with school today and had so much fun! I was seriously starting to consider the possibility of homeschooling but when I asked the girls if they'd rather learn at home or at school and they were quick to answer that they'd rather go to school.

This weekend we're doing karate and then we're going to spend the weekend hanging out together. Some yard work, movies maybe, and just celebrating each other and the strengths we all bring to this family. They're buttheads sometimes but I adore them.