“What do you need?”
The question is banging at the door I’ve closed in my mind as I lock myself away in my mental closet of a pity party, sitting on the cold dark floor, letting the tears continue to fall.
“What do you need?” It demands from me.
Like my four-year-olds, I sit in the time-out crying, ashamed, and unable to find the words.
“I don’t know!” I want to shout back. “Don’t you think if I knew, I’d know how to ask for it? Or better yet, get it for myself? I’m fully capable.”
As I breathe, I can feel the weight in my chest and I whisper… “I need this pandemic to be over.”
The lack of response confirms what I already know, that it’s not over, not even close, and it may get far worse before it gets better.
“What do you need?” The ask is softer this time, almost with more patience and understanding.
As the tears continue to fall, and I find a steadier breath, I try to think logically, of actual problems I’m trying to solve, not just the overwhelming feeling of weight… What are the little things that could help?
The obvious come to mind: I need a break. I need sleep. I need to not answer to someone long enough to get myself from the 10 level of breaking, back down to a 2 or 3… that livable weight of reality that is easier to manage… When I’m at a 2 or a 3, if a twin pulls the other’s hair, or throws their cereal, a simple “whoops, we need gentle hands”, or “oh no, our cereal escaped our bowl” is my automatic response. When I’m at a 10, or a 12 like I feel like I am now, after another sleepless night with autism, my responses are not quite as kind. I’m a shadow of the parent I want to be, unrecognizably cold and shut down.
“So, what do you need?” it probes again.
How do I get to a 2 or a 3? How did I before COVID?
I had scheduled time… scheduled time that was mine… mine without interruption. Yes, there was a list of things to accomplish, but it was my choice in how they were done.
It’s been months since my children went to school, or could be taken on adventure for a few hours so I could find quiet. Yes, I could leave, but where would I go?
“Last time… what do you need?” I know my time is running out. The violins are quieting. And reality is calling. Game time decision. Wash your face, girl, or let the world see you crumble.
The truth is… I’ve operated on less sleep. I have three children, and survived through breastfeeding twins. I’ve done this. My muscle memory is already trained and built. I think I’m just resentful that I thought this chapter of my life would be over by now, but instead, plays on repeat.
The truth is… I do have help. I have an incredible nanny who comes five days a week to help me navigate what lately feels like impossible moments of parenting autism during a pandemic to navigate.
The truth is… I find breaks. We gave up working on the twins’ school weeks ago when the baby napped so I could take the break. And on the nights I really don’t sleep, those two hours are enough of a power nap to keep me on track.
“Think”, the voice smiles, “What do you need?”
And then it hits me.
I need to know it gets better.
I need to know we’re not alone in this, and that someone else has survived it.
I need to know that this type of chapter in raising littles with autism, or twin boys, or just three kids in general didn’t destroy someone else’s marriage, turn them into a cold, shut-down and mean monster of a person, or kept them from giving up completely.
I need to know that someone else’s special needs children who were up all night every night, (we’re going on 17 out of 22 nights right now) eventually slept through the night.
I need to know that kids will go back to school, and that the administration responsible for making that happen is aware of the repercussions this time is having on children who’s needs can’t be met with remote learning.
If I can find the lighthouse to focus on, I can weather the storm, and ride the waves. I can refocus, and celebrate the small wins that get us inches closer to that brighter destination. Not sure what it is yet, but anything is possible when you are willing to work for it, harder when necessary, never giving up.
I can feel my body rise, my hands find my cheeks to wipe the dampness, and my feet find the steps before them that walk me back to reality.
This may not be over anytime soon: the extra strain that this pandemic has placed on so many of our realities. But if I can’t control the uncontrollable pandemic, I can choose to accept it, and only focus on what I can control.
Dear reader… if you’ve been there, and gotten through it… share so that those of us who are in it, know we are not alone. And if you are in it with us, if any of this resonated, know we see you, and you are not alone. I have no idea how to fix it, but I promise to keep sharing in case it helps in any small way.
Here’s to the lighthouses that make the waves of any storm feel possible to weather. May you find yours soon. XO