ASD GameChanger: Part 1

Have you ever been 100% sure of something even though everyone around you thought you were crazy?

(And no, I’m not talking about NCAA tournament picks.)

I’m talking about that sixth sense that we moms get when we know something isn’t status quo about our child, yet we struggle to articulate exactly what the “something” is.

Every since my son Jacob was 18 months old, I knew that something seemed different about him. Like other toddlers, he was energetic, cute, and intelligent, but there were things that he would do that didn’t seem to fit the “norm”. Besides categorizing all his toys by color and shape at this incredibly young age, he had the unusual ability to sit for 45 minutes at a time to build with blocks and work puzzles.

Yes, at 18 months old.

Over the years, as I watched Jacob grow, I watched him develop inner struggles with how he processed daily situations.

One such occasion, he and I were playing Hide-and-Seek when he was two. I hid in the my walk-in bedroom closet behind some luggage. I listened as he opened the closet, but then shut it again when he didn’t see me. He became angry. “I hate my mom!” he stomped off to his room and cried. When I tried to comfort Jacob, he reasoned that he thought he was alone for good and that we didn’t want him anymore.

Can you imagine your two-year-old not only being able to articulate this, but processing these disturbing thoughts through a simple game of Hide-and-Seek?

At age four, Jacob would complain that one of his preschool teachers hurt his arms whenever he had to sit in her lap. This puzzled me because she is a phenomenal preschool teacher friend that I highly respect. She would never hurt anyone, especially my child. This was the moment I realized that Jacob was overly sensitive to touch. But, I didn’t understand why.

There were several incidents from ages four to five that didn’t make sense at the time, but would be explained by others as “Jacob just isn’t ready for preschool,”

or “Jacob has been an only kid for so long that he doesn’t know how to socialize with peers.”

Yet, I didn't agree with these statements. As an elementary teacher, I’ve become naturally intuitive when a child processes information and sees the world in an extraordinary way. Jacob was able to process information in a unique way that I haven’t seen many of his peers do.

I vividly remember the day Jacob, at age five,  walked into my second grade classroom and told my team teacher all the details he had learned about Egypt and the Sphinx from a self-study Project Based Learning (PBL) opportunity my preschool teacher friend gave him. The second grade teacher was shocked, and replied to me, “He’s really smart! He’s going to need you to advocate for him in his education.”

At the time, little did I know how true that statement would be.

*****************************

When you first meet Jacob, he doesn’t seem like an atypical eight-year-old. In all the ways that matter he is. He excitedly showcases his Star Wars lightsabers, tells about the newest project he’s engulfed in, and likes to tell jokes. Adults find him honestly refreshing, outgoing, and endearing.

However, Jacob is anything but typical. I previously shared some of his back story in my blog entry The Importance of Mental Health. In that entry, I explained all Jacob’s diagnoses and what they were...The DMDD, ADHD, and Sensory Modulation Disorder. Jacob also is paranoid and suffers from anxiety. From the time I wrote that article in August, until December 2017, Jason and I were trying our best to work with doctors and school educators to determine the best practices and medicines for Jacob.

Even though a psychiatrist and psychologist both agreed with the diagnoses, I didn’t. The ADHD didn’t really seem to sum up Jacob’s problems. And, there were other oddities that no one addressed.

One day as I was conferencing with Jacob’s medicine prescriber, Heather, trying to figure out what the medicine options were, I seized the opportunity to share my opinions. I started with the sentence, “Look, I know I sound crazy, but I can’t help but think Jacob may…”

She interrupted my thoughts, “Have a type of Autism Disorder?”

“YES!!” I screamed and leaped up off the couch. “Am I crazy for thinking this? I mean, I’ve mentioned this before, but everyone else thinks I’m crazy because he doesn’t fit what people envision is the textbook definition of Autism. And I’m not buying the ADHD.”

Heather smiled. “You’re not crazy. Otherwise, if I didn’t see specific tendencies also, I wouldn’t have known what you were thinking. How long have you been feeling this way about the Autism?”

“Well, since he was two, but I had nothing concrete to prove it.”

Six years.

That’s how long it was on my mind. Finally, I met a professional who didn’t think I was crazy and agreed to put in a recommendation to have a professional who specializes in identifying Spectrum Disorders test Jacob.

Sure enough, test results confirmed what my heart had thought all these years. Jacob has a high functioning form of Autism Spectrum Disorder called Asperger's.

And while Jacob’s long diagnoses journey has finally come to end, my Autism Awareness and Acceptance Parenting Journey is just beginning. This is the first time I’m able to understand Spectrum Disorders not from just an educator’s viewpoint, but from a parenting viewpoint as well.

But, more on that coming in Part 2.

Mom-on-Mom Criticism

“I like to work. I enjoy being a working mom.”

A hush fell over the chatter and noises ceased. A teaspoon dropped onto a saucer and made a sonic boom as waves burst through the silence. My matter-of-fact tidbit was met with shocked expressions of gasping women at my table.

I was at a meeting with a group of local church moms in a new city, having recently moved. I was trying to make connections, find friends to have play dates with, and explore the community. I had seen an advertisement for a new mom’s group starting up, and thought it’d be a great place to start. So, I was the first in line to sign up. Flash forward to a month later, and there I was at my very first meeting.

I was easy to recognize. Several of the other moms knew one another, and had already formed friendships. I was the quiet newcomer, who was told she dropped her child at the wrong door, whose breakfast plate was piled high with carbs (no dieting for me!), and who took not 1, not 2, but 5 creamers in her coffee.

Anxiety floods my heart every time I do something that involves trying to socialize with unfamiliar people. Outsiders aren’t usually aware of this side of me (after all, aren't all teachers supposed to be great with meet-and-greets?), but the people who are closest to me know I severely struggle feeling comfortable in social situations. So, I was less than thrilled that small talk emerged as soon as I sat down.

“Where are you from? What a cute little country accent you have there! Why did you move here? What does your husband do? How many kids do you have?”

All these are legit, appropriate questions to ask, I admit, especially when you are trying to scout out new play-date potentials. But, couldn’t they give me just five minutes to shove chocolate donuts in my mouth and get some coffee in me?

So, we went in a circle and introduced ourselves. Then one of the leaders asked, “What do you enjoy most about being a stay-at-home mom?”

Several women answered, and when it was my turn, I replied, “I like being Jacob’s mom because he’s funny, witty, and it’s fun to see the different changes he goes through.”

The reply:

“That’s nice. I mean we all can agree that we like to see the stages our kids go through, but that wasn’t the question. What do you like best about staying home to raise him?”

You already read my response above. But just in case you somehow missed it (no offense taken, it happens to me all the time when I’m trying to read something and multitask), I will repeat myself.

I replied, “I like to work. I enjoy being a working mom.”

Stares, gasps, and blank looks.

I was confused. Why were they so surprised?

Finally the silence broke and the air fluttered with questions like:

“Who takes care of your kid when you work?”

“You leave him at a daycare? Aren’t you scared he’ll get sick?”

“Does your husband know you work? What does he think about it?”

"Oh you poor gal, you mean you have to work, right?

<<To answer their questions, yes, Jacob got put into a daycare starting at age 1, and no I wasn’t afraid he’d get sick. All babies develop their own immune systems in their own times. Yes, my husband Jason knew that I worked. I mean after all, he’d be kind of dumb to not realize that I got in the car every morning, at the same time he is about to leave, dressed up, carrying a teacher bag full of graded papers, and came home about eight hours later. Of course, he is supportive of my dreams in life. Like I’d marry a man who wasn’t?! And do I "have to" work? Well, no one is dragging me or forcing me to do it. I don't go in kicking and screaming. The bottom line is I WANT TO WORK.>>

I didn’t answer the women with the fun sarcastic humor I possess these days. I was very kind about it. I didn't even speak my stream of consciousness like I just did with you in the prior paragraph. The questions didn’t really bother me. After all, it was a world in which they were not accustomed. But I was quite surprised by the responses. What really got this country girl’s goat was the snide comments that started to come up during the rest of the meeting:

“I don’t see how you do it. I could never abandon my child just for a job.”

And

“No amount of money could beat the feeling of knowing that I raised my own children instead of letting strangers raise them.”

And

"Well, my husband and I think that our children are gifts from God and it's our jobs to take care of them instead of do what you do."

It was in these moments I realized that I was having my very first bitter dose of mom-on-mom criticism. Up until this point, I knew that moms had varying opinions - breastfeed vs formula; co-sleeping vs nightly own-bed-routine; etc. But that's all they ever were - just opinions. I hadn't met anyone who felt so strongly that they were willing to start verbally attacking others with their viewpoints. Until that moment.

The mom-on-mom criticism HAS TO STOP!

Whether a mom stays home with her children because it’s her life’s calling, or because it’s financially practical, it’s HER choice. And moms who go to work outside the house are not abandoning their children. They’re making decisions that are the best for them and their families.

I know countless moms over the generations who stayed at home, and their kids turned out just fine. I also know just as many moms who spent their lives working outside the home, and their children turned out well adjusted also.

Who are we to judge other mom’s decisions, especially when we do not know the circumstances?

I used to allow complete, opinionated strangers to make me feel guilty that I wanted to work. And then one day, when Jude was eight weeks old, something inside me snapped and I stopped caring what they thought. As I told a colleague earlier this year, "I love being a mom, but I'm a better mom when I work. That doesn't make me a bad mom. It makes me a self-aware mom."

For me personally, I love teaching! It’s my life’s calling that God has allowed me to polish over the years. While I’m still not perfect at it, I definitely realize that I’m gifted in that area. Sounds like I’m bragging, I know. I seriously don’t mean to; I’m just passionate about what I get to do in life! I get the unique opportunity to collaborate with talented professionals, implement creative ways to teach math, science, and reading, and touch hundreds of lives in the span of my career. Then I come home to my husband and two little boys with a new appreciation. Since I haven’t seen them all day, we like to share stories about our day around the dinner table. Jason and I share the loads of chores because we realize that we both have had a long day at work.

Working outside the house makes me a better mom.

It’s rare to figure out one’s purpose in life early on. Whether it’s to work outside the house in a profession you enjoy, or it’s staying at home, not missing a moment of watching your beautiful children reach the milestones in their lives, embrace it and do it with pride! That’s part of the beauty of motherhood - One size doesn't fit all and we can learn from one another!

Motherhood experiences are just as unique as the children we are raising.

My Word

With the new year just around the corner, I began reflecting back over 2017. It was a long, trying year for my family and me.

2017…

For me, it was the year I advocated for my children. I feel like I fought an endless, painful uphill battle to figure out what kinds of services and doctors they both needed.

It’s the year that my oldest, Jacob, went through his own mental and emotional hardship.  During the spring, I knew he’d need an IEP to be successful in school, so I began the long process to gather the data and make the necessary appointments for him.

It all paid off tremendously. He triumphed, and now has the right combination of medicines, correct diagnoses, OT, and counseling. The elementary school he attends is the right fit for his personality and he has been provided an amazing support team of both Regular Ed and Special Ed educators that meet his social, behavioral, and sensory needs.

Jude continued to take speech therapy classes (over 120 hours worth outside of what he gets in his IEP at preschool!) and made little progress. So concerning Jude, it was the year that I didn’t find any of the answers I sought - Why isn’t he able to talk (real words)? Why did he have seizures in the first place? What do I do when his regular toddler tantrums turn into sensory meltdowns that last over an hour? Will I ever be able to take him out in public to functions again without having to leave abruptly due to his behavior?

Will Jude be nonverbal forever?

Completely defeated on the Jude front. Thrilled and thankful on the Jacob front.

2017. So emotional. And EXHAUSTING.

Now, with 2017 behind me, I think of the direction I want 2018 to head. I stopped making New Year’s Resolutions years ago because they became too stressful to maintain. Even though I tried to make practical ones, I felt like a loser or failure when I didn’t quite meet them with 100% accuracy.

I heard on the radio that several people choose a statement or one word as their focus for the year ahead. I’ve never done this before and thought I’d give it a try.

If I had to choose a word that I think summed up my 2017, it would be “Survive”.

That's all I did. I barely survived day-to-day, in a sea of unanswered questions and severe loneliness.

I don’t want to just “survive” in 2018. I want a word that is opposite - one that emcompasses who I am on the inside, and who I aspire to be on the outside. So, I did what any good over-achievable, deep-thinking analyzer would, and I started making my word list. I made notes, Googled searched, and browsed scriptures on my quest to find the perfect word.

My word is MINDFUL.

According to good ol’ Webster, to be mindful is to “be aware of something”.

I want to be mindful of what others are going through. My friends deserve for me to be the type of friend that empathizes with them, and makes time for them... one who reaches out in love to help them get through life’s unpredictable moments. Strangers deserve a patient me who offers a helping hand instead of a judging stare. After all, we never truly know someone’s struggle or cross they bear. I really think that if we were all more mindful of how we treat others, we’d see drastic improvements of love, and a sense of togetherness in our nation.

My students deserve a mindful teacher. When I’m trying to control a roomful of youngsters, all with different interests, personalities, and struggles, my first instinct is to be firm. But what I have discovered in my decade of teaching is that I can be firm and set proper ground rules, but be fair at the same time. The students need to feel loved, and by developing quality relationships with my students, I’ll be able to take their circumstances and their feelings into consideration when I teach them. Being mindful of my students can make or break their love for school and feeling of acceptance.
Outwardly, I want to be mindful of my health, and of what I put into my body. I’ve never been one for dieting, nor do I think I need to lose weight. But I have started making healthier choices overall - less caffeine (with the exception of morning coffee) more water, less carbs and more vegetables, etc.

You know, the boring stuff that makes you want to roll your eyes when you listen to perfectly-sized women talk about their food plans.

But in all seriousness, being mindful of my body also means taking care of myself when I feel ill, sleeping well, and allocating time to do things that help me recharge.
Speaking of time, I want to be mindful of what I spend my time on. Even though I maintain the attitude that life should be all about balance, I greatly struggle with this. I spend more time on work than I should and don’t make time for myself. All work and no play makes Angela a bad mama, stressed-out professional, and unhappy human being.

Photography calms me down. When I look
through a lens, I get to focus solely on beauty,
and not on the stresses of life.

So I will definitely be mindful of how I spend my time next year!

Finally, l want to be prudent what I spend my money on. I already have everything I need in life as far a “stuff” goes. So why then did I just donate five large bags of clothes and clutter and seven bags of toys to the local Goodwill store? In this consumer-driven society, if I’m mindful on where my money goes, I can make wise investments that benefit my children in the future, become debt-free, and give charitably like never before.
I've already stopped surviving, and started becoming conscious of all the people and goings-on around me by being mindful. Mindful. Yep, that’s the perfect word for 2018!

Happy 2018 from my family to yours! Cheers to a fuller life!

Saying Goodbye

Tonight, on the eve of my husband’s favorite holiday, I’m saddened by the fact that we’re in the process of saying goodbye to his dad, Ted.

At the young age of only 43, it seems unfair to me that Jason should have to face his dad’s death. Especially when we see people decades older than Jason who still have their parents around. Why do some people get to live longer than others? Life doesn’t make sense.

Jason’s loving mom passed away from Crohn’s Disease when he was just sixteen. How would you feel being a young high-schooler entering adulthood without your mother? 

Jason's family circa 1986 . Jason was only 12.

Only now, to realize that saying goodbye to your father is an even harder door to close because he’s had a chance to watch you grow up, become successful in life, and raise children of your own.

Jason as a toddler. Dad tickle tackles are the best. (Circa 1977).

His dad is battling stage 4 lung cancer that metastasized to his brain.  I think the hardest part to get over is how late it was caught.

Ted had been going to the local VA hospital religiously over the past few years, never missing an appointment or test. The VA told him that everything was fine and sent him home every time. Eventually, as he felt worse, and as more ailments about his body didn’t make sense, he was encouraged by another doctor to go through UK for tests.

Ted went into the emergency room at UK, barely able to move or even function, in a state of confusion as to what could possibly be going wrong. UK discovered the cancer. We found out that if the VA had done the appropriate tests and scans, then they should have caught it in earlier stages.

Wow.

Say what you want about how wonderful the VA is. But before you speak your mind, stop and think about how you would feel to go in through an ER, only to realize that the hospital that vowed to take care of you misdiagnosed you for Lord only knows how long. And then, we you do get results back, it’s stage 4 cancer spread to your brain. All while you’re in excruciating, indescribable pain.

The point is that this veteran who served our country during the Vietnam War is facing such an abrupt end to his life. Whether you agree with our military or not, with the VA or not, no one should have to endure this kind of pain that Ted is going through. He’s in a Compassionate Care Center that is ran by Hospice. They’re keeping him as comfortable as they can as he “goes through the process”. 

That’s code for “passes away” in case you didn’t realize…

I always prided myself as someone who handles death fairly well overall (with the exception of my daughter). After all, I grew up where attending visitations (wakes) and funerals are a way of life. When someone you remotely know passes, you pay your respects to the family. It’s one of those etiquette rules that are as black and white to me as sending out thank-you cards. So, I generally have handled situations concerning death decently well.  Until now.

When I walked into the room to visit Ted, I lost it. My glasses clogged with tears, and my heart leaped into my throat. He was lying in bed, with his head back, and doing his best to just breathe. The type of cancer he has first takes over control of his body, which it already had. So, he could not move. The nurse told Jason that the last thing to go would be his hearing which was not gone yet. So, if he was awake, he’d be able to hear us. Meanwhile, Hospice’s job is to make him as comfortable as they can as he goes through the final stages of life.

Ted at our wedding. He always joked that he
looked like Kenny Rogers in a cheap suit.

 (On a side note, can I just add that the people who volunteer and work for Hospice should be given sainthood. I have always had a great deal of respect for them and for funeral home directors. They have the kindest people skills and are able to be pillars of strength in the most desperate times of grief. True saints.)

Back at Ted’s bedside, I sat down in a chair and tried to control my sobs. I wanted to be brave, but I didn’t know what to say. When I’m uncomfortable and nervous about something, I tend to try to use either humor or sarcasm as a Segway.  I started with a joke.

“Hi Ted. It’s Angela, your favorite daughter-in-law. Some people will do anything for attention, won’t they?” I chuckled, imagining his wide smile and bantering nature.

(And for the record, he loves both daughter-in-laws. But that was one of our jokes. He would say it to both of us when he visited.)

I started rambling about my new school and my students. I talked about how much his own grand kids had grown, how Jacob plays the piano now, and how Jason and I have to tag team to deal with Jude’s craziness. I started recalling all the stories I remember about Jason when he was a little boy. I even told Ted that Jason liked to eat some of my chocolate that Ted had given me as gifts over the years. It felt good to tell on Jason, and I know that inside, Ted was smiling. 

Ted and his long time companion Margie at our wedding in 2004.

I talked, and talked, for probably half an hour nonstop.  As fast as I could, barely pausing, until I ran out of wind, and of topics. I realized that if I didn’t talk, I was going to lose it. Talking was my way of getting through it and saying my goodbyes. He always had taken an interest in my life, especially about how my teaching career was going. He asked Jason about it every time they talked. He was a good listener too.

 I was choking back more tears trying desperately not to lose it. I mean, what do you say to someone you love going through stage 4 cancer, and only has a matter of weeks, if not days?

Ted with Jacob (top) and Jude (bottom)

He’ll never get to go home again. To drive his Harley. To jam on the guitar with Jason and sing. To hear Jacob tell stories. To take us to a Mexican restaurant so he can deliberately pronounce his order incorrectly just for a good laugh. He’ll never hold Jude again or give us hugs letting us know he loves us.

But, I knew the conversation had to eventually cease.  And as my mind began slowly down, blank thoughts stirred a whirlwind in my head. I sighed, tucked him in a little more to make sure he was warm, and sat back down in the chair quietly for a few moments holding his arm. 

Regaining composure and wiping tears away, in that next moment of silence, my broken heart cracked even deeper as I uttered the words, “Goodbye Ted. I love you. Thank you for raising such a wonderful son. You and Faye did a great job with him. And thank you for welcoming me instantly into your family almost 14 years ago. You’ll always be my favorite father-in-law.”

Without Words

 The perfect Bible verse for those brokenhearted, speechless times.

I’ve never been the speechless type – one at a loss for words. 

Growing up, my mom told me that we only got so many words in life, and I would probably run out of them by the time I was a teenager because I talked so much. Of course, it took me years to realize she was joking, but she had a point – I was quite talkative.

But these days, I find myself without words.

My lovely roommate from my college days was just diagnosed with a serious case of cancer about a month ago. She’s my age – 36, and a wonderful mother of three young kids. 

When I received the news, I was devastated. I quickly thought of how vibrant, and full of life and love she is, always putting her family and friends first.

My heart broke, and I sat at my school desk, unable to think of how to respond in words. My salty sobs did the talking because there were simply no words to convey the heartbreak.

Fast forward to earlier this week when I got a call from one of my close friends about a medical problem she’s going through where there’s a malformation in the back of her brain. Neurologist and other specialists don’t quite know what this means, or what to make of the information yet. But they agree that it’s not typical.

This superwoman friend is a dedicated educator, mom of a brilliant youngster, and the sweetest friend anyone could ask for. As I read her text message, and then listened to the desperation in her voice when we talked, I found myself speechless once again. No words could I utter. My “I’m SO sorry” fell short, as I tried to choke back the tears that lumped in my throat.

Fast forward again to a few days ago around a school I happened to be visiting…

I heard some students’ comments about their home lives. 

One student doesn’t get hugged. Ever.

Another student wishes his/her parents would fill out the form for the Weekend Food Bag so that there’s dinner for the family to eat, but is discouraged that pride has gotten in the way.

Another student told me that he/she misses the family’s deceased loved one, and how lonely that feels.

Hearing all these comments, I found myself with no words. 

Once again, I sat, stunned at the news I was hearing, and knew that whatever I said would never be enough to make up for the pain that all these people around me are going through.

Searching for a word to describe how I feel about all this news has been difficult. It’s painful to watch those around you suffer physically and emotionally. I want to fix it all, and yet I’m helpless.

It makes me feel sad. 

Sad. Whenever my students use the word “sad” in their writing, I tell them that it’s not a “good adjective” and that they can think of a better one to enrich their writing. 

Yet, that is the perfect word to convey how I feel...
Unbelievably and overwhelmingly sad.

I’m sadden by the fact that cancer has no cure and takes lives of the young and old alike. 

I’m sadden that my beautiful roommate has to rearrange her life for chemo and worry about the outcome of her Littles as they watch their mamma suffer through the treatments.

I’m saddened by my educator friend whose brain is letting her down.
I’m saddened that she has to face the scary unknown at such a young age, and at a time where so many young kids, including her own child, depend on her.

I’m saddened that there are kids that I encounter almost daily who don't have their basic essentials met. They’re lonely, hungry, and starving for physical and emotional relief.

I’m part of such a broken world. And, when it hits close to home with the people I love and do life with, it gets difficult. I’m accepting that sometimes in life, there just aren’t words to express a broken heart.

But I think it’s ok to not always have the right words because there’s always prayer. Even in the most silent prayers, where my heart cannot express the emotion, I realize that God understands. He knows how speechless I am, and He still chooses to care.

Two Bible verses I cling to most in times where all I see is sadness and am not able to convey my feelings are:

Psalms 147:3 – “He heals the broken in heart, and binds up their wounds.”

2 Corinthians 12:9 – “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me."


Sometimes words don't come. But His promises will.

Lost Identity

My work does a Secret Pal program where you can draw a colleague’s name, and secretly leave them inspirational notes, candy, and gifts throughout the year. At the end of the school year, there’s a reveal party where you get to find out your pal’s identity.

When I sat down to complete the “All About Me” form for this program, I noticed the questions were quite thorough.

Coffee…yes / no
Candles…yes / no
Books…yes / no

I was whizzing through the answers, until I came to the section that asked, “What do you do in your free time?”

I’m pretty sure you could hear crickets chirp as I sat, stumped, staring at the question. Frustrated, my head swarmed with different thoughts.

“I love to travel!” I thought. “But I barely leave the house these days because of Jude’s meltdowns.”

“I like to hike!”
But, I haven’t been hiking in over a year because it’s impossible to watch Jude on the rocky trails.

I felt lost. “I have no idea what I do in my free time!” I sighed.

So, I wrote, “What free time?!”

That was the moment that I realized that my identity was somewhat lost. I knew what I liked to do in my previous, before-I-had-kids life, but as an exhausted mom, I had no clue!

This really bothered me. I don’t want to lose interest in my passions and hobbies that make me who I am. Yet, as I sit here typing this, that is exactly what has happened.

Realizing this, I started having raw conversations with other moms about what they do in their free time. They answered the same way, “What free time?”

One mom admitted that she had no energy to focus on herself by the end of the week, let along each day. Another mom said that she used to love to read, but now chooses sleep over reading. Every mom that I encounter in my circle of friends seem to have lost her identity at some point along the way in life.

While this is unfortunate, it was also soothing for me to hear. As moms, we go, go, go. We’re always thinking about others, especially our family, and rarely focus any time, energy, and talents on ourselves. Perhaps it’s the way we’re wired?

Whatever the reason is, I don’t like not being able to answer that question. I should be able to list at least one or two things I enjoy in my free time that helps make me unique. I don’t want my identity to be lost in a lifestyle that doesn’t reflect my passions and interests. So how do I fix this?

I guess I’m about to head down a road of self-discovery... and just when I thought I knew everything about myself. While I’m self-aware, I’m also lost.

Anyone identify?

Thoughts on how to build my “free time” into a “my passions” time? 

September Setback

I was going along well, adapting to my new job working with at-risk Special Needs students, when suddenly I was put into a position that caused me to take on a different role. The new role brought three times the amount of work and stress with it, even though it’s the best option for all parties involved. So I went from soaring through August, to barely bobbing with my head above water in the endless sea of exhaustion and time management during September. How suddenly the tide had changed!

“Great,” I thought, "Now I’m a working mom with absolutely nothing to give her kids at the end of the long, frustrating days."

September messed up my family’s schedule… all the make-ahead dinners didn’t get made. Take-out food was ordered in bulk at an all-time high. And while we did manage to make the boys eat with us around the dinner table, we were too mentally beaten to even have an intelligent conversation with them.

Because I was working three times as hard with this new position, I brought work home. This affected the fact that I couldn’t be the “glue” that held our nightly routine together. Sandy was no longer given walks, even though she was in the middle of being trained as a therapy dog. Jason usually did those, and Jason was busy trying to deal with the boys, dinner, and dishes because I was simply too weary to help. I came home, changed to pajamas, and instantly plopped down on the bed on countless occasions.

During September, this negative transition my family went through upset me greatly. I couldn’t keep up with my colleague who doesn't have young kids at home, and could spend hours nightly providing my principal and team with the best researched resources. 

I couldn’t make most of my boys’ schools events such as “Muffins with Mom” and the Scholastic Bookfair. Heck, I couldn’t even show up to help train Sandy so that she could get her therapy dog certification on the date she was projected.

I found myself being somersaulted around, like a young girl on the scary, rickety, country fair rides, between the Bitter-O-Whirl and the Hurling Rocket. I was bitter. I was sick. And my life was hurling out of sync before my very eyes.

Finally, I somehow survived and made it to Fall Break. 

Fall Break…a teacher’s right of passage to remind her that she needs to stop and take time to realize that she’s more than a lesson-making, paper-grading, at-times-glorified-babysitter-to-little-loves-whose-parents-think-they-can-do-no-wrong, data-analyzing, under-paid worker who doesn’t have her life in check. 

Now, I love teaching and children, otherwise, I wouldn’t be in my tenth year of education. But, I will take anyone on who thinks that teachers don’t need more breaks.

I spent night one of Fall Break at a pumpkin farm with my family, and day one on a 'real' farm, with some of my favorite friends. During these events, I found my heart-rate dropped (at least according to my Fitbit) and that I could breathe. I even had time to sit down with my husband over coffee and go over our bills. (This was devastating when we realized how much we had paid for food for eating out several times a week.) But, the fact was, we now are getting back on track because we took the time and had the energy to focus on a plan.

A break… It’s just what the hypothetical doctor had ordered!

And as I think back through the month of September and how difficult it was, I don’t want to return to it. In a week, I go back to the grind, to the same job that caused me to be drained in the first place. But, I plan to take back a different perspective – one where I refuse to take as much work home. One where I acknowledge and accept that I cannot keep up with that perfect teammate who has no young kids at home, and one where I tell myself that whatever I do is enough.

I remember my student teaching years, when a wise teacher across the hall once told me, “Angela, teaching is all about balance. You will never be able to get it all done, but if you don’t take care of yourself, then you’ll get even less done.”

So to all you working moms out there – those who work both outside and inside the house - I challenge you to start taking care of yourself. I have reassured myself that October will not be the same setback for my family that September was.