That's a hard one. As a parent, and as my children have grown, I've given thought to their personal privacy: what would they want me to say about them?
In my mind at least, revealing information about a special needs child is something like outing a person's sexual preference before they were ready. As a child grows, it is possible they will find ways to compensate and maybe that information might never need to be shared. How much do you want the world to know about you?
My kids aren't circus performers. I don't expect their lives to be lived for anyone's pleasure. Sharing their joys and successes has been automatic. Thinking you can use social media to bring happiness to more people seems a bit of a no-brainer!
Because anyone who knows us knows exactly which child I'm talking about. At 18, she is a bit more comfortable with who she is. Not entirely though. It's not something she likes to talk about. She doesn't want to be identified by her label.
Who does? I've experienced depression and anxiety since I was 17. I'd prefer you call me Heather.
So today, I'll "out" me.
I'm the parent of two people, and one is a person on the Autism spectrum. It's been the most profoundly painful, joyous, soul-shredding journeys I could have ever imagined for myself. It has completely rewritten the course I thought my life would take. And, quite frankly, that has really pissed me off sometimes. I've mourned my own dreams. I've feared my future. I LOVE my daughter, and I deeply fear what happens to her when I die.
Because what if no one loves her and cares for her like I do? She's my world, and my heart. She pushes me past the bounds of what I think I can do, and who I thought I would be, and she has no idea that is what she's doing. She just knows I am bigger, better, and capable of more than I think I am.
I hide sometimes, because there are a lot of people who really don't care about this story, me, or how any of it turns out. I was trying to be small. I don't want to bother anyone, or get in anyone's way. I share the good stuff, and hide the hard stuff as much as I can. I was raised not to seek pity, or charity.
So, I sucked it up in the early years when people said there was nothing wrong with her. I allowed the words of people who said it was my fault, that I was a bad mom, to seep into my subconscious. That self-doubt kept me from pursuing interventions for her. I simultaneously felt the knife wielded by thoughts of failing as a parent in my heart, and the scorching eyes of judgement from those who thought I was still overreacting. But I finally had elementary school teachers behind us and began to pursue therapies and educational interventions that they suggested, and ultimately proved fruitful. When a child who was projected to never be able to read and probably not be very verbal is one day giving speeches at the county dairy princess pageant?
That's the point when you start caring a whole lot less about the naysayers.
I did mention depression and anxiety. They still exist. This is another topic I feel a need to advocate for. What originally started to push me through the lowest of lows was a combination of returning to the family farm to milk cows, and yoga. I had an incredible yoga teacher/mentor I still love and respect dearly tell me that cows have a grounded energy that was therapeutic for my creative, ungrounded, natural state of being. Those words resonated deeply.
I pursued becoming a yoga teacher, not because I thought I was really going to be a yoga teacher (that is a retirement goal - see that whole 'I had my whole life planned' piece); but because other people seemed quite passionate that was a right-path for me. Even my late father-in-law... one of the last things I remember him saying to me was "I thought you were going to be a yoga teacher."
During one of those last trainings, I was in a master class, taught by Beth Shaw. I had what teachers call an "emotional release." In reality, it was an awakening.
We were moving into meditation, and I was reminded of an event a friend and I had put together to celebrate our school's Special Olympics bowlers at the end of their season. I had gotten some pretty tacky little gifts together from area dollar stores, and invented awards for as many of the kids as I could. Lucky socks for high-scoring bowlers, and foil-wrapped, chocolate eggs became "Awards of Eggselence" for all!
The laughs that moment got... I hope those are among the last things I hear before I close my eyes on this plane of existence. I hope they live in my memory with as much vibrance as they do now.
The moment relived itself for me in that meditation, and, laying on the floor on my yoga mat in a hotel conference area, surrounded by yogis and in the glow of positive energy after a shade more than an hour of practice: I cried. I cried and cried the relentless cry of a person whose deep purpose was growing through their heart and out of their chest.
I need to bring light to a shadowy place. I need to bring joy to people who struggle.
NEED to.
MUST do.
Autumn was given to me to show me the way.
The girl is my beacon.
Do I know what I am doing?
NO!
And I was shown a way to move forward.
We have this old barn, and I have a girl who LOVES cows. And I know personally that cows are therapy, that yoga is therapy, and we have a world where people are getting farther and farther away from the farm. In my mind, the farm is the very thing that grounds a person in what is right in the world. Another point of advocacy for me is not losing agriculture. Cows are grounding, and they teach us to be calm, steady nurturers. Yoga is a moving meditation that can also bring joy, peace, and also enlightenment.
What if we can bring those things together in our old barn? What if we can bring people, and especially our special needs community, to this barn and provide moments of joy and peace? What if we can reconnect people to farming?
And how do we do that when we know that we also have to prepare for the future of a child who might never be fully self-sufficient? There are no extra resources we can sell, and taking out a loan that keeps us from setting back funds for her — or worse — is still lingering after we're gone, is not an intelligent choice.
I set up a gofundme page because I believe in the power of intention. Yoga taught me to open ALL channels of possibility. In so doing, I began my chant to the universe that I am ready to accept the path the light in my chest is pulling me towards. Faith is overpowering fear. I will explore all options - AM exploring the options - and with enough time, patience, and breath, I will succeed in realizing my purpose.
Compromising my time as a parent or to my family any more than I do with my job is not an option I choose. I've had well-meaning people suggest all sorts of possible side gigs, and I recall a quote I find particularly true: "Women are expected to work as though they don't have children, and raise children as though they don't have jobs."
It is a blessing to me that my work environment is incredibly pro-family. This mission will need to be pro-family too. It might be something that ultimately employs one or more of us. A big dream is that it could employ members of our special needs community too! My commitment to still be present for my family means this project may move slowly. Time, patience, and breath are all that is needed.
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