Deferred Maintenance

Midmorning, Grey, the Beats and I made our way to the U.S. Post office to deal with passports. For Grey and me, our passports are expiring and require us to submit renewals; for the Beats, it's the first time we've applied for them. Following pictures being taken and both Beats settling in with our phones so we could finalize applications, the postal worker asked us why we haven't applied sooner. After all, most people pursuing these applications when their children are infants. The quiets pause that followed with her scanning the looks on both our faces basically gave her the answer she needed with her announcing "Say no more!" in order to proceed with the process.

Yesterday, Grey and I learned the oil tank for our heating system is leaking. Our landlord, who inherited the property from her mother, has been completely beside herself with the knowledge that this not only has to be replaced but is going to be far more expensive than if she (or her mother) had done the preventative maintenance. Thankfully that replacement is scheduled to happen (otherwise this would be a very different post), but it's gotten me thinking more and more about maintenance and how Grey and I have been finally doing a lot of it after years of deferral.

The passports are one sign. This is something we should have done long ago, but were unable to (read finances and time). Household technology has been on that list and so has car maintenance (Lenny is long overdue for a full detailing job). But there are other things too. Purging has been happening as well as doctor's appointments. Dead last on the list that neither Grey or I have touched has been self-care. Both with pulling out his bike and me just getting time to take a long, hot bath.

One would argue that parenthood has been the issue, but the truth is a lot of this deferred maintenance stems from years before. With fertility treatments, where all extra time and resources were being sapped to dealing with the condo (and all the problems there) to even helping family. Time and again, we've put ourselves last, hoping for a period where we'll find some time in order to catch up.

But the truth has been, that time has come due to the need for it to happen. The oil tank is an excellent analogy for this as that sucker is extremely corroded. And yet, until yesterday, everyone involved with the property was telling us not to worry and that it would be taken care of at a later date. Even though planning out a replacement would have allowed for time to shop around and plan, allowing for a smoother transition instead of the situation that they are now facing (compounded by the fact that our lease is official broken and we are legally free to leave, leaving the landlord to lose tens of thousands of dollars if we do). Grey and I are in a similar boat with parts of our lives.

Because the reality is, we couldn't afford to tend to ourselves until now. We couldn't afford to think about anything beyond basic survival for years. And the sad thing is we are not abnormal. So many around us are forced to make similar choices that those in positions of privilege fail to see. So many of us are beyond burnout, craving time to heal just a little bit but cannot afford to.

So we slowly chip away at the things we can. Passports, updating legal information, careers, dreams and life.

Iron mom

I have vivid memories of the parents and caregivers of those with special needs. Starting from elementary school, with the teaching aids and parents of the children that were in class with me; later it would be as a young adult where I helped run programs that included special needs adults. There's always been two camps these people fall in: either clueless and not caring (these were few and far between) or some of the most incredible human beings I've had the pleasure of knowing. It's the latter camp that has made an impression: kindness and patience abound when working or caring for the special needs individual, combined with a firmness for advocating what is needed and a strong set of problem solving skills. These individuals have always left me in total awe, but also with a sense that there is no way I could do what they do daily as I lack so many of these qualities.

I'm not a patient person. I'm also not overly kind. I struggle with daily interactions with most people, failing to assert myself and my own boundaries in a constructive manner, which usually results in me either swallowing hurt or coming across as being an asshole. I lack grace in conflict and skill to navigate delicate matters.

The problem is, I need to somehow master all the above in order to move forward. She-Beat needs me to in order to make this transition and get her the help she needs. And hence a major reason I've been in a constant state of tears for the last 24 hours as I'm convinced I'm going to fail my daughter.

Yesterday I blew off work in order to hunt for new schools, fill out paperwork and to contact the Beats' current daycare to request a meeting. Like a chickenshit, I avoided talking with the director when she immediately demanded a meeting as I was convinced it would only result in a screaming match. I also began contacting family to let them know what was happening. My aunt and uncle were amazing (see above description for why), but my MIL wasn't happy about the news or the decision to pursue services, suggesting that maybe it would be much better if we waited to see. I spent most of this morning's commute hiding behind sunglasses and staring out the window as those silence tears fell, feeling utterly ashamed with myself.

This isn't the first time these feelings have surfaced. While in the thick of infertility and loss, I regularly had similar thoughts as my inadequacy as a human was the reason I wasn't able to conceive. I know what so many are going to say ("Why?" "It's not true!" etc, etc), but the truth is that having spent years where my self-identity has been so negative, it's hard not to come to these conclusions when faced with them. The problem is now I have to counter them and fit myself into a role that I had previously determined I could never do.

In a world of Dragon moms and Tiger moms, I have to figure out the path of a special needs caregiver. Somehow I have to figure out how to be patient in the face of frustration, to show kindness when feeling the exact opposite. I have to figure out how to assert unapologetically for what is needed while also doing so in a way that opens doors and builds bridges. I have to become skilled at finding the light, even when things seem so dark. And though I have some amazing role models, both in this community as well as in real life, the truth is I don't know where to begin to make this transition. I don't know how to recover when I make mistakes as it's not me that's on the line.

In short, I'm afraid I don't have what it takes to be an Iron mom. To protect my daughter and help her move beyond so that she can grow to her full potential. And that She-Beat will be further harmed because of it.

Assessment results

This is still fresh, so please forgive me for the fragments and typos. I'm still reeling, but writing helps me process.

This morning, I met with the team for Special Education at the local school district to talk about the results on the assessment on the Beats. With He-Beat, despite some concern about hyperactivity, it's been determined that he is developing normally and does not need services at this time. But She-Beat is another story. After an hour of walking through observations and results from each team, it was concluded that she does qualify for special education services and an IEP is currently being put together for her so that we can get moving on getting her the help she needs.

Somehow I managed not to cry in the meeting, focusing on what was being said and making plans for what needs to be done in order to expedite this process. But afterwards in the car, I weep like I haven't weep since infertility.

There are so many negative emotions at the moment. I'm angry at myself for missing this and not acting sooner, I'm so sad that my little girl has been suffering, I'm frightened about what lies ahead, especially as I'm now looking at terminating me working in order to make sure she gets the help she needs. But I'm also angry at their current teachers, as part of the evaluations reflected that they view the Beats in a hostile manner. I'm angry with the rollercoaster Grey and I have been on that has inhibited us from being able to see this. And I'm angry with those we have supported who have completely failed us. Any guilt that remained about cutting those people out of our lives is now completely gone as they truly do not matter.

I don't know what to do at the moment. Phone calls have been made this morning and I will be reaching out to others in order to get additional support and guidance. All I know is I can't afford to do nothing. Nothing is not even an option.

Ghosts

Two days ago, I found a letter addressed to my landlord from a company that specializes in foreclosure assistance. Immediately recognizing this type of letter, I put it to the back of the pile of mail and brought it inside. All the while my heart pounding. Later that evening, as Grey was inspecting the recently repaired furnace and leaking oil filter, I showed him the letter. And that's when the old ghosts were allowed to emerge for both of us.

It's hard to believe that a year ago, Grey and I were in a situation where we were unable to sell our condo and facing the prospect of foreclosure. Throughout the recession, we managed to hang on to the property, making sacrifices in order to make sure we never fell behind on a payment. But when we faced not being able to sell due to a toxic resale certificate created by our property management company, we found ourselves in a situation where we wondered if foreclosure would be our only way out.

Thankfully, that wasn't the case. Through some gymnastic-style negotiations and the help of our rental manager, we were able to convince the Board to fire the association's property management company, replacing them with a company that is much more ethical. In addition, through more guidance from our rental manager and due to an insanely hot real estate market, we formulated a plan to sell that involved absolute transparency (something that scares most realtors). In short, we were able to turn an insanely bad situation around, getting out ahead.

But the scars from that trauma are still very fresh and this trigger was a reminder of that.

There's this odd assumption most have that with time, the scars from a traumatic event will magically disappear. Very often, I'm told that "time heals all wounds," but what people fail to understand that healing does not equal erasing. Pain can become less acute and relief can come from the triggers, but the ghosts remain.

Part of that is a good thing as the learning that has happened has shaped how we live today. Part of knowing about the foreclosure process means that Grey and I are also aware of what our rights are as renters (which are fairly substantial). We cannot be evicted because of our landlord and any new owner will either have to take up our rental contract for buy us out of it. We also have basic rights to living conditions that have to be maintained and we know the channels to use if these aren't met.

But the other part is processing all that happened. Of allowing us to confront those ghosts once again and acknowledge they were extremely scary and awful. That what happened was beyond simple life decisions and/or choices, but an actual robbing of a simple desire that most didn't have to worry about.

In the meantime, we have an 8 month warning about a pending move, giving us time to hunt and hopefully a chance to find a better situation.

Unsilencing

It was a simple email exchange. My MIL is going through a work issue and Grey and his siblings have been working with her to navigate all of it. Since first learning about this issue, there's been emails exchanged between the siblings to share advice, strategy and determine who can handle which aspects.

But it was a portion of one email that caught my eye; a paragraph actually. In that paragraph, Grey shared with his siblings how taxed we've been with all the transitions, illnesses and surgeries, telling them that he was limited with what we could provide. And though that may not seem like much, this was the first time openly shared any hardships with them instead of trying to take everything on.

He would go on to do it again during a conversation with MIL. Opening up to her in a manner he likely hasn't done in years, with it being clear she was surprised. But the unsilencing has been good for him; for them too.

Like Grey, I've never been one to talk openly about my struggles. From a young age, I learned it wasn't socially acceptable to "whine and complain" about my ales as it was likely others around me had it much harder. Instead, my role was to act as a support system, helping others in need find solutions and roads forward. There's a lot of problems with this thinking, particularly the learned assumption that asking for help is a sign weakness, but another one is the burn out that comes from suffering in silence. When you're giving all the time, neglecting your own self care, it's hard not to start resenting others for their requests, be they simple or overly complex.

Loribeth's post about the Misery Filter got me thinking more about this, particularly the point most the need to educate people about suffering. Part of this education requires training and learning how to be resilient, but there's another point which involves normalizing suffering and making it much more common place then it already is.

With infertility, we're starting to see this. Whereas a few years ago, post like this one from Dear Prudence were common (and I'm still angry with Emily Yoffe for her callous response), the articles now are more sympathetic (and this podcast had me cheering for Mallory Ortberg) with people finally opening up about their journey. The big thrust behind this change is because of normalization. It's because a brave few started all of this by coming out of the infertility closet, shameless sharing their stories. And those few grew to many more, empowering many more to do the same. And though infertility and pregnancy loss are still taboo, particularly if you don't resolve by parenting, the truth is there are more much needed conversations that are happening. The unsilencing has lead to awareness.

Something has lifted in our household recently due to the embrace for openness. Things are still hard with surrounding this period (finding out our new rental is likely going to be foreclosed on in the near future hasn't helped), but by asking for help while acknowledging the hardships of others has been freeing and selecting. Those who love us and want to support us know not to jump in with assive or offer callous critiques, but instead to offer empathy and someone to talk to. But there's also something very freeing about no longer living under the shroud of silence. A validation that we actually matter too.

#MicroblogMondays: Reclaiming Halloween

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

Late last night as I listened to howling wind, I sat crouched over a bowl picking out and cleaning pumpkin seeds to roast. Earlier in the day, the Beats sat at the kitchen table with me, helping me scoop out their pumpkins and excitedly shouting out directions for cutting out their jack-o-lanterns. As I sat cutting out triangles and circles, they chattered on about their costumes and all the festivities from the weekend. 

There are many things I allowed infertility to rob me of. Connections with others, special events and even places I had loved to frequent. The holidays were at the top of the list, being there is such a focus on children and family-centered events. So for years, I isolated myself during this period, steeling myself to do the bare minimum in order to protect my heart.

But the downside was that I lost a lot along the way. Ski trips, hiking adventures and even going to a favorite local pub. I allowed the intrusive relatives, the baby bumps and the fear of strollers to dictate where I could go. And because of it, I missed out on the things that brought me joy. 

It was right before my final round of IVF that I declared I had had enough. So I started reclaiming the holidays in my own way, starting with Halloween. I made a point of carving pumpkins and roasting pumpkin seeds while enjoying a special bottle of beer because, damnit, it was something I enjoyed. Thanksgiving would be next, with a tradition of pumpkin pies and roasted chicken. And finally would come the Winter Holidays, being determined to find a way to bring in light despite the sadness in my heart.

Admittedly, it's been easier to celebrate since the arrival of the Beats. The things that once stopped me no longer hold the same power (though I am still terrified of strollers). But a part of that also comes with having reclaimed Halloween all those years ago. Being determined to find a way to celebrate the life I already had with my family of two. 

An epidemic

Last night I found myself staring at a virtual map detailing opioid overdoses across the country. On the heels of a press conference where a state of emergency has been declared, most people I find myself surrounded by daily seemed surprised about the degree of this crisis.

This news is on the heels of emerging reports about the homelessness epidemic in this country.

And yet, once again, our leaders are clearly failing to connect the dots about how the decisions to protect a privileged few are resulting in all of this. That actions and willful deafness to the plights of those outside their doorsteps is stressing the majority to the point of chronic life pain,  leading to the early death in otherwise physically healthy individuals.

We're well overdue for action and a solution to this issue, though I fear it’s going to get far worse before then.

Many have been talking recently about infertility being a source of life pain (myself included). But what isn't talked about as much is that having walked this path this community is in a unique position to help others navigate it. That there's wisdom so many gain from having walked this path, finding ways to survive while living on the fringes.

As I go on, it's becoming clear that those who have no idea what life pain is have any clue how to address it. Meaning that as much as they believed they are entitled to steer this ship, the best course of action involves dropping them off at the closest port. Ignoring the temper tantrums that will surely come. Following that enforced grounded will come the need to new navigators. Those who know how to sit with others as they process their pain, offering support and even a simple “I’m sorry” so that healing can begin. And things can be rebuilt.

Because we cannot survive this epidemic much longer.