Twists & Turns on the Rollercoaster

Ahhh Life. We never know what it'll throw at us.

I read a guest post on Ann Voscamp's blog the other day which really resonated with me, called "When you're living a life you didn't choose". That happens sometimes - we end up in a life that wasn't what we hoped/dreamed/planned.
We have a dream for the life we want to live, and then it isn't.
Life throws us a curveball. There's an unexpected twist in the rollercoaster. And oh help, here we go again on another not-so-great-fun adventure.

Right now you could say that I'm living a life I didn't choose - in so far as I never in my wildest dreams (or nightmares) would have imagined that my marriage would end after 15 years of trying.
But, yep, there it is.
I've been separated and sole-parenting for over three months now.
That's the twist my life's rollercoaster has taken me on.

[ CONTINUE READING.......]

This is Normal (apparently)

Sometimes everything works. Every now and then we have a day - or a few days in a row even! - where everything just flows. There are no meltdowns, no raised voices, no tears or tantrums. There is no reason to tear out my hair or wish human ears came with a volume control.
Sometimes, every now and then, I feel like a good mum. Like we've figured it out. Like we are winning.

And then there are the other days.
The days where nothing works.
The days where we are like kittens in a bag, scratching at each other. The days where if it's not one kid crying/shouting/fighting/whingeing, it's another. Scrapping and answering back. Needling each other. Melting down over the littlest things. I should be bald by now with the frequency of these days.

[ CONTINUE READING.......]

Dyslexic Brains are Good Brains Too

Hi, I'm Simone and I'm dyslexic. Did you know that about me?
Just typing the word, "dyslexic" it came out "dysexlic" the first time I wrote it.
But writing things backwards is not what makes me dyslexic. In fact, that was just a typo that may or may not have anything to do with my dyslexia.
Being dyslexic is very different to what most people think, if they think about it at all. Most people's understanding of dyslexia is typified by this joke (that I thought was really funny when when I first heard it, before I knew I was dyslexic)...

Hey did you hear the one about the dyslexic agnostic insomniac? 
He stayed up all night wondering if Dog really exists.
Yeah. Ha. Ha.

Most people (including teachers) think that dyslexia is struggling with reading, writing and spelling. Full stop.
Unfortunately for people who are dyslexic, they are only touching on a fraction of the issue.
In fact, they are missing the point altogether.

[ CONTINUE READING.......]

How I Turned my Reluctant Readers into Book Lovers

Hi, my name is a Mrs Readalot and I'm a bookaholic. I gave birth to three energetic offspring who rarely sat still long enough to pick up a book. Not one of them showed any librarian tendencies. All of them were Reluctant Readers. It fair broke my heart, I tell you.
I've known since my youngest days the magic of books.
Books contain worlds. They expand our horizons. They let us inside other people's heads. Reading fiction even helps develop empathy (and combats narcissism).

"A recent study found that reading fiction helps people improve their empathy, because it encourages them to place themselves in others’ lives and understand their actions. In that way, reading is like traveling — with your mind." (Source)

For all these reasons and more I was desperate for my children to love books, I wanted them to enjoy rainy evenings snuggled in bed with a good book, nodding off to sleep as the rain pitterpatters on the roof and the book grows heavy in their hands, their eyelids droop and they slip into dreamland...

[ CONTINUE READING.......]

The Upside of Imperfection

I don't know where we ever got the idea that perfection was a possibility, but every second mother I talk to beats herself up on a regular basis for not being perfect.
We agonise over whether our lack of consistency is going to result in life-destroying character flaws; we lie awake at night worrying if our growling and nagging and shouting is wreaking havoc on our children's fragile psyches; we compare ourselves to every other mum out there who we imagine has it all together... When the reality is that we don't. Not a one. None of us do.
We are flawed and imperfect, every one.
Because we are Human. That's just how we are: none of us perfect.

I myself am far from perfect, and to try and pretend otherwise would just be silly.
Maintaining a pretense of perfection fools nobody.
There's something very freeing about admitting you fail, acknowledging your weaknesses and mess-ups and letting others see you are human.

[ CONTINUE READING.......]

Getting the Black Dog Under Control (beating depression)

Last week I wrote a post on a subject I haven't broached in a while as I found myself pursued by my old Nemesis, the Black Dog. After a nice long spell free from it's hounding, it was something of a shock to feel those old feelings again. But after years of dealing with that mutt's harassment, I was in a much better place than I once was to get it back under control again.

I'm talking about Depression, if you haven't figured it out. It dogged me for years (ha, see what I did there?).

In recent times I've been symptom-free, partly helped by anti-depressants, which deal with the chemical side, and partly helped by regular visits to my awesome counselor, Jane - or as I prefer to think of her, my life coach. With this two-pronged plan I've been making steady progress at dealing with stuff, getting stronger, finding my voice - and the Black Dog was nowhere to be seen.

But I knew it was still lurking in the background somewhere, waiting for it's opportunity to pounce. It was tied up, sure, and under control, but I was under no illusions that I was done with that Mutt for good. It's a vulnerability I have, like a dodgy knee that plays up in cold weather. If I don't stay vigilant, if I let things get on top of me, if pressure starts to build and I'm not careful, then look out - the Black Dog will slip his chain and start roaming free again.

(It helps me to personify the Depression as a Black Dog, prowling. It may seem odd to you, but it works for me).

Over the many (many) years I've spent dealing with the black dog, I've learnt a few things. I'm not the quivering mess I once was, in the face of the Mutt. I know I can beat it and I'm not afraid of it's bite anymore because I know how to act quickly and get it under control before things get out of hand. At the first sign of it's loathsome growl, I am on alert and the call goes out:

We have a situation: The Mutt is free, he's off his chain. Beware! Alert all systems. Move to DEFCON 4. 

[ CONTINUE READING.......]

Today it's all Too Much

It's been a long long time since I've felt this way. Today, for whatever reason, I have hit the wall and I don't really know why. For months and months - maybe more than a year - the Black Dog has been safely tied up. He hasn't been barking or snapping at my heels or raising his ugly black head.
But today, all of a sudden, there he is. Ugh. I hate that mutt.

What is this feeling of overwhelm? Where has this desire to climb back into my bed and pull the covers up over my head come from?

It's been building all weekend. I've been snappy, snarly and a right grumpy git, to be honest.
But I've been holding it together. Until just now when I went to plug in my camera to upload some photos from the weekend and SH*T, some bugger has taken my camera cord and stuck it who-knows-where.

In that instant all of the little things that have been building up like a weight of snow on my emotional roof suddenly become too much. In the blink of an eye, here comes the whole lot of it crashing through and landing on me like a cold wet blanket.

Suddenly everything is too much.

[ CONTINUE READING.......]

PARENTING: Detours, Road Blocks & Getting There Eventually

One of the hardest things about being a parent is watching your child struggle. It's tough having to stand by helplessly as the outside world distorts the way your precious kid sees themselves. It's gut-wrenching hearing them say things like, "I'm so stupid! I'm dumb! Why couldn't I be born smarter!"
Worst of all is when they really truly believe it - that just breaks your heart.

School is a pretty tough place to be sometimes. There's the fitting-in-socially struggle (and coming up against the kind of nasty kids who whisper things like "faggot" and"dumb-ass" when they think nobody's watching).
Even if your self-esteem is pretty robust, that can be pretty hard to take on a daily basis. Especially when the Kids Code of Silence has drummed into you: "Don't be a snitch".
So you suffer in silence and your parents are left wondering why you are moody and anxious and reluctant to get out of bed each morning.

That would be enough to deal with on its own.
But then there's the actual schoolwork. Academic effort. Maths. English. Science.
All the subjects that require you to write and calculate and remember and reason and recall endless facts and methods and weird names for things. And then they test you and grade you and compare you to everyone else in the class/grade/country.
At that point, when you know you've tried so hard to learn the stuff they've been trying to teach you, well those test-results can be pretty soul-destroying.

Some kids just struggle at school, full stop.
I have kids like that. And the further into school they get, the more difficult they find it, the more anxious they become and the more trouble I have getting them up every morning.

My kids have my brain. The dyslexic bit that makes remembering stuff difficult, that makes maths numbers slide out of your head like slippery fish. The kind of brain that makes you feel like you're forever missing the point, not quite fitting in. The kind of brain that needs to experience and see and do before you can understand something new. The kind of brain that gets confused by long technical explanations. It's called a low working memory, and slow processing speed (dyslexic traits).

On top that my kids have ADHD. Yep, that's brand new information, and it makes SO MUCH SENSE. (They are highly physical, easily distracted, easily bored, passionate, impulsive, emotional and high energy). But this post is not about that.

This post is about a conversation I had with my son the other day as I attempted to drive him to school (late) in the middle of rush hour. His school is a half hour bus ride away, so when he missed it I had to take him, at the busiest time of the morning.
Every road we turned down had traffic backed up, jammed, not moving.
Rather than sitting stuck in traffic, going nowhere, I turned the car around, tried another road.
More traffic backed up! This was worse than usual. Was it caused by an accident? Road works? Who knew!
So we took another detour, tried another route.

As we drove, we talked.
He told me how he felt about school, why he didn't want to go. He told me how he got some grades back the day before, and had compared his grades to those of his classmates. He told me how he watched others in his class quickly clicking onto a new maths concept, while he sat there in confusion with his brain fizzing. He told me how disappointed he was when he worked really hard on an English project and thought he'd done well... until he got his results.
He felt like it just wasn't worth trying. Like he couldn't ever get it.
"Why can't I be smart? Why am I so dumb?" he said.
And my heart broke for him as I pulled another u-turn and tried another road.

Then, light-bulb.
All these detours, all this blocked traffic is exactly what happens in my brain - and his.
We hit a mental road block and have a choice: Stay stuck in traffic or try another way.
Again and again it happens.
But if we keep refusing to stay stuck, if we keep turning around and trying another route, WE WILL GET THERE EVENTUALLY!

So that's what I told my son. My frustrated, discouraged, brilliant son who is a genius with a ball at his feet and who can read a game and create goal opportunities like no-one else.
My son is a genius in his own way. He has things he is amazing at. Like the way he engages with little kids and the way he has insights and asks questions about deep stuff that just doesn't usually occur to kids his age.

I told him, Don't give up. School can be rough when your brain works in a different way. Just take it one day at a time.
There's no pressure from me or dad. We've got your back, you're not alone.
When you hit a learning road block, we'll try another route. When you feel stuck, we'll try something else. And you will get there eventually.
Because you are smart. You are clever. You are amazing at lots of things.
And nobody is expecting you to be an accountant or a brain surgeon.
You just need to figure out what YOU are a genius at, and do what you can about the rest.

Because as Albert Einstein said so brilliantly:

“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

I think it helped.
And we were only ten minutes late for school, because I found the best back street route, no traffic jams. (We might take the long way round but we get there in the end).

................

**P.S. The bullying was finally disclosed, and the school notified. In the meantime, as I've put into practise being the squeaky wheel, they are supporting my son amazingly with new inclusion in two great programmes, B-Cool and Boyzone. Very grateful for a supportive school guidance counselor and a great form teacher. It pays to be a squeaky wheel! 

P.P.S.: The ADHD diagnosis for my son is in place of an earlier one which suggested mild Aspergers traits; this has now been discounted. It has also been suggested that Dyslexia in some form has gone undiagnosed, which is what we thought all along.

P.P.P.S.: My son gave me permission to share this story as long as I didn't mention his name. But he wanted this photo added in!

• My DYSLEXIA Diagnosis: Taking the Long Way Round
• The Squeaky Wheel Gets the Oil: Learning to Speak up for My Kids

"The Squeaky Wheel Gets the Oil" (finding my voice)

Something's changed in me over the past year or so.  I've always been a scaredy cat, never one to rock the boat, speak up or make waves. Ask anyone who knows me. Unlike so many other Lioness Mothers who would roar if anyone stepped out of line round her cubs, I was always more of a Mouse.

If I had to speak up, whether to a teacher, a bully or a fellow parent I'd be shaking so bad I'd lose my words and feel like I was going to vomit. I just hated "confrontation".

But over the past year or so I've noticed that I no longer procrastinate and avoid confrontation. I've become better at speaking up with teachers, family and coaches (it doesn't even make me want to vomit anymore).

Instead of staying silent and hoping for the best, I've begun asking for what I want, because I've realised this earth shattering truth: The Squeaky Wheel Gets the Oil.

It started when one of my kids was struggling at school, miserable. At first I felt powerless and overwhelmed; I didn't know what to do but I knew I had to do something, talk to someone, so I gathered my courage and headed to school.

I remember sitting in the office of the department head stammering out my concerns about my child's anxiety and bursting into tears. Right there in her office.

This lovely H.O.D. gave me an hour of her time, listened to my concerns, handed me tissues and reassured me that they would work to support my child in a number of new ways.
It wasn't so hard, this talking thing.

A week later I met with her and the child's teacher again and she presented me with two charts, depicting my child's progress so he could see in colour just how far he'd come. When I told the H.O.D. later that he was calling those charts "my treasures" and sleeping with them under his pillow, tears sprang into her eyes.

I was learning that a little bit of squeaking will get your wheel oiled.
A little bit of asking will get results. It's not that hard, once I get over myself.
And if I don't squeak for them, nobody else will.

After all, the H.O.D. has hundreds of kids to think about; the teacher has thirty. I'm the only one with just my own kids' interests at heart.

In the sea of faces my child's struggle might not be apparent to the teacher he/she is trying so hard to please. The teacher doesn't see my child fall apart at the end of the day, after using all their energy working so hard to stay on task and just keep up. The teacher doesn't have to drag my child out of bed as they wail, "I don't wanna go! I hate school!" The teacher doesn't have to wipe their tears of frustration and talk them down from the bridge of self-doubt, patch up their shattered self-esteem and send them out to face the world again... I DO.

I have to live with these children, so it's worth being a squeaky wheel if it means happier kids who know their mama has got their back.

I may not like "confrontation" or "making waves" but there's a nice way to do things.
Being a squeaky wheel doesn't mean becoming demanding or difficult. It just means becoming my child's advocate and speaking up on their behalf, which I can do with a smile on my face. Being pleasant and reasonable-but-determined will probably get me further than being antagonistic and bolshy anyway!

I've now lost count of how many times I've been up to school in the past year. I rarely used to go up there, relying on school reports, and the inadequate twice-yearly parent teacher interviews.

No longer.
Now as soon as there's a ripple I'm there. Talking to the teacher, clarifying the situation, getting information, helping them to know my children and understand their needs,
I'm now one of "those" parents... in the nicest possible way.

The more I talk to my kids' teachers, the better the relationships with the teachers become and the easier it gets to talk to them. (And the more positively they'll work with my kids too).

This worked to the point last year where I knew Miss Fab's teacher well enough to invite him to come watch her perform in the church Christmas production - and he came.

It's so freeing, not being scared anymore. Having found my voice I don't just use it to advocate for my kids at school, oh no.

It translates into other areas of life as well.
Like I noticed that with life being so busy, we were hardly ever getting to see my parents. There was just not enough grandparent-time and I worried that if we didn't set aside some regular time to connect, one day I'd look back and regret that my kids never got to know my parents before they were gone.


I could sit around feeling sad and resentful or I could ask for what I wanted for my kids and take the risk that I might get knocked back...

So I baked some muffins, took my coffee machine with me and went to my folks to ask for what I wanted: dinner with them once a week. Regular time for my kids to spend with them hanging out, getting to know them.

...I wasn't knocked back. As of last week, every Thursday night Nan and Grandad will come for dinner. I cook, they play. Last week it was Monopoly Empire, homemade spaghetti and stories after dinner. There are plans for bike rides with Grandad, card games and more.
We all said goodbye at the end of our first night with a warm fuzzy glow, with the kids agreeing "This was fun!"; I believe it's the start of a beautiful thing.

I'm so thankful that I've learned to speak up.
After all those timid years of being afraid of knock-backs or angry confrontations, it's a pleasant surprise to learn that I can still be me, but a bolder Squeakier version of myself.
After all, what have I got to lose really, by speaking up? If I ask for something and the answer is no, have I lost anything apart from a bit of pride?
No I haven't.
But I stand to gain so much for my kids when I lose my fear and find my voice.

I may not ever be a roaring Lioness Mother but I can be a Squeaky Wheel.

...........................

More Motherhood-Learning-Curve Posts

• So I Yelled... 
• Stuff You Learn at a Skate Park
• Ten Cool Things About Motherhood
• Getting Over Myself 
• To Young Me from Old Me...

Changing the Record, Changing Me

I've had this post in the back of my mind for a few weeks now, as I've started to notice some changes taking place in me.

For the longest time I've been telling myself certain stories, replaying old records over and over again. You might recognise some of them (they might be stories you tell yourself too).

"This is too hard for me..."
"I could never do that..."
"I don't enjoy that..."
"I'm no good at that..."
"My kids would never go for that..."

Those old "I can't" records have been playing in my head for so long, I thought they were "me".

I truly believed that "I'm no good at confrontation; if I have to speak up I freeze and lose what I wanted to say." This meant that I let my husband do the speaking for me and asked him to fight way too many of my battles. I let my voice be swallowed up by fear of what others would think, and a desire to not rock the boat or be seen as pushy.

I accepted as fact the line that went "I don't enjoy baking and only do I when I have to" along with "making dinner for my family every night is such a chore." This saw me trotting out the same round of tired old dinners every week.

I struggled with so many aspects of having school-age kids, mainly because I believed the record that said, "I'm hopeless at helping the kids do their homework; I don't know where to begin." The whole homework saga was an endless battle on three fronts and as the children got older I experienced more and more anxiety (and guilt).

[Another sugar free baking experiment - banana, date and walnut loaf: I am ENJOYING BAKING!] 

I also fell for the story that went, "Healthy eating is so hard. My kids will never go for it. They're so picky and it would be a nightmare with battles at every mealtime. Plus It would mean I'd have to bake." As a result I took the easy option when it came to the kids' diet, being too scared of their reactions to try and make them eat healthier.

Above everything else, I believed the record that said, "I am crap at follow-through. I have great ideas but I don't stick at things."

And as these records played their negative stories over and over in my head, they became so deeply embedded that they became part of me. I believed deep down that I couldn't change these things about myself.

I believed nothing would change. I believed some things were too hard for me. Consequently NOTHING CHANGED and some things WERE too hard for me.

I lived my life restricted by those negative records playing in my brain, telling me stories I thought were true.

But lately I've noticed that some of the records have started to change.

Some have changed rapidly and dramatically, like the way my world was rocked by Nigel Latta's sugar expose which has transformed the way we are eating.
Others have changed so slowly and incrementally that it's only by looking back that I see how far I've come.

Instead of "I'm crap at confrontation" and letting my husband speak for me, I've begun to say to myself, "What's the worst that can happen? They can only say no..."
I've rocked up to school, asked for meetings, dealt with issues, and had conversations that have made a difference for my kids.
Another new story is, "The squeaky wheel gets the oil..." If I don't speak up for my kids, who will? Nobody, that's who.

I am now a squeaky wheel, a mum who advocates for her children. I've met with deputy principals, guidance counsellors and teachers - and boy did it feel good! I didn't even freeze.
I've changed the record to "I can do this."

[Dash's English project: a book report Conflict Chart that we worked on together: I am ENJOYING helping with homework]

Since I've begun working again, the old record has been silenced that used to say, "What could I do as a job? I can't go back to my old career and I'm not trained for anything..."
Instead I play the joyful tune, "This job is perfect for me! All the skills I've learned as a mother are being used in this job!"
My new job as a teacher aide has also given me the skills and confidence to help my kids with their homework.
I'm not scared of homework any more. I'm a homework-capable mum.

There are so many little ways the records are changing.
Ditching the "I don't enjoy baking" script and changing it to "It's a fun challenge to find recipes that are yummy AND healthy..."
Switching out "making meals every night is a chore" and changing it to "let's try something new".
Rejecting "I'm crap at follow through" and changing it to "I HAVE to do this, I CAN do this, it's important..."

As all these little changes begin to add up, that heinous old record "I'm a useless mother; I'm not doing a very good job" is getting fainter and fainter. I hardly ever hear it any more. It's being drowned out by "I'm making progress, I love my kids, I'm doing my best for them".

It's actually shocking how much has changed in me in the last while.
I speak up, I do things that used to scare me and I've stopped telling myself "I can't".
Changing the record is changing my life by changing me.
Bit by bit.

(Now I just need to find a way to stop the record that says, "Exercise is so boring... and so sweaty! I hate the way it makes me feel." Then we'll really be getting somewhere.)

.....................

What about you? Are any of these "records" familiar to you? What are the stories you tell yourself? (tell me I'm not alone!)

Taking the Long Way Round

I want to write this post today, partly to make sense of stuff for myself (because this is how I process things) and partly to let you all in on the way things are.

"Taking the long way round" is a phrase my counsellor used to describe my processing, weeks before I did the cognitive testing which revealed I am dyslexic.

She was helping me come to terms with some of my struggles and gave me a "Truth" phrase to write on a card: "I might take the long way round, but I get there in the end".

A little sob rose up inside me as she said it. It resonated deeply, this knowledge that all my life I've been taking the long way round but somehow "getting there" eventually.

Weeks later when the surprising diagnosis came back, it all made perfect sense.

This feeling of constantly treading water, of working hard beneath the surface to do things that "should be easy".
Wanting a medal at the end of each day, just for getting through it.
Constantly feeling anxious and uncertain.
My baffling forgetfulness and daily struggle to complete tasks and get where I need to be.
My losing battle with organisation and timeliness.
The way words freeze in my head and my mouth zips shut and I don't know how to get the words out to start a conversation (often mistaken for shyness).
How I walk around with unspoken sentences sealed up inside me, how sometimes it's just too hard to find a way to talk about things (and how this drives my husband batty).

It was a relief to know that the feeling I've always had of being different, and somehow outside of things, was in fact real.

But then the confusion set set in. Dyslexia, really?
But I'm a writer! I'm an avid reader! I am Mrs Readalot for gosh sakes! I was reading before I even went to school. Writing is how I express myself when words fail. So how does that stack up with dyslexia?
Aren't dyslexics all meant to struggle with spelling, reading and writing? I'm a great speller!

All these questions I threw at my lovely counsellor, Jane (who just happens to be doing her Masters on how Dyslexia affects marriages and families - amazing huh?).

Jane pulled out my test and talked me through it.
I have a giftedness in the area of vocabulary and comprehension, she explained. This has masked the dyslexia and enabled me to learn ways of compensating. I have learned how to take the long way round so successfully that my dyslexia was not even hinted at for 43 years.

I remember my dad teaching me to read. He used a game called Teachatot which has hundreds of jigsaw letters. I remember rolling on the floor giggling at the nonsense rhyming words my dad would make up.
He was teaching me to read phonically, breaking down the rules and word patterns and setting me up for life, without even realising it.
Apparently this is now the way "they" teach dyslexics to read. My dear old Dad had no idea that he was performing a miracle by playing Teachatot with me.
But all the praise doesn't just go to Dad.
Mum played a big part too.
Hours and hours I spent sitting on her lap while she read Little Golden Books to me - to the point that when I was three years old I had all the neighbour kids thinking I could read, because I knew the books off by heart. Word perfect.

My mum planted the seed of a love for books and reading.
My Dad watered that seed and nourished it.
Before I turned five I was reading. Before I was six I has read Enid Blyton's Folk of the Faraway Tree through in one night.

Giftedness plus parental input set me up to succeed in school. I was in the top classes in High School, getting good marks in English and Art, doing OK in the other subjects.

Funny though.  I had no idea my parents thought I was a bit lazy and unmotivated.
They knew I was bright but thought I could do better. Wondered why I wouldn't apply myself.

Little did they know how hard I must have been working beneath the surface. It looked like laziness but it wasn't.

[Standard One at Pt Chev Primary - I went to 10 different schools]

What I have - giftedness plus dyslexia - is called "Twice Exceptional" (2e) or "Stealth Dyslexia".

"Unfortunately a lack of parents’ and teachers’ knowledge and understanding can mean that neither the child’s giftedness nor special need is identified, or one aspect of the child is identified while the other is not. If it is only the giftedness which is recognised the child may be labelled lazy, oppositional or unmotivated. In the longer term a misunderstood twice exceptional child may be at risk of being placed in a unit for emotionally and behaviourally disturbed children, or of dropping out of school completely." - PEGY.org

This was me. I was identified as "gifted" (or at least considered "bright") but also seen as lazy.
I left school after 5th form to go to Canada for a year, but came home after three months and returned to school. I had to work my butt off to catch up - the hardest I had ever worked (which my Dad thought was the saving of me).

At the end of that year I'd had enough. I quit school and went and did an art course at the local Polytech.
I never went to University or gained any formal qualifications. Everything I've done and achieved has been learnt on the hop. I've kept on taking the long way round.

[Form One at Tokoroa Intermediate - the year I was bullied]

Now I am learning why I ended up with Depression.
Dyslexics are more prone to "emotional problems".
Self esteem is effected, anxiety is constant and there is always a feeling of never quite fitting in. (there's a great article here which explains it)
Square peg in round hole.
Plus it's exhausting. Constant tiredness from always having to take the long way round... and headaches. Lots and lots of headaches.

[6th Form - newly returned from Canada and working extra extra hard to catch up]

This is how I ended up with depression and why I couldn't kick it.
But now I know! I understand what lies at the root of my struggles.
And now for the first time I reckon I've got a really good chance of finally beating the depression.
With my new found understanding, I can start to live out of my strengths instead of constantly beating myself up over my "failings". I can start to feel better about myself, and be proud of what I have achieved... especially since I had to take the long way round!

Dyslexia has it's strengths (I see the big picture, I can find answers others might not, I am creative, I think outside the box) but it comes with its struggles too.

Every day, as I move through the world, cleaning my house, caring for my family, I take the long way round. It's tiring, I feel like I need a medal... but I get there in the end.
I will ALWAYS get there in the end.

.....................

Any other dyslexics out there? Any other 2e's? I'd love to hear from you...

P.S. Can you spot me in all the school photos. Bonus points for getting them right!

Grateful to Finally KNOW: I'm Dyslexic

Remember last Monday when I said I was going for some tests?

Cognitive testing to find out whether I might be on one or other of the spectrums (dyslexia or ASD)?

Today I got the initial results, and it turns out the tests were well worth doing.

I have *classic dyslexia*.

All this time. I'm 43 and I've gotten this far without knowing it.

All these years I've wondered why some things that seem straightforward and simple for other people are so gosh darned hard for me...

Being organised. Remembering things. Managing my household. Making decisions. Noticing things I should be noticing.

Now I know why.

My brain works differently to other people's.

I am in the Richard Branson Club. I have a Big Picture brain.

Too much information overwhelms me, but I can think outside the box and come up with some amazing stuff. Just don't be surprised if I turn up late or forget I promised to be somewhere (or that I saw that movie with YOU).

I am incredibly relieved to finally be able to make sense of myself.

I have yet to get the full report, but here is my "profile"...

[my profile = "classic dyslexia"]

Some areas are crazy-high. Others, rather jolly low.

Really good at some things. Really NOT good at others.

Golly gosh I am so grateful to have this answer.

Not a label, just an explanation.

I can look back at my life and pat myself on the back, acknowledging what it has taken for me to get where I am. I can give myself credit for achieving what I have. (I'm usually way too hard on myself).

Apparently I need to give myself a break and stop trying to fit my square-peg self in the round holes of others expectations. I can actually finally be OK with being the way I am. I can accept myself more and put some things in place to help me manage my responsibilities with less stress.

So flippin grateful to finally know - and accept - that I really am *different* - and that's OK.

  

Grateful Struggles (Sunday)

I had a whole different list of gratefuls than the one I am going to share now.
That was before the Storm hit.
You know how it goes (or maybe you don't?)
You get up in plenty of time to do all the necessaries; you are trying really hard.
You put on the lunch to cook in the slow cooker, you tidy up the kitchen; you get things ready; you are On Top of Things.

But all it takes is one little thing to knock over your carefully built house-of-emotional-cards.
And when you are Trying Hard, those cards fall down even quicker than usual.
This time it's an ungrateful child.
Ironic aye? Here I am working so hard to focus on being grateful myself, and one sneering ungrateful comment from a whippersnapper kid can knock me completely off my perch.
All my hard work to be Positive, to be Calm... suddenly *poof*
Calm GONE. Peace SHATTERED.

I find myself plunging downward rapidly, "Why do I even bother?" and all those other old stories come rushing back in a moment of weakness.

I retreat to my sanctuary. The storm subsides. I sit in stillness.
And find that in the stillness the gratitude comes back. But now I am not just grateful for my slow cooker and my microwave, I am grateful for a whole bunch of much deeper stuff.

I am grateful most of all for stillness. It's what I crave, what my soul needs most. When I sit and just be still, I find I can breathe again. The futility recedes, hopelessness abates. I "touch the hem" of Peace. The calm after a storm is a beautiful thing.

I am grateful for forgiveness, given and received. Imagine a world where there was no forgiveness. Where if you messed up there was no way back. Who could live with themselves in such a world?

 I am grateful that I am not a failure unless I give up. Failing is not the same as being "a failure". I get back up again. I try again. I keep going. I am not a failure.

I am grateful that I decided to keep doing this every day, even on the weekend. I just know that had I NOT committed to this, my "failings" would have derailed me and this would have been just one more tried-and-failed project. I am a good starter but not a great finisher (exercise, eating habits, discipline, homework, housework...) Consistency is something I struggle with. I have never (NEVER) mastered the art of consistency, in anything. This time I really want to finish what I have started.

That's it really. I'm still here. Being grateful.

The Grateful Project is not about being Pollyanna-ish and looking at everything with rose tinted glasses.

It is not about being in denial about the struggles and the battles and the failings. It's about in the midst of all that mess, finding some golden nuggets and focusing on those.

It's about letting the blessings in my day loom larger than the things that suck.

If you want to join in with The Grateful Project, grab a notebook and pen and just start writing down something every morning that you are grateful for. To connect with others who are doing it you can use #thegratefulproject on Twitter and Instagram, or leave me a comment here on my blog.

You know what I am grateful for most of all? That I started doing The Grateful Project.
This time I'm going to see it through.

The Grateful Project

Today I'm starting a new project, both in my life and here on my blog.
A project to focus on goodness and all the things I am grateful for.

This is my homework, from Jane (my counsellor).
A project to replace old stories in my head with new ones.
A project to tell my soul that life is good - hard, yes - but Good. And WORTH LIVING.

I don't need to go into the details of why I need this right now, more than ever.
Suffice it to say that some of those bad-old thinking patterns have been exposed; those deeply held core beliefs in the very depths of my soul - the ones that make me constantly doubt myself and feel "less-than" and "not-enough". These are the stories I tell myself. The stories I have believed forever. These stories have to go.
And part of their destruction process? Gratitude.
Writing down, every day, the things I have to be grateful for.

So I have turned a little notebook into my Grateful Journal.
I began last night, and was surprised to find the gratitude flowing freely. Ten things, just like that (and this morning another nine... so many blessings when you stop and look).

I'm also going to dedicate the next two weeks to The Grateful Project, here on my blog.

It's another way of keeping myself focussed. Keeping myself on track. Keeping doing it.
You might want to join me, grab a notebook yourself and start a Grateful Journal of your own. Or blog about it, whatever.
I'm doing this for me, but join in if you need it too.
(Cos we all need this, at times, don't we? To remind ourselves of our blessings?)

So here I go. From the top of my head on a crispy Wednesday morning...

DAY ONE

Grateful for seeing my boys hugging in the kitchen this morning. And hearing Dash say to Scrag: "I Love ya! Meet me at morning tea and lunch time, OK?" Really. I needed that. Warmed my heart. 

Grateful (so grateful) for my warm bed and extra blankets to keep out the cold (on the coldest night of the year).

Grateful I remembered Fingerknitting, last night, and taught it to Miss Fab in 30 seconds flat. (She was getting upset cos I couldn't teach her crocheting or knitting, saying, but I just want to spend time with you). We made each other friendship bracelets. She loved it (and then went to bed and made about 6 more metres of the stuff which is wound around her neck this morning.) Grateful for a special moment.

Grateful for the way we've all started sitting around in the lounge, by the fire after dinner, doing homework altogether. It feels warm and cosy and not hard or a chore. Maybe we can stick at this?

Grateful that my hubby took the kids to school for me (again). So I can sit here in my dressing gown, writing and being Grateful.

Grateful for a clear sky and sunny day after a stormy freezing day of hail and sleet and thunder yesterday.

Grateful this means Miss Fab will get to play netball today (last week's game was cancelled). And I get to watch and cheer her on. And hubby is coming too.

Grateful I have a slow cooker, so I can put dinner on this morning and it will be ready and waiting for us when we get home this evening, after netball. So there's no stress or rushing to cook.

Grateful for new words, new stories about the way I Mother. Instead of "I'm not enough" I can see that: I am WARM. I am INTERESTED. I am AFFECTIONATE. I am a LOVING MOTHER. It's enough. And I am Grateful.


See? Nothing earthshattering. Just the regular stuff of life. And yet... I really am grateful. For all of it.

What are you Grateful for today?

(more Grateful Posts)

All Partied Out

It's been a massive three weeks.
First there was Mr G's Fortieth, with the surprise appearance from his Mam (from England) to pull off.
Then there was the Bloggers Conference in Christchurch. Taking a workshop, being on the panel. Oh and helping with the redesign/relaunch of the Kiwi Bloggers website.
Finally, the party to end all parties, that Carnival monster.

I'm flippin done in, I tell ya.
Me and my PTSD are coping (just) but the house is a tip and the cleaner quit.
The endless mess and tripping over piles of party stuff and yet-to-be-unpacked bags? Not the best look for your ma-in-law.
But bless her, she hasn't said anything. Just got in and washed my windows, did my dishes, cycled through my piles of dirty laundry. I don't think I would have got through the last couple of weeks without her.

All this build-up of bigness takes its toll on my fragile ego.
This is me being totally honest here people; I am a people pleaser from way back.
So I do this massive party and I long for feedback. Secretly CRAVE it.
Do the comments flow in? No they do not.

It's school holidays, people are busy entertaining their kids, I tell myself.
(Either that or they think your parties are over the top and way too much" a nagging Needlenose voice whispers.)

I try to ignore that little voice, that nagging insecure broken bit inside my sense of self.
I didn't go to all that work so I'd get loads of people commenting on my blog or oohing and ahhing over my photos on Facebook or repinning my pins on Pinterest. Honest.
I did it cos my youngest just turned five, the last kid off to school. End of an era and all that.
Plus he's pretty darn awesome and deserves to be celebrated, bigtime.
("Yeah but part of you still wants people to tell you you did good, that they had fun, that your party rocked," goes Needlenose.)

Sigh. Big deep heavy sigh.
Pardon me, but my insecurity is showing.
Yep, still plenty to work on in therapy!

In the meantime, I will try to keep my self-esteem anchored in something other than the words and praise of other people.
I know I did good.
The birthday boy had a blast (no complaints from him).
His pals seemed to have fun and we "sold out" of EVERYTHING.

AND I never have to do that again. Ever.
The End.

Hanging On; Checking Out...

I'm hanging on, but just barely.
Remember my post a few weeks back, about the Long and Winding Road?
Well, things have been rough, to say the least.
Unmedicated Me is not a nice person or a very pleasant mother. For my poor family, it's been like living with a volcano, or snuggling up to a porcupine.
The little things become insurmountable obstacles and the big things, well, let's just say I still haven't learnt my lesson about taking on too much (using up my limited energy on all the wrong things, of course).

It turns out that Unmedicated Me sucks.
It turns out that the good does not outweigh the bad.
We are not just dealing with "the odd panic attack" which can be ridden out for the sake of having the good emotions back. We are dealing with a cave-bear on a hair-trigger.
Not. Good.

So today I'm going to talk to my counsellor and then I'm going to fill my prescription for some happy pills.
Not the nasties I was on before, something gentler.
But it turns out, I need the drugs.
All you brave souls who live with this black dog, unmedicated, I guess I am just not as strong as you.

I'm also going to take a little break from blogging, check out of blogland for a spell, while I try to get my equilibrium back. For the next week, I'm hanging out the "Back in 5" sign.

Just one less thing to worry about, you know?
Because I love this space, I love writing and sharing and connecting... but right now I just don't have enough Go Juice to do everything I want need to do.
I'm having to trim back the extras, just to get through each day.

I'll be using my time when the kids are out to refresh, recharge... so that when they walk in the door it's their loving mother who greets them, not some angry cave bear who is likely to erupt if they leave a mess on the bench, or don't shut the pantry door.

I'm still open to doing blog design jobs (I can manage one per week) and my Etsy shoppe remains open - these endeavours are now helping me stay sane by funding a cleaner.

Don't worry, you won't have time to miss me, the way the days fly past so quickly. I'll be back before you even know I'm gone.
See you in a week or so.
xx

[Image adapted from here]