Never Leave The Girls Behind

Growing up, I had lots of friends. As a young kid, into middle school, and into high school, I was always part of a crowd. Once boys became a focus for many of us, we would drift.

There were a few members of a few groups who stayed close. All through high school, and wherever they went after, I've heard the stories of trips they took together, who was in the other's wedding party, this one was Godmother to that one's kid.

I was not one of them.

I had been screwed over a few times. I shied away from the groups and followed the boys. After all, wasn't the prince going to save me?

So I never had the trip with the girls to Acapulco. Never did the girls ski trip to Vermont. Never went to most of their weddings. And I've never met most of their kids.

At 19, I got involved with the father of my oldest. I spent seven years blindly devoted to a man who was incapable of being faithful back then, and only when my son was born did I realize it was NEVER going to get better. I moved back to my parents' house, and spent the better part of a year and a half sporadically dating, but mostly alone. Still no girlfriends.

When my boy was not even two years old, I met the man I would marry. We dated for two years, then moved in together for five, just so he could "see if he could handle raising someone else's kid". That concept was a debacle for another post, but he finally married me. All through those years, I lived for my man. I didn't go out with friends, and hardly kept in touch with anyone from my childhood. There were two or three of the girls I was closest to in school with whom I would exchange Christmas cards, but no flourishing friendships to speak of.

Now, please understand, it was never my husband's idea for me to have no friends. Like I said, being screwed over in the past gave me some real trust issues. Besides, I just wanted him to love me, and for us to build our life together. We were a couple, and all I really needed was for him to be my partner. In everything.

Looking back, that idea may have been the undoing of my marriage. That's not to say, my choices forced my husband to go sleep with my cousin. But I will definitely take responsibility for putting an awful lot of pressure on him to keep me entertained. I don't mean like, put on a clown suit and dance for me...I mean like when he went fishing with the guys, I was left behind, alone with the kids. If he was going to a business dinner with his partner, I was left alone with the kids. I never created a backup plan for myself, and it left me feeling slighted and neglected. I needed him to devote as much time to me, as he did for his own recreation, and he didn't understand that.

There were plenty of times he encouraged me to make plans with old friends. Most of the "girls" from my past were all women with husbands and kids of their own by then. We had lost touch for so long, it was awkward to reconnect. And let's face it, all the running I did from the time my Spartacus was first diagnosed with autism, and all the sleepless nights that followed left me completely exhausted. I really just wanted my husband.

MAC worked while I was home with the kids. I was constantly running to schools and therapies for the boy, and because MAC owned his own business, he was able to arrange his schedule so he could be around to pick up and drop off the girl from day care, (which he owned, thank God!), and dancing school...we were always running. Keeping up with the house and dinner, was a challenge, to say the least, and that was always an issue for him. I did make time to meet my parents for breakfast from time to time, and did the annual Christmas shopping with my sister, and he could never understand how I could justify going out with my family when the laundry wasn't being done. He didn't understand that I needed to see PEOPLE. I needed to have conversations with grownups. He didn't talk to me all that much unless it was about the kids. He was tired. I get it. But I was lonely.

There was a two year period when MAC's childhood friend moved into the downstairs apartment in our house, and he ate with us every night. Having an extra person at the table forced us into the dining room, and made us eat like a real family, with real conversation. That happened during the time my girl was 4 to 6 years old, and I think it was probably the happiest time of my marriage. There was life, and conversation, and real interaction. I felt human.

When we made the choice to move to the suburbs, we had to leave our friend behind, and it was just us again. The first year we were out here was hard. Money was tight, and that could've torn us apart, but we actually got closer for a short while. I still had no girlfriends to talk to, but I had my cousin. My best friend, and the one woman I wouldn't have to worry about screwing me over.

*sigh*

We were always together. Always. My house, her house, everywhere we went. I could tell her everything, and she confided in me. I finally had a best girlfriend. We were Lucy and Ethel, and we laughed our asses off. Until her husband left. And that's when I started to notice things were changing.

I don't want to talk about how wrong that all went, but I do want to say, when I figured out what was going on, and I ended my relationship with her, it was only the beginning of what was taken from me. My husband stayed in the house, for another two years, but the marriage was over already. So when he finally left, he had taken 22 years of my life and tossed it away, he took the closest friend I ever had, he took my daughter's original Godmother, and because of all that has transpired, he also oddly ends up taking my whole extended family...all MY cousins, MY aunts...the whole situation has been an eye opener in regard to who ever really had my back. It's a short list, but at least I know.

And now, I'm in the heart of middle age, and besides my immediate family, I'm wondering what connections I have in my life. I have made some friends. Moms of my daughter's friends have become confidantes and I'm learning to reach out. I have also rediscovered some of those long lost childhood friends and love catching up with them. More than anything, the friends I have made online have been my lifeline. They are the ones who understand, and support, and never judge me. I think without the connections I have made on Facebook and among the autism and blogging communities, I would surely have gone mad from loneliness.

But I'm still left with an emptiness. Now that the happily ever after is all up to me, and I have  discovered I am comfortable and content with my own company, there are still times I feel completely alone.

Which leads me to the point of this whole, long, rambling novella!

I wish I had kept in touch with my friends.
I wish I had the memories of the vacations.
I wish I had kept an outlet for my OWN connections all through the marriage.
I wish I hadn't put all my life eggs in the one basket of a husband.

Maybe if I had kept my friends in my life, I would've felt validated, and I wouldn't have needed so much constant attention from my husband.
Maybe if I found other ways to occupy my time, he wouldn't have felt it was such a chore to spend time with his wife.
Maybe if I had allowed people in my life, I would've felt more supported, and wouldn't have needed so much from one man.

Now, all those thoughts sound kind of like I'm having regrets. I assure you, I'm not. Regrets and guilt are emotions that take too much energy from finding answers and solutions. I believe with all my heart that everything that has happened in my life, and everything that I have ALLOWED to happen in my life were all a part of what has led me to become exactly who I am. I love myself now more than at any other time in my life, and I will take responsibility for all the mistakes and errors in judgment. That surely doesn't excuse the betrayal that ultimately ended my marriage. But it allows me to move forward with a plan to be smarter. To do better. To make ME a priority. I don't plan to become selfish, but I fully intend on being self AWARE.

Only I can make me happy. It is nobody else's job. My happiness comes from inside, and it's the choice I will make every day for the rest of my life. If ever I meet someone who wants to make me happy, he'll discover I already am. And if he ever makes me UNhappy, he'll be gone.

But more importantly than thinking about ever finding another man in my life, I intend to make up for all the lost time I spent without friends. Girlfriends. The other women who will understand when I need ice cream and someone to watch Steel Magnolias with me. The women who will let me drag them through the mall, even when I have no money to buy anything because even window shopping is a form of retail therapy. The sisters who will come and drink wine with me while we pull out that giant Christmas sled.

I'm going to spend more time focused on really connecting with friends. And I hope that by telling this story, I can inspire a younger bride to always have an alternate outlet for connecting, apart from her husband. Putting all your eggs in one basket is rarely a good idea in any aspect of life. It's a good idea to have a backup. Just make sure the ones you choose to have your back are never the ones who are behind you with a knife.

I Am The Positive Change That Came From 9/11

"Where were you on 9/11?"

We hear the question every year. It's one of those things that will always stick with us. I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday. My oldest son had just walked to school with a friend, and my little guy was 16 days from his first birthday. We were in our kitchen as I fed him his breakfast, and MAC was in the garage, as his business was booming at the time, and he was home doing some work in the house that day. I had the news on, as I did every morning. I was watching Good Day New York with Jim Ryan. I watched the whole, tragic event unfold and then I ran to my son's school to bring my kid home.

But that's not what I want to talk about.

In the midst of chaos, and terror, and sadness, and devastation, the "RUDEST" city in the world came together in unity in a way that can only happen during a time of tragedy.

On that awful day, as survivors desperately sought a way to get home, and family members were frantically trying to reach ANYONE who could give them news of their loved ones, strangers were reaching out a hand to pull someone to safety. Nobody cared that day what color you were, what language you spoke, how many tattoos you had...if you were within arm's reach, somebody would help you along. It's not what you could pay attention to as it was happening, but the stories came out days later. And there were LOTS of them.

There were a few isolated incidents where the narrow minded hot heads sought out anyone who looked even remotely like they could be Muslim, and tiny flames of hate were fanned. I remember feeling disgusted, and thinking how awful it must be for someone like my friend Ehab, who made my coffee every day at my Dunkin Donuts window. I remember asking him if he felt safe. He said there were a few people who made him nervous, but for the most part, the locals were especially kind and treated him like the beloved member of our community he was.

I remember feeling perplexed. There were preconceived notions of who these terrorists were, and I struggled with my own fear and the ideas of prejudice I had been exposed to as a child. I had evolved to a certain degree on my own. I had friends of all races, gay, straight, immigrant...but even though Brooklyn is a great melting pot, there are still lots of folks there who are very provincial. They belong in their corner of the universe, and outsiders do not. Each new faction of settlers in "the neighborhood" was seen as intruders. So there were lots of people whose opinions about the subject of terrorists was completely one track. But it didn't sit well with me.

I wondered if all these angry people who were calling for the heads of anyone who might have a middle eastern connection realized that it was exactly that kind of blind fear of "what we don't understand" that led these evil terrorists to commit such a heinous act.

As I spent the next few weeks finding bits of charred paper that was still drifting over the river on the wind, I also began to make a concious effort to see everyone I encountered for their character, and paid less attention to an accent, or the style of clothing someone wore. Before 9/11, I already had a pretty open and accepting mind. AFTER 9/11, I became accutely aware of the impact of hating someone, or disregarding a person's right to be HUMAN, based on a biased and uneducated opinion that had been passed down for generations. And I surely wasn't going to allow my children to be raised surrounded by judgment and hate. I let everyone around me know, I would not tolerate anyone teaching my kids to hate, simply for the sake of letting the ugliness ride. My wishes have been MOSTLY respected, except for a few extreme cases, and I am blessed to have strong children who have followed my lead, and nobody else's. They have even taught me a thing or two.

This morning I posted a request on my Facebook page, for readers to comment with a memory, or positive action that they relate to 9/11. One reader mentioned how Autism Daddy had highlighted the unity that followed. (Sorry...my challenge with all things technical prohibits me from tagging, but go find him. I have enjoyed his writing for a long time!) This reader mentioned how she wished it could've stayed that way, and I told her it HAS!! In me. I felt a positive change in the people around me in the days and weeks that followed that devastating day, and I carried it with me. Even in the "rudest" city in the world, we all became like brothers. We can fight with EACH OTHER, but anyone ELSE screws with us, they screw with ALL of us:)

I may have moved to the suburbs of New Jersey, but I will always be a native New Yorker. Having witnessed the greatest atrocity on American soil in my lifetime, I can honestly say, I come from truly badass stock. I am a proud American. I was a few miles from the attack that day, but I am a survivor. My heart breaks for every life that was lost that day, and I refuse to fall victim to the plot to perpetuate the hate that caused this travesty. In honor of all those lost souls, I vow to live my life open and accepting of every human. I will, at the very least, presume goodness in each person until it is proven otherwise. Instead of judging, I will LEARN. I will ask questions and get to know people instead of resting in my preconceived, erroneous notions. I will put forth the kindness of which all those victims were robbed. I can't promise I will always succeed, but I can damn sure do my best.

If you lost someone on that horrible day, if you lost your faith in humanity, if you were traumatized by the attack, please don't allow terror to win. We all have the power to keep alive the unity of the days that followed 9/11. Like so many other possibilities, it's all about making the choice.

Choose kindness.

Choose acceptance.

Choose understanding.

And if there is ever a question as to whether or not you should reach out to someone you don't understand, always "err on the side of compassion"~Jess, Diary of a Mom (Sorry...no tag here, either! But find her...she's awesome!)

To all those who will forever miss the ones they lost that day, my heart is with you💗

Happy Birthday, Samara!

Social media is kind of magical. We're connected to the universe and somehow we encounter people we might never have had an opportunity to know. I have made friends from all over the globe. It always manages to blow my mind.

And then, we may also connect with folks who have always been right in our own back yard, but we have never managed to find. That's magic, too. 

We both grew up in New York. We are both divorcing. We are both single moms. We are both smart. We are both pretty badass. 

And we live five minutes apart. 

Five. 

Minutes. 

I'm a little older than she is. She is the same age as my sister, so it's not beyond the realm of possibility that we could've crossed paths. But we didn't. Not until a certain PunkRockPapa brought us together. 

It's comical to think of myself as a punk in my fifties. But in lots of ways, I've always been a punk. I don't follow the crowd. I don't follow the rules. Marching to the beat of my own drum? How about dancing, instead? However I need to fly in a given moment, that's how I'll fly. Maybe her own free spirit is what I love about her:) It's why I'm drawn to her. 

There are lots of ways we are completely different. There are so many life experiences she has conquered, both good and bad, that I was never attracted to, or I never had the chances she had. When she writes about all she has experienced and survived, I find myself enthralled by every word. Some of her life stories lead to controversial conversations, and whether or not she realizes it, that's a positive contribution to "changing the world". When we talk about the hard stuff, it makes people think. It makes people discuss. That's how we make changes for the good. 

While we seem to have made a really great connection, and I feel like I have made a really good friend, I'm still waiting for the chance to meet her. Trust is a hard thing to give away when it has been trampled all your life. I know that story all too well. But I have never allowed that lesson to crush the possibility of remaining open to making new connections...to treasuring friendship. I hope she someday allows herself to be open to a cup of coffee with a friend. 

In the meantime, I'd like to wish my friend Samara the very happiest of birthdays! My birthday wish is that she always knows she is loved, and that she believes with all her heart, she is worthy of all that love. http://new.inlinkz.com/view.php?id=560830

There, But For The Grace Of God

I read a lot. I mean, a LOT. I haven't made much time for the novels that are piled in my closet, probably because I prefer getting lost in a good story without being interrupted. We all know THAT won't happen. But I read lots of blogs, and news articles. And since becoming closely involved with an amazing group of writers, I read most of what they post online, and most of what they share. I trust their choices in reading material for the most part, and more often than not, I greatly enjoy what they suggest.

Many of the posts I have read are stories that were inspired by pain. I find it comforting, on behalf of many of my friends, that they find some healing in the expression of their pain.

Today, as I was reading about the inner struggle of one of these amazing writers, I was hit by a realization: 

I DON'T STRUGGLE WITH SELF DOUBT. 

I'm not sure I ever realized before what an incredible blessing that is. It isn't that I haven't experienced pain. Maybe I haven't endured the kind of pain some of these courageous writers have battled through, like sexual abuse, drug addiction and clinical depression, but I have known hardship and pain. But there was never any question in my mind or in my heart that I would bounce back and come out better than before. 

I don't know where my confidence comes from. I'm not sure if it's something my parents taught me, but considering my mother's own struggles with self esteem, I would guess her influence is not solely responsible for my titanium backbone. She DID always keep me accountable for my actions, and taught my siblings and me to be responsible for each other, so I guess that surely was the basis for my strong character and my fierce integrity. But the KNOWING I would never be held down, that is something of a mystery. 

I have written before about betrayal. I have been betrayed more times than the typical human should ever have to know. Some people, (like my mother), might think I have ALLOWED this betrayal to happen. It has been suggested (by my mother), that I am too nice, and too trusting, and too forgiving, and that's what leads people to screw me over. That suggestion comes from people who have a need to lay blame. It comes from the mindset of someone who thinks it's easier to be suspicious and bitchy, and keep people on the outside, than to ever be "made a fool of". Frankly, when people screw me over, I don't ever feel like a fool. I think, "How sad to be them". 

With all the rollercoaster of lifetime experiences I have survived, a lesser person may have buckled. A person who struggles with self doubt might have shut down and withdrawn. I have even heard too many stories of people who have taken their own lives over much more seemingly benign struggles than I have conquered. While all those stories leave me feeling horribly sad for those who tell them, it also makes me feel intense gratitude for the strength with which I have been blessed. 

Each of us has our own threshold for pain. Each of us has our own tolerance level for hardship. There is no doubt that what we are all able to endure is completely relative to our strengths. But it makes me wonder why one person can be so much better able to withstand a struggle than the next. Why do some people struggle so terribly, while others breeze through trauma? 

The only explanation I can wrap my head around is, it's simply by the grace of God that I am able to survive it all, unscathed. Or for those who don't believe, it's pure luck. However a person may choose to look at it, it's a gift for which I am eternally grateful.

During times of extreme stress, including (but not limited to), parenting a severely autistic child, (comparable to the stress of combat soldiers), some folks might think I am a perfect candidate for anti anxiety meds, anti depressants, cold, hard drugs...but I've never had to head down that road. I do reach for a glass (or a bottle), of wine from time to time, and I have certainly had my days where a good, stiff vodka cocktail would take the edge off. But for the most part, I really handle it all while standing on my own two feet. (And walking a straight line:) But I don't EVER, under any circumstances think that makes me better than the person who DOES need extra help. On the contrary, it makes me feel intensely grateful to have been so blessed. And it makes me want more than anything to be able to help those who DON'T find it so easy to rise above.

When I write about the challenges of my life, you can be sure there will be a point in the story where I survive. For me, the survival comes easy. The more I read about the inner struggles of so many others, the more grateful I find myself feeling for the ease with which I achieve that survival. It has taken me many years to realize how very blessed I am. Living within the bubble of my own existence, I never had the privilege of knowing so many people who fought so vehemently through hardships I have never faced, and who, by whatever means necessary, made it out alive. In addition to my gratitude for my own strength, I am also thankful for coming to know such brave and giving individuals, who share their stories in an effort to heal their aching souls, and to extend a hand to anyone else who might be hurting too. I'm not sure if others who read these blogs realize how much strength and courage it takes for some of these writers to share their stories. I wonder if some of the readers ever take a moment to really appreciate how much of a writer's soul goes into what they share. Not me, but the writers who really battle with the stories they share, and pull it all together to share them anyway.

As for me, I'm a tank. I'm a Phoenix. I'm the Honey Badger. I felt the need to put my epiphany into words. I don't ever want to take my strength for granted. I don't ever want to forget how easily survival comes to me, or how very difficult it is for others. I want to remember EVERY DAY to be grateful for who I am and what I have, and for the truly remarkable friends I have made, who share their lives in the written word. Those friends may have no idea what a gift they are, and how much I am affected by what they write. But by sharing these thoughts, I hope they will know how very much I appreciate who they are, and what they do. I am a better person for knowing them. I am a more grateful person. I am richer in all the ways that matter most. By sharing these thoughts, I hope I can remind even one more person to appreciate what others endure, and be thankful for every day we survive. It's all a gift. 

Fuck You, Tina Marie Ernspiker

It actually killed a few of my brain cells to even have read your post, Ms. Ernspiker, but after seeing so much reaction to it, I simply felt there was no way I could NOT weigh in.

I may not be a big, fancy, schmancy blogger like yourself, and truthfully, I only started blogging, mostly on Facebook, a little over two years ago. But what I have to say has value, even if it is buried in profanity.

There may be only a comparitively few people who check in to read my thoughts, but among them are a good number of folks who are helped by the things I share. I have written a great deal about the struggles through which I accompany my son on his autism journey. I have written about just trying to keep breathing in a hateful, broken marriage, and I write about the hardship of divorce. All of those situations can be pretty FUCKworthy. More importantly, everything I write about is real. Truthful. Genuine. Authentic. And I don't feel the need to sugar coat or gloss over the fuckity fucks because a tightass, pompous, holier-than-thou douchewad expresses a belief that my choice of colorful language  may indicate I am somehow less intelligent than she is. Does my language portray me as a neanderthal? Considering the positive changes I help bring to so many, anyone who might choose to believe me to be somehow intellectually beneath themselves, strictly based on my very sailor-like potty mouth would actually be making more of a statement about his or her own narrow mind.

I make a very conscious effort to keep from passing judgment on others. I slip. I'm human. But I would never presume to turn my nose up at anyone, simply because they DON'T swear. I don't roll my eyes and declare them to be uptight, goody-goodies. And yet, you feel you are somehow above me, and in a position to assume, and then post the judgment, that by using vocabulary you, yourself are uncomfortable with, I am trying to bait my readers with sensational language. Perhaps if you would pull that giant pole out from up your ass, you could stop squinting long enough to see that there are lots of intelligent words between all the bastards and cocksuckas.

I have family and dear friends who are ministers and devoted, churchgoing people. When I am in their presence, or in personal conversations with them, I show the utmost respect to their views, and curb my vocabulary. But on my blog, on my Facebook page, it's my chapel. I'm free to express myself as my thoughts and feelings pour out of my head and my soul. Do you know why I write it exactly as I feel it? Because it's real. It's human. People want to relate to experiences that are real. They don't want to read something that is heavily coated in whatever you deem to be PROPER, so they can feel like they are somehow not good enough, or that they are failing because they can't hold it together quite as well as you seem to be.

There are so many aspects of my life that would have made a lesser person break a long time ago. But I talk about it all. I write about it as a way of relieving myself of some of the weight of all the stress. I also write for other people who are just trying to keep breathing, and just need to know that on the days they feel like they a failing at life, there are other people who are not getting it all right either. And most of the time, my honest expression comes out in the very colorful sound of the streets of Brooklyn. Because I'm from the streets of Brooklyn. Glorious, badass, holier-than-thou-tightasses-would-never-survive Brooklyn.

Before I drop my mic on your snobby ass, I would just like to respond to a few of your points:

Yes, you ARE being self righteous.
If you're going to compare writers who swear, to a presumably suicidal rodent, you should do the research and realize it is a fallicy, and really just an adorable little creature. So thank you:)
Just because you are able to express yourself without swearing, doesn't make you better than anyone, and doesn't make anyone want to be LIKE you.
Yes, I CAN write honestly without swearing. But I prefer to write exactly as I speak, as if we were all sitting around the coffee table, freely and comfortably. No worries. No judgment.
I don't give a fat, flying rat's ass if you ever visit my blog. Nobody will miss you.
And I'm just going to keep my own blog rated F, for...well, you know.

Becoming the Phoenix

Going through divorce is hard. Every fight and painful event that led up to the divorce was harder. I'm sure HIS side of the story would paint me horribly. Some of it would be true. But one thing that is ABSOLUTELY true:

I never cheated.

He can NOT say the same.

I have come a long way since finding out the truth. Upon making the devastating discovery, I fell into a depression that consumed me for a while. I was stunned for a bit, and didn't have a clue what I was going to do. We have kids. I wanted him to leave, but I needed him to stay. It was a monumental inner struggle that lasted over two years, until he finally moved out. Those two years were ugly in many ways, but the transformation that took place in ME, as a woman, as an individual, can only be compared to the Phoenix, rising from the ashes.

Discovering the man who promised to love me forever was, in fact, loving someone else, knocked the wind out of me. It pulled the floor out from under me. There is a grieving process that takes place when you are mourning the loss of "happily ever after", (which I now FULLY believe is an impossibly elusive myth). It is very much like mourning the death of a loved one. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance...they are all there to some degree. I could probably have added devastation, self loathing, temporary schizophrenic tendencies, and near homocidal rage, among other emotions. But once the tornado died down, I emerged, like a hunk of carbon rich rock that endured the intense heat and pressure occurring 100 miles beneath the surface of the earth, a shining diamond, precious and infinitely stronger than before.

Some of that tornado left me feeling empty. So much of what I felt and did was a reaction to feeling so deeply betrayed. And because I knew HER, (let's not go there today), it was even harder. I wanted to know everything.

How long was it going on?

How far did it go?

Did anyone else know?

Was I being laughed at?

Social media made it a THOUSAND times worse. We had all "blocked" each other on every social media outlet. I had no way of knowing if THEY were connected online. While he was still living at home, I wanted to know if he was in contact with her, but I was shut out. I couldn't check his phone or his computer. I found myself constantly driving past her house, and looking for where he parked his truck. The NEED to know had taken me over. I was so frustrated by NOT knowing, I would often find myself sitting on the floor in my bedroom, crying, unable to breathe, having chest pains. I was eating baby aspirin to keep from giving myself a stroke, because even though I felt like the world was completely falling apart, I still had kids who needed me. I was not much good to them for a few months. I would cry, and my daughter would cry. I felt like I was suffocating.

My daughter's face was what ultimately pushed me on my feet. I don't remember what it was she needed me for, but I do remember telling her, "Mommy just can't come down right now". And the look on her face was NOT of sadness or disappointment. It was a look of understanding. She understood that I was feeling so devastated, I couldn't drag my ass out of bed to interact with my kids because HE was home. I was teaching my daughter that when life gets too hard, it's best to just check out for a while. She was ten years old, and I was teaching her it was ok to just give up. I couldn't live with that.

And that was the day I made the choice to JUST STOP CARING.

I wasn't going to care if he was with her. I wouldn't care where he was. I wouldn't care if he lived or died. It was the greatest choice I made in the entire process.

I have to tell you, it WAS NOT easy. Most people don't realize how very much we are in control of how we will feel about a given situation. It really is as simple as CHOOSING to feel one way or another. But then, we have to COMMIT to feeling it. It takes careful thought, and every ounce of strength we possess, but it can be done. I did it. I completely convinced myself that I just no longer cared if he was with her. He might have been living under the same roof as I was, but he was not WITH me in any way. He had completely disconnected. So it didn't matter if he was with her. When I felt the urge to drive past her house, I would take a deep breath and swallow it down. Many times, I would tell myself out loud, "I just don't care where he is. You DON'T need to know. It doesn't change anything." I stopped asking him where he was working, I stopped checking his pockets, I started breathing again. I focused on my kids, and I focused on me. I began to heal.

Because I had no smoking gun, no naked photos, I wanted more than anything to believe I could be wrong. I wanted to hold out hope that we could fix this. I found out the hard way, he had other plans. When he snuck out in the middle of the day, I was blindsided. But because I had begun to condition myself to life without him, even while he was still here, I was better able to handle the blow.

At some time early in the process, I had started an anonymous Facebook page, to talk about my life. I talked about my kids, about autism, and about the failing marriage. I couldn't talk about any of what I was going through on my personal FB page. Nobody wanted to hear me "airing my dirty laundry" in such a public forum. But anonymously, I found people who could relate to my story, and that gave me strength, too. Life as a parent makes it difficult sometimes to have friends of our own. Being a parent to an autistic child makes having friends even harder. There was no one to talk to. My FB page saved me. I have found friends there whose presence in my life has become invaluable. There are frequent visitors to my page who are truly a part of my life. And there are so many people who relate to my story because it has happened to them. Every day, I hear a new story of betrayal. It breaks me all over again, each time a friend is hurting the way I was hurting. I want to fix it. I want to help them. I want to kick the significant other in the nads. I want to write the homewrecking whore's phone number across the cybersphere, and I want to go full on, Carrie Underwood-Louisville-slugger on the bastard's car. I won't do any such thing. But I want to help. I want to make it easier on my friends.

To that end, I have made a list of a few things the "recently betrayed" might consider, upon finding themselves in that emotional tornado:

1) Double check your privacy settings on your personal page. Make sure you check off the most private setting, where only your CLOSE friends can see what you post. And then post NOTHING about what you're going through.

2) Go through every person on your friends list, (yes, this is tedious, but worth the peace of mind), and edit the "friends list" setting to allow access ONLY to those you are comfortable with. If there are people you don't want to unfriend, but are not sure of how much you want them to see, switch them to "restricted".

3) Create an alternate account, in a name no one you know will associate with you. Then you can still search for those who have you blocked.

4) DON'T USE THE ALTERNATE ACCOUNT TO SEARCH FOR THOSE WHO HAVE YOU BLOCKED. Unless it's absolutely necessary. It sucks a piece of your soul when you get consumed by the investigating. And chances are, they have tightened up their privacy settings too, and you won't be able to see anything anyway.

5) MOST IMPORTANTLY, there will come a time when you realize this situation is eating you alive. This is when you will have to make the choice to stop caring. It is the hardest thing you will ever do, but the best thing you can do for your inner peace. Every time you feel the need to search, or stalk, or even peek, breathe deeply and tell yourself that neither of them should have that much power over you. If you feel like you have to constantly be wondering if they are in contact, or you always have to be searching and checking, it will eliminate any chance you might have to feel at peace. You have no idea how important that is.

Recently, my brother and SIL stayed at my house for a weekend. Early on a Saturday morning, my SIL got me out of the house to go Walmart shopping. As soon as we pulled out of the driveway, she asked, "Where does he live? Let's go see if that bitch's car is there." I told her "I really have no need to know. I decided a long time ago that if he doesn't want me, it's HIS loss, and it just doesn't matter who he's with". She told me she couldn't believe I could be so calm, and that SHE would need to know everything they were doing, and would probably have beaten the shit out of them both. Yup. I get it. It's what I WANTED to do. But I can't go to jail. My kids deserve a happy, peaceful mom, and I deserve that for myself. Those two assholes have taken enough from me and my kids. I won't let them have my happiness and my peace.

To anyone who is going through this pain, you will get through it. It's going to suck for a long time before it gets better, but it WILL get better. And always keep in mind you are NOT alone. There are others who have been there, and can be an example of coming out so much better on the other side, or maybe they will just be a shoulder. Or an ear. Just know, it gets better. And if it makes you feel better, start an anonymous FB page and call it "Flushing the Catfish", or "The Trash Takes ITSELF Out". Or maybe YOUR page could be "Rebuilding After The Fire". Whatever you need to do, to convince yourself there can be life after betrayal, do that. And don't forget to dance:)

Autism...And ONLY The Version Of Autism I Know Personally

A long time ago, (three years, really), I opened up a Facebook account, and dug my way out of extreme loneliness. I have written before about how isolating the life of an autism parent can be. In all honesty, parenting ALL kids can leave us isolated if we don't find our own outlets for social interaction, but for parents of children with disabilities, (or DIFFERING abilities, because God forbid someone should be offended), I promise you, the struggle is VASTLY different. This post is not about who "has it hardest". There are just challenges that come with parenting a child with...um...challenges, that you can't fathom unless you experience that challenge. If you think I'm wrong, come on over for a weekend. You can wear my shoes.

I don't mean to tell this part of the story because I need sympathy, pity, donations, a pat on the back...I tell this as a matter of fact. It just is. But I needed to state that matter of fact, to set up what I really want to talk about.

Dignity.

I tell true stories about what goes on in our lives. To be honest, autism is probably a small part of our lives, but it does manage to touch every other aspect, so it becomes bigger than it seems to be. My own child is severely autistic. His level of understanding is probably less than that of a two year old, and he has NO COMPREHENSION of social media or opinions of others. If I see another child pointing at my son and laughing, or making comments, it rips me to my core, but it doesn't affect my son in the slightest manner. What others think or say has no meaning to my boy. He could see a group of kids pointing at him, and he would simply continue smiling in his way because that scene from Rudolph is still playing in his head. He doesn't understand the concept of shame, embarrassment, cruelty, or anything else that has the potential to emotionally hurt him.

When I tell stories of having to clean sheets almost every day because my 14 year old son is a bed wetter, I don't tell those stories because my son is too cognitively impaired to be embarrassed by them. I tell them because there are too many parents out there who are isolated, and they have no one. And when they are going through some of these same struggles, they think they are doing something wrong. They feel like they are failing. They are NOT failing. Like me, they simply haven't found a solution yet. Maybe there IS no solution. There are lots of folks who would disagree, (I'm currently divorcing one of them), but the people who are loudest with their criticism, are often the most silent when you ask for help, or an answer to the problem. (And before we go off on THAT tangent, I have tried limiting his liquid intake and waking him up in the middle of the night. We just end up with a thirsty kid who doesn't always go back to sleep.) Bed wetting is just one example of something that is a little harder for our kids to overcome, but it was the first example that popped in my head of a story that might be embarrassing to the average NT (neurotypical) kid. It means nothing to my child.

I also tell the true stories because there are lots of folks out there who have very misguided views on what life with autism might be like. There are the exhausting "Rain Man" references, (a movie character who wasn't even autistic...), the horror stories that are told in an effort to compel folks to open their wallets and change laws, (even if these stories make you sick, they are a necessary evil, because they make it possible for our kids to get help when they need it, so simmer down), and there are the beautifully painted rainbows and butterflies stories, that only emphasize the most positive and heart swelling moments we experience. And then there are the real life stories.

When I first logged onto Facebook and found other parents who were talking about some of what we were going through, I was elated!! I found people I could talk to who weren't judging me, or telling me I was wrong about everything. There were people who didn't second guess every, single fucking choice I made for my son. These people weren't calling me every time the news was about to report the latest "cause of autism" or the "latest autism treatment" (that we had tried, unsuccessfully four years earlier). These people just "got it". As I continued to interact with some of the public autism related pages, I began to realize that I had something helpful to say. So many of the parents I encountered were just starting out on this autism parenting path, and were struggling with so much of what I had already overcome. I realized I could make a positive difference. I had no idea how big a difference I would be making in my own life, and how many others would find comfort in what I had to say, but I knew I was meant to do this.

When I tell the stories of the hardships and the joys, (because I promise you, there are plenty of both), I am careful to consider the possible ways my son could be impacted by our public story. Believe me, I WISH I could ask his permission before discussing our private moments on such a public forum. But I can't. I am not trading my child's dignity for a chance at helping someone else. I am helping someone else feel less alone, offering solutions wherever I can, and hopefully educating those who have no clear understanding of the reality that some people would prefer to hide. Providing this reality to people who might otherwise have no way of knowing the truth is my way of clearing a path of greater understanding and acceptance for my boy, exactly as he is.

Now, there are some folks, who disagree. There are people who are high functioning autistic individuals who are offended when some parents tell the true story. I absolutely respect the right of these folks to object. I believe that if a child is able to understand the impact of their story being told, they should be included in the process of deciding what parts of the story are made public. At least, that's how I feel about my own contributions to the conversation. If I am telling about something relating to my older son, I discuss it with him. Even though my daughter is not on Facebook, and doesn't read anything I have to say, she is aware that I sometimes talk about how much she drives me crazy, and she thinks it's pretty funny. I chose from the very beginning to tell my story anonymously, because I DIDN'T want people in our personal circles to have the opportunity to think they knew us better than they actually did. I didn't want them to feel they had a deeper perspective from which to judge us, (and they WOULD). And I felt the need to protect everyone in the story, including my most vocal critic, who has thankfully exited the building:) Telling the truth and sharing a difficult story with people who can relate is a therapeutic and cathartic outlet. It is also life changing, and in some cases, life saving, to find someone with whom we can relate. It is never my intention to purposefully or thoughtlessly paint anyone in a negative light.

I understand how some of these folks who are offended can find fault with those of us who share our truth. I understand that by talking about the difficulties that some of us live with every day, the general public can be misunderstanding, and lump every autistic person under a single, umbrella category. To me, this is only another reason we HAVE TO speak up and tell the truth. There IS no umbrella category. When we say "If you've met one person with autism, you've met ONE person with autism", it is the truest and most accurate way to describe how very different and completely INDIVIDUAL each person with autism really is. By telling my story, it is NOT my intention to imply that EVERY person with autism experiences the same challenges as my child. It is simply my intention to find one other person who will read it and say, "Me too". I need that. They need that. Every person who ever struggles with ANY challenge needs to know there is someone out there who can say, "Me too". It is inherently human to NOT want to feel alone.

My own child will be dependent for the rest of his life. I don't say this as a complaint. It is simply a fact. He is a dependent, but he is NEVER a burden. Not to me. Not to his brother or his sister. It is my joy and my privilege to be his mother and to care for him until I take my last breath. I have had these conversations with my oldest and my youngest. They both understand and insist that their brother will always be loved and cared for, no matter what should ever happen to me. I ask them both, "But what if you marry someone who doesn't really want to be responsible for your autistic brother?" The answer I get from them both, "Why would I EVER marry someone who didn't completely accept that I am responsible for my brother?" I included this conversation here because it needs to be completely understood, no matter how difficult our days might sometimes be, my autistic child is loved, wanted and cherished every single day of his life. Every. Day.

Sometimes life with autism is hard. Sometimes it's really hard. But here's a newsflash: parenting EVERY child is hard. The hardships of autism aren't "worse"...they are different. The hardship of a challenge is relative to the capacity a parent has for facing that challenge. So my own level of strength might deem our challenges rather small in comparison to those of the more easily flustered parent of an average, NT child.

But I'm never trying to make a comparison. That's kind of the whole point.

The people who take offense to how I share my story are certainly free to express their opinion. I pray every day for the miracle that would allow my son to tell me he is upset by the sharing of our story. If that day should ever come, I'll be happy to explain to him how badly his mom needed to find these people who understood. I'll gladly tell him how many other parents were helped by the sharing of our experience. I'll be proud to tell him how many people were educated by the stories I told. And if he should choose to hate me for making these choices on his behalf, I will accept the consequences of my actions.

I know for a fact that sharing my story has helped people. I know it has helped ME. I am certain it has helped to shine a light that will illuminate a path for my son and others. If people choose to be offended by that, I'm sorry, but that's a choice they will have to live with. I don't disrespect your right to feel the way you do, so please don't crap all over mine.

For now, I'm just going to keep doing what I do, and pray the folks who need to hear my story will somehow find their way to it. The folks who are offended by what I share are free to NOT READ IT. And to anyone who finds their ANONYMOUS part in the story to be unpleasant, in the immortal words of Anne Lamott, "If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better".

Now I'm just going to light the campfire and we can all sing Kumbaya. Or you can leave my campsite. Eeny meeny.