I Don't Want To Talk About It

This was a hard post because I'm going to put this whole post as bluntly as possible.

I don't want to talk about it. 

Here is what we are dealing with and here is why I don't care to discuss my life with you unless I initiate it:

A was recently diagnosed with ADHD. A majority of people now a days have heard of it. Yeah, the hyper kid that can't focus. That's us. Plus more. 

He runs away. It's called fight or flight. When faced with an obstacle he either fights (kicks, punches, spits, swears, flips people off, etc) or he runs. Yes, across busy streets, out of class and out of school. 

He also spends a majority of the day filled with anxiety over social situations. His brain is speeding and yet there is a major traffic jam. 

He has sensory issues. Tags on clothes, sock seams, smells, food textures and sounds. 

If he has one small thing happen in the morning, he can't recover. His day is shot and we spend the day walking on egg shells. 

I spend a better part of my waking hours between school and doctors appointments. I am tired. 

So I don't want to talk about it. When I see you in the school yard and you ask how he is, thank you. But I don't want to talk about it. 

When I've spent numerous hours with psychologist talking about symptoms and coping skills, I don't want to then turn around and talk some more. 

I now eat, sleep and breathe mental and social disabilities. And so does A. He is constantly being shuttled from councillors to doctors to therapist. He is tired of hearing about his "issues" and the last thing he wants to hear is mama talking about all these things that make him sad because he is "different". Yes, he thinks he is different. He cries about not being like other, about not controlling his impulses. 

So no, we don't want to talk about it anymore. We will fill you in on the important stuff. And when I need a shoulder, a good cry or just someone to say it will be ok, I will come to you.

The Blame Game

I've spent the past few months blaming myself for all of A's suffering. What parent doesn't question what they could have done better or changed when their child is diagnosed with a disease. I try to think back to pregnancy. I never ate sushi, I avoided all deli meats, never smoked, took my prenatal pills. Could it have been that occasional glass of red wine the doctor said would be fine? Maybe it was when I was supposed to be on bed rest but I had to chase a 15 month old around. Or maybe I should have breastfed longer then the 19 months I managed to get through. All of these things go through my head at least once a week.

I blame myself. I've beat myself down. I've cried uncontrollably while sitting on the floor of the shower. I've questioned getting out of bed because I was just not ready to deal and have even been medicated with anxiety pills and antidepressants.

It is the hardest thing I have ever gone though in my life.

And yet it's not even close to being as hard as everything A goes though on a daily basis.

We struggle as a family daily. I fight to keep my eyes open just to have 30 minutes quality time with the husband. I see the tired look in his eyes after dealing with a difficult A day and then having to comfort me as I cry from a long, exhausting day.

I'm just starting to learn that the more I blame myself, the more energy I take away from helping my baby boy. Yes, a good cry feels incredible and just as A fidgets to release his anxiety, I cry to release my own anxiety. 

As our journey continues, I've started to realize that educating myself rather then playing the blame game is the only way to help my hyper happy child.