My iPhone and Me…

In 1991, I spent a semester abroad in Israel. It was the first time I had ever been out of the country and I remember feeling exhilarated and ready for an adventure. However, once I arrived I felt a bit differently. After no time at all, I became extremely homesick and was desperate to be in touch with family and friends. I needed to hear their voices and have them assure me that I would be ok. Eventually, these feelings dissipated and I began to adapt to my surroundings, but keeping in touch continued to be a challenge. It is hard to fathom but there were no easily accessible cell phones or access to email back then. The best I had was a pay phone that was five blocks away from my dorm and as for any written communication – well that was up to the mailman. It was less than ideal but it was our reality.

I think about those days often as I sit here clutching my iPhone in one hand and my iPad in the other while glancing down at my laptop. Traveling abroad or leaving home these days would be so much different. The ability to connect with anyone, anywhere, and at anytime is our new reality. Some would argue that my experience in Israel was good for me and that what we as a society have done to ourselves in terms of our attachments to technology is unfortunate. We are always connected in someway to something or someone. We never have to sit with the discomfort of being out of touch (do they have pay phones anymore?). There is a part of me that agrees with this notion. Israel was an incredible experience for me leading to great personal growth but perhaps it would have been better if I did not have the stress of feeling disconnected. Of course, we will never know the answer but it is worth contemplation.

What I do know is that having the ability to connect at all times has made raising a child with special needs much more manageable.

I can only imagine what life must have been like for a special needs mother back in 1991. She was likely stuck home worried that she might miss a call form the school, the day treatment program, or the group home that cared for her child. She likely had to wait days for service providers to receive her letters of request for much needed items for her son or daughter. Worst of all, her special needs world was probably very small and isolating. As it is special needs mothers often feel alone and have very little time to socialize or connect with others who are sharing similar life experiences. Today, I am apart of many online communities and chat rooms. I have special needs friends from all over the country (actually world) that I can access at a stroke of key. I never have to feel alone or disconnected. I can assure you that it was not like this in 1991. The special needs mother of that time was scared, she was lonely, and she was desperate for communication. She would have given anything to be able to carve out a portion of the day for herself without the fear of missing a phone call.

Today I am never with out my iPhone. I check it constantly (maybe too much). I have numerous alerts on it that notify me of an email, a text, a phone call, or a voice mail. I have had people make comments of my inability to let go of it. I can certainly understand where they are coming from and I agree that I should be able to put my phone down and walk away from it. But more importantly (at least to me) having it at all times allows me the peace of mind to step out into the world and know that wherever my daughter might be I am a mere text message away. I like that feeling. I need that feeling. The connection a special needs parent feels for their disabled child is difficult to explain. It is intense and it can be all consuming, mostly because we are acutely aware that these children do not possess the necessary skills to protect themselves so we feel the constant pressure to do it for them. These feelings are driven out of fear, out of lack control, and most certainly out of lack of trust. An iPhone changes all of that and for that Mr. Jobs…I am so grateful.

I doubt I will ever be able to disconnect myself from it and that is all right. Sydney will always need someone to watch over her. She will never live an independent life and because of that I will never be too far behind her. No matter where I am she is always on my mind and that will never change. But knowing that I can always be reached gives me the freedom to otherwise live my life.

We all have a lotus flower.

Over the past several weeks the ice bucket challenge has flooded social media. It has proven to be a remarkable way to raise awareness for a difficult disease and in the process has raised a tremendous amount of money for research. When I first heard about it I must admit I thought it was kind of silly. What did pouring water over your head have anything to do with ALS? And why did I have to continue it by nominating 3 more people? When would this ever end? I did the challenge, of course, as did the rest of my family. We actually had fun doing it and sharing it with our friends on FB. We made a donation as well because after all ALS is a rare and devastating disease and deserves all the funding and support it can get.

About a week after I did the challenge and the excitement of dumping water on each other died down, I watched a video about how the challenge was started. It was an incredibly moving video about how this young man in his mid-twenties was suddenly struck down with ALS. His name was Pete Frates and he went from being a star baseball player to a young man confined to a wheel chair and a prisoner in his own body. In the video Pete said, “ Ok, here is what we are dealing with lets go to work.” Pete clearly made a choice and decided to make his fight matter. On March 2013, he went in front of the FDA. He said,” I ask of you lets speed up the process, lets work together, lets get this disease a thing of the past.”

What struck me most about this video was that here was a man who had every reason in the world to wallow in self-pity; to give up and give into this disease. He could have chosen to only think of himself and how the disease would affect him but instead he chose to turn this tragedy into something bigger than himself. His close friends and family clearly felt his spirit and his energy and began a movement so huge that it has spread like wild fire. Pete Frates turned his tragic luck into something so moving, so inspiring and quite simply so beautiful that people felt compelled to follow his lead.

It made me think about the Lotus Flower………

The day my daughter was diagnosed with Smith Magenis Syndrome was the worst day of my life. It still amazes me that I can remember every single detail of that day. I remember what I was wearing, the weather, what I ate, and even what my kids were doing that day. What I also remember was what I had said to my husband shortly after he delivered the horrific news to me. We were driving in the car and we really had no idea what to say to each other. We were both in total shock. I looked over to him and said, “Someone just dumped a bucket of shit all over our house. How in the world are we going to clean this up?” Of course, he had no answer other than we will do whatever it takes. (I would later come to realize that my analogy was actually wrong and that Sydney would ultimately give to us more than we could ever give to her).

For years I have thought about the statement I made and although it was crude it truly expressed my thoughts at the time. It was life changing and it carried with it a darkness that I feared. I thought I was never going to be able to “clean” my home because what happened to us was permanent but I knew I had to do something special; something that could bring beauty to our lives. A few years later I co-founded the Smith Magenis Research Foundation (SMSRF). The only organization that is 100% dedicated to raising money for research into this complex and extremely challenging syndrome. Our logo is the lotus flower. There are many different interpretations of the lotus flower; however they all share one common theme. In the simplest terms the lotus flower represents something beautiful growing out of something murky and dark; it is a rebirth. Every year I reach out to my friends and family to help my lotus flower grow☺ and to date we have raised over $350,000 and a tremendous amount of awareness. Check out our website at http://www.smsresearchfoundation.org

I never really gave a second thought to the lotus flower until I desperately needed to find beauty out of seemingly endless darkness. Peter Frates needed to find his lotus flower and his search was so powerful that it challenged strangers to take notice and get involved in funding and nurturing it.

How about a new challenge? Not one you necessarily need to share with others but one for yourself. When life spreads a darkenss on your house what will your lotus flower be?

Lessons learned.

Sometimes it is important to revisit your past to realize you can handle the future.

Every other year I attend a conference about Smith Magenis Syndrome (SMS). My daughter was diagnosised with this syndrome over 6 years ago and this was my third conference. I am a veteran yet I remain ambivalent. I want to meet people who share similar struggles and have the same questions about the syndrome, but I also have significant reservations about taking a glimpse into my future. My daughter is 8 years old and it is hard enough to accept that she is a little girl with cognitive disabilities but it is even harder to imagine her as an adult unable to maintain an independent life. That being said, the conference is an opportunity for everyone to come together. Young and old, newly diagnosed, and those who have known and lived with SMS for years all come out with renewed hope of making new friends and reconnecting with old ones. We also learn the latest information about the syndrome and hopefully practical life lessons from other families. It is no easy task to bring such an ecletic group together as we are all at different stages of acceptance of the diagnosis and our children are at different stages of development. You see what you may not be ready to see and hear what you may not be ready to hear.

I attended my first conference in 2009. My daughter was recently diagnosed at the time and I had no idea what to expect. I had never met anyone else with SMS before and I remember my experience so clearly when I first walked in the room. I sat down next to an older family who had a son who was 26 years old. At first I was eager to see an adult with SMS and hear about all the amazing obstacles he had over come. He was a wonderful young man who was doing relatively well considering he had a profound disability. The parents, however, frightened me more than the young man struggling with SMS. They expounded on all of the things I would need to do for my daughter and all of the struggles that lay ahead. I do believe they were trying to be helpful but it was hard to see that so early on in my journey. At that moment, I remember that I could not get away from that table fast enough. I heard about Medicaid waivers, group homes, guardianship, behaviorists, respite providers, special needs trusts, and the list went on and on… When the appropriate time came to excuse myself from the table I found a quiet corner in the hotel and began to sob. I was barely at the point in my life where I could comfortably say that my daughter had special needs let alone process the lifelong supports that she would need. The following 3 days at the conference I spent crying behind a pair of sunglasses and watching and imagining my future filled with the burden of caring for my intellectually disabled, behaviorally challenged and incredibly difficult child.

Two years later I came back determined to have a positive experience. This time I made a conscious decision to protect myself. I had a better understanding of the syndrome and made a point to connect with families who were dealing with similar issues. I cried less and connected more. I learned much and left with a renewed sense of hope.

Here I am again in 2014, I walked straight into the room and sat wherever there was an open seat. I no longer needed emotional protection. I had been living with SMS for almost 7 years and a protective scar tissue had definitely formed. I was not afraid to hear what people had to say and I certainly was not ignorant to the long-term challenges I face. My protective armor was off and I felt more open and willing to engage with others. I learned over the years that I have plenty of time to learn about my future and only a short amount of time to learn about the present. The future no longer frightens me. I know it will come one day and when it does I will be ready or at least ready to adjust at the time.

As I left the conference I thought about how far I have come. From sobbing in a corner feeling hopeless and defeated to walking straight into a room with a smile on my face and a strong desire to help others. It is hard to appreciate your growth without looking back every once in while. You need a frame of reference. This recent conference gave me that opportunity. It is invigorating to know that that the cliché “time heals all wounds” is actually true. My wounds have healed and if that family that I met at the first conference was there this time I know I would have been able to politely say, without a tear in my eye, “Thanks for the valuable information. I know I will need it someday but not today.”

Accept where you are and remember how long it took you to get there. You just may be proud of your growth.

Being retarded is no laughing matter!

It was the spring of 2007, Sydney was 15 months old at the time, when the word Retarded first crossed my mind.  I have a vivid memory of sitting on the floor in the corner of my office and frantically Googling all of Sydney’s symptoms to determine whether the R word would pertain to her.  I had been doing this on and off since she was 6 weeks old. On this particular day, I sat in front of that computer for hours when I finally ran out of things to Google.  I still had no answers to explain her delays and I had basically hit a wall.  I remember feeling exhausted and defeated.  I sat there feeling confused.  I thought how in the world was it possible for one child to have so many little things wrong with her yet no one, not even Google, had any answers.  Then it dawned on me, maybe the explanation for all of her delays, all of her quirky behaviors, and all of her missed milestones is mental retardation.

I know what you are all thinking.  How politically incorrect and horrible of me to think such a thing.  However, mental retardation is a real diagnosis.  It is not just what we say when we want to make fun of someone, or belittle someone.  It is actually a legitimate medical term used to describe a delay in growth.  The word retarded simply means a lack of development.  On that spring day in my office the realization hit me like a ton of bricks.  Suddenly, all the pieces of this puzzle began to come together.  In that instant I realized I already knew what was wrong with my daughter and suddenly that word, retarded, took on a whole new meaning. 

When I was a kid the word retard rolled off my tongue like any other word.  I used it in numerous situations never giving a second thought as to what it actually meant.  I called myself retarded for doing my homework wrong.  I called my friends retarded for acting silly or crazy.  It was such a perfect word to describe unusual situations.  The reality was that I never used the word correctly.  My growth and development was never delayed and my friends and I were fortunate enough to never have our brains deprived of oxygen or have any vital pieces missing from our DNA.  We were not retarded in any way; we were simply being weird, careless, ridiculous, insensitive, or downright thoughtless, but not retarded.

Several months later I learned of my daughter’s diagnosis of SMS and received confirmation that she was, in fact, mentally retarded.  Although I already knew that her brain had suffered some significant delays in development it was still hard to hear with certainty.  A word I so carelessly threw around as a child and even as a young adult would now haunt me for the rest of my life.  I no longer find any humor in it and it stings every time I hear it. Shame on me for needing a life-changing event to appreciate how hurtful this word can be for families who struggle with this everyday.  Shame on me for being so unaware of its true meaning and shame on me for not realizing how truly devastating mental retardation really is when it is more than just a word. 

I have learned much since the spring of 2007 and I will share some of that with you.  Mental retardation is a life sentenced to a world filled with special accommodations, limited possibilities, assisted living, and missed opportunities. Being retarded is not funny; in fact it is really hard work.  Individuals who suffer from this actually work 100 times harder than those who don’t to accomplish the same thing.  An individual with mental retardation never gives up and they never give in.  They have an unwavering determination to feel accomplished.  They love unconditionally and never judge anyone for their shortcomings.  They find no joy in belittling others and only recognize the beauty in them. 

I am tired of hearing this word in jest and I am sad to think of my daughter as something to make fun of.  I can’t change the past or make up for all the times I probably hurt someone by using it but what I can do going forward is try to help others understand what I learned the hard way, that being retarded is no laughing matter.

 

If I only knew then what I know now…A note to my former self.

Dear Jen, (September 2007)

I am sorry to hear about Sydney, Her diagnosis must be quite a shock.  There was no way you could have anticipated this and absolutely nothing you could have done to prevent it.  Knowing you as well as I do I am sure you are frightened and overwhelmed right now.  Your fright/flight response is in full force and you are trying to figure how you can flee from this devastating situation.  At the same time, I am certain that you are preparing to stand and fight.  Here is what I can offer you having been there myself.

The first and most important thing you can do is to allow yourself to grieve.  Cry hard and cry often.  It is cleansing to both the mind and soul.  Choose your closest and most trusted friend to do this with because there will come a time when you will prefer that others do not remember you this way.  You have a very long road ahead of you and will need to be perceived as strong for both Sydney and your family.  So protect your vulnerabilities.  Once you have gone through that first (because there will be more) round of crying start talking.  Talk to anyone who will listen.  It will keep your mind busy and your time occupied so that you don’t succumb to the hopeless thoughts that are inevitably in your head.  Trust me that you want to avoid those dark thoughts until you have at least recovered from the initial shock.  By talking to others you will slowly learn what is needed to begin an action plan.  People love to share their experiences and you can learn from them so listen even if they say things you don’t want to hear.

The next step involves an overall needs assessment.  This step will be trial and error and may take years to fully fine tune but it is critical to figure out what you need, what Sydney is going to need, and what the rest of the family will need.  The transition to a life with special needs is rough so make those needs a priority in your new world. The health and wellness of your core family is vital to surviving this profound detour in your life.

Next start to build your own personal support team.  Determine who will be able to go the distance with you because the road will be long and arduous.  Times will get ugly, they will get messy, and there will be moments when you will want to leave it all behind.  You need someone to make you realize just how strong and powerful you are, not someone saying,  “I can’t even imagine” but someone who says, “get back in there and keep going”.  After all of this has been put in place and you have built your foundation, you will next become an expert on her diagnosis.  Although you might not believe it you will find yourself empowered and inspired by how much you have learned about the syndrome and yourself.  At some point, you will feel like you have choices in your life again.   A new “normal” will appear and with the support of this new life you have built you will begin to venture out into the world again.

The final stage will bring a renewed sense of hope and it has potential to lead you to many new avenues in your life.  In the immortal words of Dr. Seuss “oh the places you will go…” New doors will open for you and you will meet many new and interesting people.  You will learn the true meaning of taking nothing for granted and you will live your life by a new creed.  You will have a genuine appreciation for differences and begin to care about people in a whole new way.  You will experience setbacks along the way (everybody does…) but your emotional and physical strength will surprise you.

As you make your way through your new world  make sure you keep this in mind, you are now a warrior.  You have fought long and hard and have not only survived but thrived.  There will be numerous battles along the way but if you stay focused on the important things in life and avoid getting side tracked by naysayers and self-doubt and pity; I promise you will win the war (the war to live a happy life).

Your loving and supportive self who has lived it and is surviving,

Jen (December 2013)

“Strength is a matter of the mind made up”- John Beecher

This Sunday I will be running my first marathon in an effort to raise money for The Smith Magenis Research Foundation.  SMSRF is a 501(c)(3) not for profit organization that I co-founded in June 2010.  Our mission is to support research to improve the knowledge and understanding of SMS so that viable therapeutic options can be developed to improve the quality of life of those with SMS. For further details about the syndrome please check out my blog at www.strengthforsydney.org/what-is-sms/

I remember September 5, 2007 like it was yesterday.  It was the day I discovered that my daughter has SMS.  I felt paralyzed and overwhelmed by the severity of the disorder.  But more than that I felt alone.  Since no one I knew had ever heard of it, I felt stuck.  My options were unclear and I began to feel trapped by the limitations this diagnosis had put on both Sydney and our family.   I had no idea what to expect and as a result I lived in a state of fear.

For the next few months that feeling of paralysis controlled my life.  Sure I moved everyday, but only because I had two other children that needed me, otherwise I remained preoccupied by my fears and exhausted by my despair.  Slowly but surely my inertia was consuming me and I realized that I needed to start moving again or this diagnosis was going to destroy me.  Pre-SMS I lived a very active lifestyle and exercise was a huge part of it so I thought if I could force myself to re-engage in some kind of activity everyday that slowly my life would begin to move in a forward direction.   However, I simply did not have the emotional or physical strength to do it.  I had lost a great deal of weight, my sleep cycle was off and I felt an overall weakness in my body and soul.  I actually never appreciated how exhausting it was to feel sad.

I don’t remember exactly when but one morning I literally forced myself to step back into my old routine.  The one I had before the diagnosis.  I made a conscious effort to eat and then I drove myself to the gym.   I continued with this routine for the next few years while simultaneously coming to terms with the new challenges in my life.  I now viewed exercise as a stable force in my day and sure enough I began to heal.

As time passed too many obstacles and too many questions remained unanswered about SMS.  I was at the mercy of a disorder that was so rare and offered me very little in the sense of a real direction or future.  An organization dedicated to funding research for SMS did not exist.  My fear of the unknown was stronger than my fear of failure and it was then that I knew we needed to create a foundation to advance our knowledge of this complicated syndrome.  I understood that we were entering into unchartered territory and it would not be easy but I felt a strong need to take on the task.  To learn more about the SMSRF please check out our website at: www.smsresearchfoundation.org  

A pattern formed in my life.  I found myself looking for challenges in order to either distract me from the pain or to help me to feel that forward momentum in my life.  Either way it kept me from wallowing in my own self-pity.  It led me away from doubt and hopelessness and into limitless possibilities and expectations.  I no longer felt afraid of what I did not understand instead I found myself saying, “Bring it on, and let’s see if I can do this!”  And it was this new attitude that led me to running.

I always admired runners and always wanted to be one.  Many of my friends were runners and it was something that I always assumed I would never be able to do.  I grew tired of accepting the limits I put on myself and one day I decided to try it.  I ran to the end of my block and every ounce of my body hurt and I came home.  The next day I ran a little further and so on…  I was determined to be a “runner” and it quickly became something that I needed to do.  I focused a great deal of time and energy on running and although I met many obstacles and limitations along the way I kept with it.  Running offered me a chance to recover, a chance to focus on myself and my needs and a chance to rebuild my spirit.  It was a challenge to face everyday and I looked forward to meeting it.

On Sunday November 17, which also happens to be global SMS awareness day, I will take my running to the next level and run a marathon.  It is a perfect test of endurance and determination and a symbol for how I live my life.  I will not be defeated by special needs and although everyday I face challenges, when the day is over I feel good that I persevered.  The most important thing I have learned from being faced with something less than ideal in my life is that movement (of the body and mind) is the key to survival. 

On Sunday, the one thing you can be sure of is that while I am running my 26.2 miles, I will without a doubt be running past my fears through my limitations and beyond my expectations.

Strength is a matter of the mind made up…

Have a little faith…(I may just do better than you expect)

The other week I received an e-mail from school regarding Sydney and her very rough afternoon.  This was certainly not the first time I received such an email and I accept that it will not be the last.  I am not entirely sure why, but this  time it hit me harder than usual.  It was a beautiful day and I remember feeling particularly peaceful at that moment.  I read that email and it literally knocked the wind out of me.  I have written before about the roller coaster pattern of emotions associated with SMS.  One moment things are looking up and the next we are in a difficult place dealing with outrageous behaviors.  Sydney’s mood can change quickly and as a result so can mine.  Over the years this pattern has taken its toll on me and can make it very difficult to truly relax.  My only recourse during these moments is to have a little faith that these episodes will pass.

Sydney has a disability that profoundly impairs her ability to regulate her emotions.  She suffers from significant anxiety and impulsive behaviors and this combination can result in some very primitive and dysfunctional episodes that can leave individuals working with her quite overwhelmed. There is a part of me that wants to share the specifics of these incidents but there is also a part of me that desperately wants to protect her dignity and keep some aspects of her life private.  I want people to understand SMS and how it affects the interactions these children have with their world but I struggle with my need for people to see Sydney as more than just a collection of outrageous behaviors.  Maybe I need more time or maybe I will never share those horrid moments with you, but for now suffice to say that SMS behavioral episodes are very difficult for a parent to see and share.

Sydney completely decompensated that day and the school was left to pick up the pieces.  As a mother, it is hard to allow someone else to care for your child during difficult times.  You expect to be the one who solves all their problems and protects them from themselves or others when needed.  As a parent of a special needs child, you must learn to trust enough in other people and have faith that they can and will manage these difficult episodes.  It simply feels too unnatural to sit back and allow someone else to care for your child, however, if I want Sydney to enter into mainstream society then I have to let go and let others do their job.  In any event, after reading the email, all I did was wait until Sydney returned home to see for myself how she recovered.

That day I was plagued by feelings of hopelessness (the pity party invitations were being mailed…). I felt that we were destined to be in this awful behavior cycle and I could not see a viable way out.  Intellectually, I recognize that she will always have bad days but in those dark moments it is very easy to lose faith and not recognize that they are often followed by good ones as well.

Interestingly, Sydney came home that day and she was all smiles.  There was no sign of distress and in fact, she was in an exceptionally pleasant mood.  She never mentioned the episode at school.  It is unclear whether she lacks the cognitive ability to recall such events or if she actually just forgets about these episodes altogether regardless, she certainly does not dwell on them like her mother.  As her mood improved so did mine. I followed Sydney’s lead and the day brightened for us both.

That same evening I heard a song entitled have a little faith by John Hiatt.  I have heard this song many times before and it always resonates with me and brings a sense of peace and comfort. I suspect it is mostly meant for couples and is a popular wedding song. However, this time the song took on an entirely different meaning and I realized that these lyrics could contain a conversation that Sydney and I would have if she could effectively communicate her thoughts.

“When the road gets dark

And you can no longer see

Let my love throw a spark

Have a little faith in me”

The reality of SMS is that these “up and down” behaviors are a hallmark of the syndrome.  It is extremely difficult to accept and adapt to and I know it causes Sydney tremendous distress.  It is also hard to find comfort in your own skin if one minute your emotions are intact and the next they are a shattered mess on the floor. It is this particular aspect of SMS that I find to be the most debilitating and why I focus my energy on funding research to find therapeutic interventions to help alleviate the behavioral component of this complicated syndrome. For more information about our research efforts check out our foundation website at http://www.smsresearchfoundation.org

Watching my daughter struggle with these erratic behaviors is painful and remaining confident that they will pass is a challenge.  But when I see her smile and her warmth return after an unpleasant episode it gives me faith that I can do the same.  Because of her I truly believe that there is a light at the end of every tunnel and I am slowly learning to enjoy the light when I see it.

“And when your back’s against the wall

Just turn around and you will see

I will catch your fall

Have a little faith in me”

I have come to realize that together Sydney and I seem to navigate our way through this crazy emotional maze.  We are both oblivious to what lies ahead but we seem to have this unspoken trust in one another that we will find the light if we just keep a little faith…

The Real Housewife (the unedited version…)

It’s no secret that I am a huge fan of the Real Housewives reality show.  I watch them all and although I know it’s not “real”, I am drawn to them like a moth to a flame.  Watching these once regular people allow cameras to come into their home to film their every move fascinates me.  Although much of it is scripted, it’s inevitable that aspects of their real life shine through and the “real housewives” are left vulnerable to judgment, gossip, and scrutiny. Reality TV has become a big part of our culture and we are clearly a voyeuristic population. We also seem to have a strong desire to be “seen” as evidenced by our use of Facebook.  Posting status updates about where we are, what we are doing, and who we are with at every waking moment and, of course, only posting the most perfect pictures of ourselves.

My husband once told me “people only see what you show them.”  At the time, I found it rather comforting as I was trying to cope with Sydney’s diagnosis and I was very protective of what was happening to us.  I did not want anyone to see the pain and suffering that we were going through and I certainly did not want to share Sydney’s disability with anyone.  I even suggested to my husband on more than one occasion that we should move where nobody knows us.  Thankfully, he didn’t listen to me.  The need to preserve our privacy and shield my family from the judgmental eye of others was understandable and undeniable. 

This past summer I noticed a change in my ability to maintain our privacy.  There is a part of Sydney that has matured.  She no longer accepts being left out of the loop.  She wants to be a part of whatever is going on around her. She yearns to be social and has become very curious about the world around her.  Unfortunately, there is another part of her that still remains infantile in her mannerisms and gestures.  Her speech, although has greatly improved, continues to be difficult to understand and her response to chaos results in toddler-like meltdowns.  It is this dichotomy that draws attention to us.  Attention that I find very uncomfortable.  Sydney’s need to be included has posed quite a challenge for me.  Plain and simple when we are out in a public space there is no place to hide and the disability is on full display for everyone to see.

Simply put, I hate it.  I cherish my privacy and have found comfort at being in control at showing people only what I want them to see.  Who I am, how I parent, what our family struggles with, and who my daughter REALLY is have become apparent to everyone we meet.   I find it interesting that while I work so hard to protect my reality, these “Real Housewives” are so quick to let the world see all of their dirty little secrets.  I think that’s what draws me to the show every week.  I sit there watching with a look of shock and awe thinking, “Why? Why would you purposely put yourself on display like that?”  Of course these women are not only getting paid for their full disclosure they are also edited.  Bravo does an excellent job at showing its viewers what they want you to see and it really does make for very entertaining TV:)

My “reality show” is not edited.  It is uncut, it is raw, and it is real.  A simple trip to our local pool and everyone knows I have a special needs child who hits herself in the head.  Food shopping at the supermarket invites viewers to see and hear how cognitively impaired Sydney is just by listening to her speak and the questions that she asks the cashiers (over and over again…).  An afternoon at the mall allows hundreds of people to see that her behaviors can be loud, disruptive, and downright horrifying and there is not much her mother can do about it.  My outings invite judgment, stares, ridicule, and pity.  As a result I feel exposed, sometimes violated, and ultimately “on display”.

Early on I cared what other people thought but not anymore.  I no longer edit my life and only show people the perfect moments.  Special needs do not work that way.   The needs are real, they are honest, and they cannot be filtered.  Sydney is determined to be a part of this world and it is not fair of me to try and stop her. 

I have learned and accepted that I need to embrace being “real” and comfortable enough with myself to allow people to see that part of me.  I used to think that I was trying to protect Sydney but the truth is I was really protecting myself.  Shielding myself from pity glances and stares was about me not her. Sydney couldn’t care less what people think of her.  She is proud of who she is and loves to share her kindness with everyone.  She is incapable of being anyone but herself and never feels that she is something that should be hidden.  She is oblivious to glances and stares and only sees the good in others.  She enjoys being “on display” and loves when everyone notices her, in fact she insists on it.

I am not quite ready for Bravo to air my “reality” show, but I am ready to step outside my comfort zone and allow Sydney to be whomever she is going to be…. uncut and unedited.

 

If we could only stay in kindergarten forever…

Sydney is 7 years old but has been in kindergarten for the past 2 years.  The decision was made to keep her back for many reasons, but the most significant was to help close the gap between her peers.  Although she can read and write and do simple math exercises, socially she is so far behind her classmates that a kindergarten setting seemed most appropriate. 

Being different, special, challenged, disabled, or whatever words you wish to use is never easy.  Getting people to accept you unconditionally can be tough.  To incorporate such a child into the fabric of a mainstream education is downright complicated.  However, the process is much easier when the individuals you are trying to integrate are kindergarteners.  There is something very unique, innocent, and quite frankly enlightening about this age group.  Simply put, they accept with out question, include without hesitation, and have not been tainted by what society deems “normal or typical”. 

Sydney, as I have written about many times, can display some socially outrageous behaviors ranging from self-injury to aggression towards others.  She has been known to take off her clothes when distressed throw the nearest objects across a room.  I would imagine such behavior would be deemed very disturbing and unsettling for another child to watch.  She demands quite a bit of attention and is constantly asking for others to watch her as she engages in even a simple activity. I would assume not always that much fun for the other child. I often wonder how she will have any friends or how her peers will get past these socially awkward behaviors.

In addition, her speech is not always easy to understand (my husband, who is known for his sense of humor and frequent movie references, will often turn to me after she has tried to tell him a story and ask… “Lassie, is jimmy in the well?”). Her recall of certain events is also not always accurate.  Therefore asking her questions about who her friends are and what she did with them can sometimes yield very few informative responses. 

Her teacher called me the other day to say that Sydney hit another peer. This was not the first time I received such a call and I am sure will not be the last.  This is one behavior I find particularly bothersome.  I would actually prefer she hit herself as opposed to harming another child, but unfortunately, it is very difficult to control.  The teacher went onto say that Sydney was having a rough afternoon and while being escorted to her quiet time area she hit a little girl on the way out the door.  The girl never saw see it coming and really did nothing to provoke Sydney.  The teacher, of course, had to call her mother and discuss the incident. The child had already told her mother about it.  As the teacher is telling me this I can feel myself turning red with embarrassment and cringing at the idea of my daughter laying a hand on someone else.  Then the teacher shared with me what the mother said.  The daughter said, “mom Sydney hit me today, but I think it was an accident.  I know she didn’t mean it; she was just walking out of the classroom.  Anyway that is just what Sydney does sometimes and we all know by now to duck when Sydney is in that kind of mood”. 

I am not condoning hitting anyone and we are actively working on teaching Sydney more appropriate ways to manage her frustration, but I wanted to go hug that little girl.  Her innocence and unconditional acceptance of less than typical behavior was so refreshing.  There was no judgment, hostility, or animosity.            

As we have been preparing for our transition to first grade in the fall I have been thinking a lot about these episodes.  Kindergarteners are a true role model for all of us.  They seem to have the basic understanding of how to be an authentically accepting human being.  They have not learned all the stereotypical negative verbiage yet and they appear to include everyone regardless of their “special needs”.  If only there was a way to preserve this genuine human kindness as they get older.  Unfortunately, with time, differences in people become undesirable and slowly lead to toxic behavior.  The strong need for their own acceptance leads them to do or say whatever it takes to maintain their foothold in a group.  In many ways it is a natural progression as we age and it is up to the adults in their lives to help preserve what was so pure and innocent in them to begin with.  Not an easy task when our society bombards us with inappropriate vernacular or labels to help categorize individuals.  The need to put everyone in a certain group slowly begins to highlight our differences and thus begins to erode that organic inclination to accept everyone for who they are.

My dream for Sydney is that she stays in an environment that would accept her for who she is – good and bad.  Of course, it is only a dream and I recognize that this is simply not the world we live in. 

If there were just some way to bottle the innocence and kindness of a kindergartener I think we would all find ourselves living in a much kinder and gentler world.