Ransom: The Medical Mystery That Stole Our Son and the Fight to Get Him Back Chapter One

 Below is the first chapter of my recently published book, Ransom: The Medical Mystery That Stole Our Son and the Fight to Get Him Back. At the time I originally wrote it my son was only eleven, so I wrote it under the pen name Hope Shepherd to protect his privacy until he was old enough to decide whether or not to share his story. Now he is coming up on fifteen (how did that happen?) and very open to sharing his story in the hopes of helping others. If you haven't heard of PANDAS (Pediatric Autoimmune Neuropsychiatric Disorder Associated with Strep) you're in good company. All I knew when we embarked on this journey no family wants to take was PANDAS was an acronym for some medical syndrome. For six years I didn't know it was the kidnapper responsible for stealing our three-year-old son in the night even though he never left his bedroom. Little did I know this mysterious acronym would take my son over and over again and threaten to tear our family apart. Little did I know the immense relief I'd feel when we finely found a doctor who would listen, and the profound joy of staring into my son's clear eyes and knowing I had him back. Please enjoy this sneak peak of Ransom: The Medical Mystery That Stole Our Son and the Fight to Get Him Back by Hope Shepherd and Jack Shepherd. If you'd like to read more, get your copy on Amazon or Barnes and Noble. It's available on kindle or hard copy. Reviews are always appreciated. It is my goal to raise awareness of PANDAS/PANS/AE so that our struggle will not have been in vain. Thank you for your support.

Chapter One

Taken

 “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” ~ Psalm 23:4

I wish I could pinpoint the exact moment my son, Jack was taken. I know it was right around his third birthday, but it’s impossible for me to report with any accuracy the life altering second the kidnapper whisked him away while I was staring at him, as yet blissfully unaware.

            It’s every parent’s worst nightmare - a child snatched from the periphery of your vigilance. Once I realized he’d been taken, I did what any parent would do in this gut-wrenching situation. I searched for him. I called in the professionals. The response was a mix of confused looks, raised eyebrows, and the occasional tasteless smirk. What do you mean, your child’s been taken? He’s right there.

            And he was. When Jack was taken, he never left the house. To the outside world and even those closest, he looked like Jack. How could I blame them for not believing my panic? The only physical feature that gave it away was Jack’s eyes. His sky-blue eyes, clear with calm plus a hint of mischief, were wide, cold, somewhere else. Jack was somewhere else, but I was the only one who knew it.

            I didn’t know where Jack was or who had taken him. All I knew was I put my sweet, quiet, gentle, inquisitive boy to bed one night and woke up with a completely different child. As the years went by, Jack came back, sometimes for days, weeks, or even months, until he was stolen away again.

            When Jack was with me, I savored the moments. I held on to him as he fell asleep and held my breath when he woke. Which child would I get today? Every beat of my son’s heart was etched in my memory from the time he’d grown under my own. Jack was the dream baby who slept four hours at a stretch the first night home from the hospital and switched seamlessly between breast and bottle. Jack was the contented toddler who reached for my hand crossing the street and tagged along on errands without a single protest. He was the preschooler who beamed when he saw my face and proudly presented me with macaroni necklaces and newly mastered sight words.

            The red-faced three-year-old hurling books at my face was not my son. Jack was not the six-year-old lifting a kitchen chair over his head like the Hulk and launching it clear into the other room. My child was not the nine-year-old losing the ability to scrawl a legible sentence.

            But where was Jack, my Jack when this other child, this stranger, was inhabiting his body? Was he stuck somewhere, trying to get back? Why had he left, and more importantly, how could I get him back?

For more information on PANDAS/PANS/AE please visit https://pandasnetwork.org/

What Was I Thinking?!

 I was bored. I needed a purpose other than being a mother of three kids and the wife of a successful engineer. My last child was finally out of the house. After 24 years of staying at home and tending to my family's every need, I was done. Cooking, cleaning, driving, trips to the doctor, vomit cleanup, potty training, visits with principals, therapists, psychiatrists, IOPs, PHPs, and visits from the police (just to name a few). I was deep in parenthood and was ready for a breath of air. But just enjoying peaceful days at home wasn't enough for me. 

I had already published my debut novel and had earned my Master of Fine Arts degree in Creative Writing before my youngest flew the nest, but I wanted more. I wanted to share my love of writing and the world of English with others. How could I not when I had so much passion? So I did a crazy thing. I got my credentials from the state and began applying for teaching jobs. To say I was naive to what lay ahead would be only part of the analysis. It wouldn't be long before I would get a fresh view or a strong dose of the state of our kids as well as what it's like to have a boss who could possibly be a narcissist. 

I entered my new job with anxious anticipation (and when I say anxious, I was nearly jumping out of my skin). The idea of going back to teach was a far different feeling than actually getting in front of the students and teaching. It had been 24 years since I had been in my own classroom. When I left, I was still recording grades in a paper grade book and using a calculator to figure out percentages. We didn't have email to contact parents (or for parents to contact us) or phones with text capabilities. And we most definitely didn't have portable computers and school platforms for teacher-created content and homework assignments. In those 24 years, computers became not only smaller, smarter, and faster, they became (for many schools) a part of the student learning process. Over the years, the use of heavy textbooks has, in many classes, been replaced with e-books. Students turn their homework in online. Handwriting has gone out the window. There was a sharp learning curve, and I had much to catch up on. I should also add that I was hired only two weeks before school started. I believe this is called "baptism by fire" or "dang, you're screwed." 

My boss gave me more information than I could process in the few days of staff meetings before school started. Between the time I had been out of the teaching world and the old brain, I was (as expected) overwhelmed. Not only did I need to learn how the school functioned, but I had to also develop curriculums for my Creative Writing Class and English classes. I spent a fortune on online curriculum materials, but it also saved me time and my sanity, so the money spent was worth it. 

Once school started and I got to know my students, the jitters were replaced with excitement. I loved the students, and I loved teaching them. I got better at navigating Google Classroom and entering grades into Gradelink. I got to know the teachers and enjoyed being at a school as a teacher once again. But what I didn't anticipate was the way my boss went about letting you know if you weren't doing something correctly or to her standards. I would say I was given a two-week grace period to know everything before the comments started. I had no warning because the teachers were pretty tight-lipped about our boss until I opened up the dialogue when I couldn't hold it in anymore. One day, in particular, I was yelled at in front of the students because I let a student go home from the after-school homework club because he was done with his work early. I don't remember ever being so humiliated. First, I was never told that it was not an option (other students could go home early, so why not this student?) Secondly, to be yelled at in front of the students was incredibly unprofessional and could have taken away any credibility I had worked hard to gain with my students. I took the mental beating and then drove home, trying to convince myself not to quit right then and there. But I thought of my students and how fond I was of them. Instead of quitting, I wrote my boss an email stating that I wouldn't be treated like that again. I did receive a half-assed apology followed by a long and unnecessary explanation of the purpose, necessity, and blah, blah, blah, of this and that. But it wasn't long before the passive-aggressive comments began and started grinding me down. The comments would imply that "the boss" was the only one who could do anything right, that "the boss" did everyone's jobs, and if "the boss" didn't do it, nothing would ever get done. "The boss" professed these beliefs daily. 

The negative, back-handed comments continued. I wasn't a bad teacher, nor were my other cohorts, but "the boss" certainly made most of us feel as if we were. When you work for someone who exhibits narcissistic qualities, you will rarely be praised, never receive a real apology, never be told: "you were right" (even when it's obvious), and rarely given credit for the extra work you do. You will also be forced to listen to all the great things they do, including your job. Their egos must always be stroked, that is, if you want to keep down the criticism they dish out regularly. I began to realize that I was working for a narcissist. 

On the website Choosingtherapy.com, Satoris Howes, Ph.D., lists 15 signs that your boss might be a narcissist. My ex-boss checks off most of these signs (if not all). Here are the 15 signs Dr. Howes lists:

1. They talk about themselves almost exclusively.

2. They have fantasies of greatness. 

3. They require constant praise.

4. They show a sense of entitlement.

5. They take advantage of others.

6. They are envious of others.

7. They lack empathy.

8. They are remarkably charming.

9. They are extremely competitive.

10. They find criticism intolerable.

11. They hold long-lasting grudges.

12. They are constantly on the go.

13. They get their supply from having great "communal" skills.

 Working for someone who exhibits the above traits often makes the workplace a toxic environment. A narcissist will grind you down until you are dust. Without the ability to show empathy, your needs will never be met, and therefore, your job will be a wasteland of toxicity and lost dreams. And, like me, you will lose your last bit of patience, tell them to go to hell, pack up your desk (in my case, my entire classroom), and drive away, hoping that that "the boss" will feel the blow as much as you did (but deep down, you know they won't). 

I cried all the way home, sad to leave my students, sad to know that I would not be able to give them the goodbye I wanted, sad that my boss was bound and determined to belittle me to the point of me walking off the job before the job was over. I have never quit a job like this. I am not a quitter. But mental health is important. Too often, people continue to work or live in toxic conditions, allowing it to take a toll on their well-being. Some people even take drastic measures to hurt those who push them too far. It's an expansive problem in our society, being told to "suck it up" and forced to put up with the abuse because if we don't, we are considered weak. No one should put up with that BS. No one should be treated with disrespect or be belittled, or made to feel inferior. And if someone decides to put their mental health above the bullying, they shouldn't have to explain themselves. They are not weak. In fact, they are strong for sticking up for themselves. Fortunately for me, I don't need the money from my job, but those who do, have no choice but to put up with the constant abuse, which only whittles away at their mental health. My advice? Start looking for a new job.

Now to answer the question, "what was I thinking?" Well, I was thinking by going back into the classroom, that I could make a difference in my students' lives. I would like to think I did, even if the time was short. I thought I could share my passion for English, and I'd like to believe I did that as well. I learned a lot from going back into the classroom. Not only did I learn that sometimes kids just need someone to show they care, but I also discovered that praise and the ability to see past the minutia of their behaviors can create positive results. But beyond what I learned about my students, I learned some valuable lessons for myself:

1. I will never work for a narcissist ever again.

2. I will never be molded into a robotic teacher.

3. I will always look out for my students' mental health.

4. I will not be made to feel inferior when I know I am intelligent, reliable, and competent.

5. I will never allow anyone to talk down to me. I am enough.

6. I will continue to find ways to be a guiding light for those who need it in an environment that is supportive.

Who knows where the next adventure will take me. I am open to the possibilities. Perhaps I'll finish the novels I started before my life changed its trajectory. All I know right now is that I am at peace with my decision. As much as I love my students, I just couldn't compromise my mental health or who I am as a person. There comes a time when we must know when to walk away. My day was today.

What You Didn't See

 "Why fit in when you were born to stand out?" Dr. Suess 

To the woman who turned and stared at my son at the zoo,

  I know, I know. Open letters on the internet are so overdone. Nevertheless, I couldn't let this one go. You are just one of many, but you are the most recent. We were near the zoo exit when you witnessed my eight-year-old son have a meltdown. 

Your back was turned when it started. I guess you were waiting for your food as we were near the stands. You spun around when you heard the screaming. Sure, that's a reasonable, knee-jerk reaction. When you see the source of the screaming is a struggling child, when you see a mother struggling with her child, you could politely look away and mind your own business. Your other option is to offer a sympathetic smile and/or encouraging word. Those are the only two acceptable options I can think of.

You chose neither. You stared. No, I'm sorry, that's not accurate. You glared - a full-on, mouth opened, eyes narrowed, intense, shaming glare. You gaped at my son like he was one of the wild animals on display. Your glare was meant for me, too. Your judgement was written all over your face.

I could see the scene from your perspective - I know what you saw. You saw a mother who couldn't control her child. You saw a bratty big kid throwing a fit over ice cream. You saw a kid who was "too old to be acting like that." You saw a child who needed a firm hand and a harsh warning rather than help coping and gentle understanding.

You stared hard but you stared blindly. You saw wrong.

I know what you didn't see.

You didn't see the meticulous preparation that went into that seemingly simple zoo trip - and I don't mean just packing a backpack. With a neurodiverse child you can't just pack up and go. You need to show visuals and clearly outline expectations. You have to be hypervigilant in case of elopement or impulsivity. You have to have a backup plan and an escape plan in case it all gets to be too much. 

You'll silently but joyously celebrate every second of success, because you remember the days before diagnosis and in home therapy when you couldn't safely leave the house with your child. 

Yet, those things are not the biggest obstacle when it comes to outings with my child. The biggest difficulty we face as a special needs family is people like you.

I know what you didn't see.

You didn't see my son's autism or his ADHD because these are invisible disabilities, which left me to wonder - would you stare at a child in a wheelchair? Maybe you are the type of person who would do that, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you're not. I truly hope you're not. The point is if you wouldn't stare at a child (or adult, for that matter) with a visible disability, you shouldn't stare at a child with an invisible disability. How would you know? How about this? Don't stare. Period. Unless you're looking at the animals at the zoo, but when we're talking about people going about their day, I really can't fathom a situation in which it's appropriate to stare. If your life is so mundane that you feel an insatiable need to stare at people, do yourself and the rest of us a favor and stay home watching reality television. 

You didn't see my son's autism, but more importantly, you didn't see him. You didn't see his excitement for the zoo or his voracious love of animals. You didn't see him defeat his anxiety to leave the house. You didn't see him carefully studying the map with his beautiful brain and successfully guiding us where we wanted to go. You didn't see him saying "hi" to the birds and imitating their unique sounds. You didn't see his determination to find the wolves or his bravery crossing the high bridge even though he's afraid of heights. You didn't see how he made sure to patiently navigate me to the elephants even though he was so anxious to see the wolves, because he knows how much I like the elephant exhibit. You didn't see him stoically navigate his disappointment when we finally reached the wolves and they weren't out. You didn't see him transition to the next animal. You didn't see him share the map with his brother. You didn't hear him laugh at the antics of the monkeys. You didn't see him handle the crowds, managing his anxiety and the sensory stimuli. 

Where there was a day full of successes, you, in your ignorance, saw only failure. You saw a failing parent and a failing child at the end of a long, hot, successful day.

You didn't see him grapple with another (small, in our eyes) disappointment when the stand was out of his favorite ice cream. You didn't hear what he heard when I told him we'd check other stands we passed to see if they had it. He expected something that didn't happen, and for a person with autism this can be the lynchpin. Perhaps to you or me not seeing wolves or the stand not having a particular ice cream bar is not a big deal. Allow me to open your eyes a bit. An individual with autism often relies on knowing what to expect and what's coming next. For my son, even a small change in plans or shift in expectations can dysregulate him. Therapy helps and he works hard at it, but he still struggles. You saw a tantrum when what you were really watching was a meltdown.

You didn't see my son's autism, but more importantly, you didn't see him. Honestly, I feel sorry for you. Your world must be very small. You stare but you are blind - blind to neurodiversity and difference. You're missing out on getting to know the outliers who have struggles, victories, and entire lives outside the periphery of your narrow vision. 

Let's replace assumptions with tolerance. Let's replace ignorance with knowledge. Let's replace judgement with compassion. Let's open our eyes and look beyond ourselves.

I feel sorry for you.

There's so much you didn't see.

Terrible Teens?

Teenagers are unpredictable, temperamental, impulsive, sexually confused, insecure, defiant, and exceedingly needy beings who require more patience than their two-year-old counterparts. Compile all these words into one and I would say, teenagers are tricky.

Being that I am on my third teenager, this stage should be easy. I should have all the answers; I should have this down pat, able to maneuver around the land mines that come with raising teenagers. But here's the first thing I have learned: no two children are alike and no two children can be raised exactly the same way. 

My first two children were relatively easy teenagers. My oldest, a boy, was the easiest which was such a treat since he was the most difficult between the ages of about 5 to 13 (and also when he had colic as a newborn). I shudder at the memory of the tantrums and meltdowns he seemed to have on a daily basis due in part to his ADHD. There were times when I wondered if I would lose my sanity and there was always that fear that I would do something to hurt him in the process of trying to control his raging outbursts. But, I survived and so did he, both of us growing through the process and gaining a better understanding of his needs. My second child, a daughter, was, and still is, a people pleaser. Although she was hypersensitive as a baby, never allowing me to put her down, and had her share of meltdowns, she tended to listen and follow rules making it easy to impart my husband's and my wisdom and expectations without resistance. As a teenager, her struggles were more with friends and school than with her parents. So, when the third child became a teenager, my husband and I were ill-prepared for what we would encounter and endure (and we are not done yet).

My third child was an amazingly easy baby. She rarely cried except if she was hungry or her diaper needed changing. My husband would often comment that if he didn't know better, he wouldn't know there was a baby in the house. I would tote my little bundle everywhere, even to school when I would volunteer, and she would sit happily in the stroller and almost never make a peep. I was so thrilled to have finally gotten my easy baby. But through the years, she became more difficult. Like my son, I considered her a strong-willed child who pushed the boundaries we had placed around her. But nothing could have prepared us for the teenage years.

When my third child was in fourth grade, she complained of being bullied by another girl. The school didn't seem to do anything about it, even after a number of other parents complained that their children were also being bullied by the same girl. I made a decision to take her out of that school and have her start a new school at the beginning of fifth grade. Little did I know that there was another bully, a boy, at this new school who quickly latched on to my daughter. At first, my daughter didn't say anything about it but by sixth grade, it was taking a toll on her. Eventually, this boy bully and some of his friends messaged her on Instagram (she didn't have a phone and I had no idea they could message on Instagram through their iPods). The boys encouraged her to kill herself, backing her into a "virtual" corner. Of course, there are two ways you can endure being abused: you can take it until you're trampled to death, or you can fight back which is exactly what my daughter did. The fighting back only bit her in the ass and got her and the boys in trouble (which in retrospect I wish I would have fought). This bullying along with sexual abuse at the hands of a trusted friend changed my charismatic, sweet, funny, and talented daughter into a shell of a girl who, as a teen, struggles to get through every day without giving up. Because she was unable to control what happened to her in middle school, she is resistant to rules, authority figures, boundaries to keep her safe, and anything that takes the control away from her. My husband and I were not prepared to deal with such adverse behavior creating even more friction and mayhem at home. It lead to my daughter being hospitalized four times, attending partial hospitalization and out-patient programs, getting treatment from therapists and psychiatrists, doing neurofeedback therapy, and spending 37 days in a residential facility all in the hopes of getting her stabilized. When none of our attempts to help her worked, my husband and I needed to re-evaluate how we were going to raise her.

As I've indicated, and as some of you already know, raising teens is difficult. But when you have a teen who has suffered severe trauma and struggles with incapacitating depression, there are so many added layers to pierce, to rip through to get to the person it's protecting. Each layer has been built, from pain, like a thick scar after an injury. And like a physical injury, it never heals back to its original, unblemished skin. The scar not only protects but also reminds the recipient of how it got there, allowing the recipient to relive the pain and trauma over and over again. Even the best plastic surgeons can never make a scar completely disappear and so the recipient must live with the reminder for the rest of his or her life. The brain is no different from the physical scar on one's skin and yet, for those who don't live within the head of the hurt, they often expect that the trauma will eventually vanish and the brain will be back to its former self. But we know that is not true, unfortunately. Those who suffer a trauma live with that for the rest of their lives so it's not a matter of erasing it, it's a matter of living with it. My husband and I learned this the hard way.

We have learned and continue to learn many things about raising a teen who suffers from depression and past trauma(s). I thought I would share them with you in the hopes of helping other parents who are going through the same thing so here they are.

1. Throw all the previous rules out the window. What worked for your other children won't usually work for this one. Yes, you must have boundaries, but you also must be flexible to move those boundaries if necessary. 

2. Trust will be hard to build. It will be broken over and over again, but never give up. 

3. Don't be shocked or exasperated or reactive to their poor decisions. They will make more mistakes than the average teen. You must learn to let things roll off of you or you will make the problem worse than it was to begin with. 

4. If you invade their privacy, don't let them know by taking action for what you have found. You will lose their trust which is incredibly important and they will only do more of what you have just forbidden them to do. If you find something concerning, try to figure out why they would be doing this and see if you can redirect the behavior through open communication and understanding. 

5. Don't expect them to be excited about something just because you are, and don't be disappointed that they aren't excited. Showing them that you are disappointed that they are not feeling the way you are, only shows them how depressed they are. But when they are excited about something, make a note of it and enjoy the moment. 

6. Don't give them advice if they don't ask for it. If they come to you about a problem (consider yourself lucky, first of all), repeat back what they told you and empathize with them. Often, they don't want your help, they just want you to understand how they are feeling and why. 

7. Take care of yourself and your marriage. Having a troubled teen can put a big strain on you and your relationships. Get therapy to help put things in perspective. I recommend both individual and couples therapy to nurture both you and your relationship. Often, parents aren't on the same page when it comes to how to handle their teen so having a neutral party to help sort through both of your concerns is greatly beneficial. As parents, being on the same page, together or divorced, will create a more supportive and stable environment for your child.

8. Expect the unexpected at all times. Don't let your guard down when things are going well because they rarely stay that way for too long. I always refer to it as the "shoe drop" which happens when we least expect it. If you are always ready for that "shoe drop" you won't be as disappointed or underprepared.

9. Celebrate the good times! There will be some good times between the tough stuff that cannot be ignored. Take your child in a warm embrace and relish this victory when they have found the sun shining through a dark cloud. 

10. Don't let your friends make you feel like a failed parent. It will seem like your friends have the perfect children when compared to your own. It's only natural to compare, but when you have a child who suffers from depression or other mental health issues, you can't compare nor should you. Focus on your's and your child's journey through this unpredictable maze. Your child will grow and mature and work their way out of the maze, but until then their journey might be more complicated with more turns and dead ends. Just know that they will get to the end and when they do, you and your child will be stronger and more resilient than many who were given a straight line to the end of the maze. We all learn from our experiences. Those who encounter more of the tough stuff tend to get along better in life than those who don't.

I hope this helps those who need it. You're not alone, believe me. Depression in teens is on the rise. According to mhanational.com, almost 20 percent of teens ages 12-17 suffer from depression. In addition, 60 percent of those teens don't receive any mental health treatment. 20 percent might not seem like a large amount but if you were buying something and you got 20 percent off, you would think that was a great deal. 20 percent means we're close to a quarter of teens, 1 in 4. Again, you and your teen are not alone. Don't be the 60 percent who don't get help, don't make the mistakes that I had to make to learn the above lessons. Be proactive and make the appropriate choice that will help both you and your teen. They are not terrible teens--just teens who need a little extra help along their journey to adulthood. 

Our Teens in the Time of Covid

We've had a hell of a year. If you're still standing upright, hair intact, somewhat sane, and haven't adopted more than 10 pets since the beginning of Covid, then you're doing okay in the scheme of things. But what about our teenagers? This year has wreaked havoc on their lives and has driven them into some very unhealthy behaviors. Mental health issues among our teens are up almost 50 percent since the start of Covid, and more in teen girls than boys. Anxiety and depression along with negative changes in their sleep and aggressive behaviors have reared their ugly heads as our teens have been required to stay away from their friends and the activities they love.

Teenagers are primed to seek independence from their families at this stage of their lives. It is a time when they find their way in life, discover who they are, and who they want to be. But with Covid, there is no time for independence, hanging out with friends, playing those cherished sports, finding those special loves, being absolutely silly, or even a little reckless. Instead, they are trapped. Even worse, they are trapped with their parents and fear of the unknown. In addition, they are disconnected from their friends and possibly feeling stress from their parents. So what now? Where does a teen go? What does a teen do? Well, if you think your teen is abiding by your rules and staying at home, you're probably mistaken.

Teenagers are now finding a way to escape through vaping whether it's nicotine or marijuana, it's an easy, relatively cost-effective way to extricate themselves from this jail that has been created by the "experts" who didn't take into account the effect their actions would have on the children of this country and around the globe. Investigators surveyed 1000 Canadian adolescents about binge drinking, cannabis use, and vaping in the three weeks before and after social distancing began. They found that the frequency of both alcohol and cannabis increased during social isolation. 32% reported using substances with peers via technology and 24% used substances with peers face to face despite the mandate (Mdedg.com). "These authors suggest that teens who feared loss of friendships during quarantine might be more willing to engage in risky behaviors such as face-to-face substance use to maintain social status. while solitary substance use was related to both Covid19 fears and depressive symptomatology" Dr. Cataletto said (Mdedg.com).

So, how do you know if your child is vaping? Sometimes it's easy to wave off the symptoms as common teenage angst, but if it's unlike your child to be angsty or on edge, or if there is a quick change in his or her behavior, you need to question why. Your child might exhibit distorted thinking and behaviors. You might notice a change in his or her personality, abnormal movements, and other abnormal behaviors. They might become irritable and aggressive if they are going through withdrawal.  You might even notice interpersonal problems with friends and family as well as physical and psychological issues.

Some other facts about vaping from flavorshookkids.org. 97% of kids who vape use flavors. In the last two years, vaping has increased by 218% (that's a staggering number!) among middle schoolers and 135% among high schoolers. Teens are nearly 7 times more likely to vape nicotine than adults. Marijuana vaping among youths increased by 58% in a single year. All this seems very scary and Covid is only making these numbers jump.

There are many treatment options for Substance Use Disorders (SUD) or Addiction. But as a parent of a teen, the most important thing you can do is create an open and non-threatening line of communication with your child. Getting mad that they are vaping is not going to help the situation, it's only going to send your child running to the substance that you want them to so desperately quit. Find out why they have turned to vaping. If they are not willing to open up to you, see if they would be willing to talk to a therapist or counselor. I can't express enough how important it is to allow your child to talk about what is driving them to turn to vaping. Unfortunately, unless your child wants to quit, it's going to be difficult to get them to do so. Even if you forbid them they will find a way to vape. But if they do decide that they are willing to stop they will probably need help depending on how addicted they are to the substance they are vaping. Here are the options:

• Hospitalization for medical withdrawal
• Therapeutic communities
• Outpatient medication management and psychotherapy
• Intensive outpatient programs
• Residential treatment
• Multi-aid groups
• Self-help groups

I'm not here to scare you, only to open your eyes to what is happening to our teens and how we can help them as they try to navigate through this tough world that has been made even more difficult by Covid. I can't imagine being a teen during this time--they have lost more than a year of their childhood, a very important time of development that just might come back to haunt us years down the road. Let's try not to cover our eyes and pretend that all this will go away because it won't. Let's be proactive and try to guide them as best we can. Let's get them the help they need now, not years later when the damage is already done. And let's not forget to take care of ourselves. It's always important to keep ourselves afloat so that we can keep those around us from drowning.

When My Son's Therapist Told Me, "It's Not Your Fault".

 Mom guilt. It’s that voice that follows me around like a whiny toddler, constantly talking. You could do better. Why did you handle it that way? Shouldn’t he be reading more? Aren’t they on screens too much? Then the boss statement: You’re a bad mom. It’s your fault.

I’ve struggled with guilt for as long as I can remember. As a child, a minor mistake would lead to beating myself up for weeks. My parents never made me feel this way; maybe I was born with an overactive conscience, stoked by my old-fashioned fire and brimstone Catholic Church and school. I’ve worked on (and am currently working on) guilt with a therapist. According to her, I am an empath. I have an excess of empathy, and while a good quality, having a lot of empathy can lead to being taken advantage of and feeling guilty when you can’t meet the needs of others.

Now that I’m a parent, the guilt has adopted an edge of urgency and linked up with preexisting anxiety. After all, what has higher stakes than having responsibility for another human being’s life, upbringing, well-being, and future? What if I’m screwing up my children’s lives? If I listed all the reasons I feel guilty in parenting, this would be a novel instead of a blog post. I am a special needs parent, which (and I can only speak for myself) brings the guilt to a whole new level. The six-year journey to find an accurate diagnosis and treatment for my oldest son filled me with self-doubt and self-blame. As it turned out it was a medical problem rather than a behavioral one. I learned from this experience to trust my own instincts and most importantly, trust God. This is a lesson I’m still learning, though.

In addition to two kids with special needs, I also have my own set of mental and physical health problems, leaving me feeling like I’m slogging through Jell-o while the rest of the world is running a marathon. Some days, I’m stuck in bed and the kids spend most of their day playing video games. They’re interacting, playing online with their friends, and being creative, I reason. Still, I lay there with the guilt heavier than my weighted blanket. I make the most of the good days – I clean, I play, I homeschool – but I don’t often give myself credit for these things. While I’m lesson planning and teaching my kids, the questions run in my mind. Am I teaching them enough? Am I teaching them what they should be learning? Why aren’t my kids motivated in school? Will they develop a strong work ethic, and if not, is it my fault? When I’m playing, I feel guilty for not enjoying it. Now that my eight-year-old is moving away from pretend play, I feel guilty that he’s following his brother’s obsession with video games. If I didn’t force them outside for walks and the trampoline, they would play all day every day. I was the mom who was going to have a firm handle on screen time. Since the pandemic I feel like the term “screen time limit” is rather loose in our house. Excessive screen time for them leads to excessive guilt for me. Of course, there’s also the questions that come with having children with special needs. Is it wrong to medicate? What will people think? Should we have medicated sooner? Is he getting enough therapy? Too much? Is it my fault is behind in reading? Is it my fault?

I had a conversation with my youngest son’s therapist around Christmas time. After discussing E’s ups and downs, she asked, “How are you doing?” She knows I struggle with depression and she’s well aware of the extra stress special needs parenting (parenting in general, really) bestows. I told her a little about the parenting guilt weighing me down. I’ll never forget what she said.

“Just because your children have struggles doesn’t mean you’re a bad mom, and just because you’re telling yourself you’re a bad mom doesn’t make it true. I want you to change the narrative on this. You’re telling yourself it’s your fault, and it’s not your fault, Kat. It’s not your fault.”

I was glad we were on the phone so she couldn’t see my eyes tear up. I needed to hear those words. You see, in the past I’ve felt blame directed at me by previous therapists.

“Do you display a lot of anxiety? Do the kids hear you sort of fretting? Kids can pick up on the anxiety temperature in the room even when it’s subtle,” one therapist told me. What I heard was, “It’s your fault.”

“Is there a lot of talk about depression in your house?” another asked me. “Like, does he pick up on it a lot?”

These are just two examples. My conversation with E’s therapist that day reminded me of the time A’s current therapist told me, “In my experience, the parents who’s fault it is are not the parents who bring their kids to therapy.”

I’d like to tell you than the words, “It’s not your fault, Kat”, a salve to my psyche, corrected my thinking and sent guilt packing. Of course, it’s not that easy, but I do recall those words when I need to, keeping them tucked in my arsenal to battle the guilt. Chances are, I’ll never stop wrestling with guilt. It’s not all bad; guilt can nudge us in the right direction when we’ve slipped up. But excessive guilt only tears us down, makes us feel inadequate, and tempts us to give up. After all, if we suck that badly, why even try to do better? What I’m learning is to give myself more grace than criticism. I am not a perfect parent. I make mistakes, fall short some days, and don’t always handle things the right way. But I’m still trying. I’m still showing up.

If you’re a special needs parent and even if you’re not, if no one has told you, I want you to know it’s not your fault. Some days your best will be a clean house, a home cooked meal, and a family game night. Some days your best will be a Minecraft marathon and meals out of a box. It’s all okay. At the end of the day, if you love and care about your kids and make the best decisions that you can with the information that you have, you’re a good parent. You’re a good person. If your kids struggle – with mental health issues, behavioral problems, or regular life stuff, please know that you’re doing the best you can. You’re not alone and it’s not your fault.

Just Yesterday

 

“I’m too old for that, Mom,” my youngest son said when I suggested a game of pretend play we enjoy together.

“But you weren’t too old for it yesterday,” I said. It was true; literally just yesterday we’d played the game, giving different voices to stuffed animals and deeming them good or bad guys.

“Well, I’m too old for it today,” he declared.

I felt a pang. Believe me, there have been times, in fact just yesterday, when I’ve become bored and restless with the hostage situation that pretend play often becomes. The constant “Mom can you play with me,” and “No, keep playing,” when I so much as go to the bathroom can be wearing. Yet was this the last time? Was pretend play really ending? Although I enjoy spending time with my children and I’m fairly good at enjoying the moments, seizing the day, and all that, pretend play can become monotonous. The pressure to entertain is real. Some part of me has been waiting for this day – the day my children didn’t crave quite so much pretend play. Even my eleven-year-old will still occasionally humor me with Mrs. Antbottom – a game I invented when he was five. It’s infrequent now, though. But we’ve found other ways to connect. We watch shows together, have long talks, and make videos. With E, though, I thought I had more time. I mean, he’s eight.

As our children grow, we pay a lot of attention to the firsts – first smile, first steps, first day of school. Living with autism, E’s first are that much more hard won and celebrated. The lasts, though; the lasts I’ve never been prepared for. Often, I don’t even see them coming, but it’s usually long before I’m ready. The last time I nursed E, I didn’t know to savor each little swallow and his little fist against my skin. I didn’t dwell on the solid weight of him in my arms. If I’m being truthful, I was probably distracted. That’s normal. But, oh, I wish I’d know. I wish I’d lingered – stared into his little face. I didn’t know it would be the last time I’d nurse him. I didn’t know it would be the last time I’d nurse, period. In fact, I assumed he wouldn’t be my last baby. Three miscarriages followed after E, and we finally decided we were content with two.

I’ve made peace with this decision, I think. Most days, I think I have. Still, every one of E’s birthday brings with it an onslaught of bitter-sweet emotion, because each birthday is a last. December 10^th, 2020 was the last time we’ll celebrate an eighth birthday. For some reason, I didn’t expect the strong emotions arriving on the eves of birthdays.

E is growing more independent each day. This is a cause for celebration for a neurotypical child, but there’s an extra level of elation when a child is neurodiverse. I’d be lying, though, if I said growing pains don’t come with levels of loss. Last week when I picked E up from his homeschool co-op I ran into the building to use the bathroom.

“Oh my gosh, Mom,” he said when we got to the car, “why’d you come in the building? That was super embarrassing.”

My thought was, already? It seems like just yesterday I couldn’t leave the house without peeling toddlers from my leg, driving away with guilt even though I knew they’d be fine. Just yesterday I’d get an extra-long hug and a wiped away tear at school drop off. Now, he’s embarrassed by me. Normal? Yes. Easy? No.

At Christmas, he wanted every Hot Wheels set ever invented. Now, he plays with them less and less. Is pretend play really coming to an end? Maybe he was just having a “too cool for school” day. Maybe he really is moving on. It happens, even if it is sooner than I accepted. It’s not that he needs me less that’s hard; it’s that he wants me less.

I won’t be the sweet grandma in the grocery store warning you to “enjoy every moment”. It’s not possible, in parenting. I will say that slowing down the precious moments is like harnessing the wind. Sometimes they seem endless – until they’re in our rear-view mirror. While we’re busy focusing on the firsts, let’s allow ourselves both celebration and nostalgia when the lasts come.

I know as E grows, I’ll continue to celebrate his milestones. He’s my last baby, so I’ll also cling that much harder to his lasts. Still, I’m excited to witness the person he’s becoming, even if my stuffed animal voices have been downgraded to “cringy” category. He’ll come back around, and as he grows, we’ll find new ways to connect and spend time together. The lasts will come, but I have to remind myself that every last is a new first.

This Is Eleven

 "Eleven is hard," my friend said as we sat across from each other at a picnic table at the park. "Nobody talks about eleven."

We both gazed thoughtfully at our boys playing. Except they weren't playing, not really. They were walking and talking, the previously coveted play structures forgotten. Occasionally, they would take a seat on the swings to continue their conversation.

Meanwhile, my friend and I continued our own conversation. This is my first time having an eleven-year-old. Her son is her fourth and youngest, so she's definitely a veteran to my naivete. We were discussing the recent changes in our boys, who've been friends since first grade and were going into sixth together. The conversation reassured me. I'm not alone. It was also a good reminder that the changes in my eleven-year-old, some amusing, some bewildering, and some down right irritating, are a normal part of development. She was right, though. We don't really talk about eleven as being a transitional year. Oh, sure, it's a big deal to start middle school, although our boys are homeschooled and attend a k-12 coop twice per week, making the transition less arduous. But while everyone shares the drama and ups and downs of the teenage years, eleven gets lost in the shuffle. Even talk about preteen years is more general, focusing on a wide period of time in which many changes happen. Then there's the topic of puberty. But, eleven itself? Nobody talks about eleven.

Let's talk about eleven. Eleven is shrugged off hugs and slammed doors. Eleven is holing up in a bedroom and shunning family time. Eleven is deep philosophical conversations one minute and stomping and whining the next. Eleven is a preference for friends over parents and siblings, and often in our current climate, a preference for online interaction. Elven is still needing Mom to snuggle you to sleep, but finding her utterly annoying by day. Eleven is the internal struggle between childhood and young adulthood. It's a desire to shed immaturity but also a longing for the simpler days of early childhood. Eleven is vacillating on whether or not to dress up for Halloween, and wanting to make sure the potential costume is cool and not babyish. 

My eleven-year-old still enjoys building with blocks and pretend play, but he probably won't tell you that. He used to ask me to play with him constantly (see: I want to Murder Mrs. Antbottom ). I thought those days would never end, and they haven't entirely. We still play Mrs. Antbottom, but not every day, and not even every week. When we do play, it's less than an hour before he wants to head back to his room and see if his friends are online. Mere months ago he enjoyed and even asked to play family board games. Now board games involve much eye rolling. Family movie night is now boring. He spends a lot more time in his room and often responds to a knock with a dramatic sigh and an annoyed, "WHAT?" He has taken to staying up way too late and sleeping the morning away.

Yet, when night comes we say prayers and do our devotional together. I think he values this quiet time together as much as I do. I still read to him and sometimes he does not want me to leave his room until he's asleep. Eleven is nothing if not a paradox. At night, we have our talks and he shares whatever is bothering him. A disagreement with friends can have him down for weeks. Yet he also jokes a lot. Laughter and  happy screaming flows from his room when he plays games with friends. He can teach himself coding and video editing, yet he acts helpless when he's asked to write a paper about a topic that doesn't interest him. When it comes to matters of politics, controversy, and what's going on in the world, he has informed opinions and he doesn't care who disagrees with him. Unlike some middle schoolers, he feels no need to fit in. He's also become more aware of his body. He feels showers are optional, yet he will exercise and make healthy food choices without prompting. 

This new stage is a little confusing, inconsistent, and bittersweet. I love watching him grow and explore, and find his own identity and independence. I feel a little bit of loss, though. I miss that chubby little hand always searching for mine. I miss the unprompted hugs and sticky kisses. I even miss the endless sometimes exhausting chorus of, "Mom, can you play with me?" But I know these changes are all necessary for his development. We've entered uncharted territory. In many places - friendships, for example - I used to be a moderator where I am now an observer. Still, he asks for my advice. I think he values at least some of my opinions. He's still my little boy, though I can't say that to him without his face turning crimson. This is new. This is scary. This is exciting. This is eleven.

An Open Letter To Everyone Else's Mom

On this wild parenting journey, I'm all for us parents, and especially us moms, sticking together. I'm also all for staying in your own parenting lane and respecting that we all parent differently. However, there is one woman whose parenting I have to question. I've never met her, but my eleven-year-old son has a lot to say about her. I have a giant bone to pick with her. I usually find open letters kind of melodramatic, no offence to their writers, but I feel like I can't let this go any longer. So, here it goes.

Dear EveryoneElse's Mom,

We don't know each other. I'm not sure what you look like or if I've spotted you in the school drop off lane. Probably not, since I'm usually skating in just under the bell while you're always early. Or so I've heard. I've heard a lot about you, actually. My eleven-year old loves to sing your praises, and I've  gotta say, EveryoneElse's mom, you're wreaking it for the rest of us.

I tell my son to empty the dishwasher and take the garbage out before playing with his friends online, and what does he tell me?

*Dramatic tween sigh. "EveryoneElse'sMom lets them play on the computer without doing chores. In fact EveryoneElse'sMom doesn't even make their kids do any chores at all."

Oh, and about the computer, according to A, you  don't implement any screen time limits. Not only that, you let your kids stay up until 2 A.M. playing video games. Oh, but that's not all. A. tells me that EveryoneElse'sMom gives them a cell phone.

Listen, EveryoneElse's mom, this is your business, okay? I'm just really sick of hearing from my son how great you are, how you are so much less strict than myself, and how you don't have so many rules. You let your kids watch whatever they want on YouTube, you dole out limitless snacks, and you always say yes to playdates no matter how tired you are. You're the perfect mom, aren't you?

Apparently, your child, EveryoneElse, gets more allowance than my kids. You're call, EveryoneElse's mom. But, your making me look bad.

I wonder about you late at night when insomnia comes to call. Then I start comparing myself to you. I think to myself, EveryoneElse's mom keeps their house clean, works out everyday, and still has sufficient time to spend with their children. EveryoneElse's mom follows through with summer learning, weaving fun through lesson plans so her children hardly know they're working. 

EveryoneElse's mom, you cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner from scratch seven days a week, don't you? You serve fruit and veggies with every meal, and your kids eat them. In fact, I bet your entire family eats the same meal. You have infinite patience. You never yell. You save all of your kids' school papers and keep them organized in a chronological filing system. You're always put together. The floor of your mini van is visible. You have a group of equally polished mom friends and you maintain a social life and self-care regimen without taking any time away from your children.

Look, EveryoneElse's Mom, the truth is I wish I could be more like you. I compare myself to you. I wonder how you do it. How you make it look so easy. I just wish sometimes you could be a little bit more like NooneElse's mom.

I've heard a lot about her, too. Apparently, NooneElse's mom makes them do so many chores around the house. NooneElse's mom nags them every day to clean their room. I mean, maybe if he'd just do it, she wouldn't have to keep reminding him to transfer his 87 cups from his dresser to the kitchen sink, or even better, the dishwasher. I feel you, sister.

NooneElse's mom is late frequently. Her house is messy. She makes her children read every day. Except on the days when she just can't have one more argument. NooneElse's mom serves too much mac and cheese. NooneElse's mom limits screen time. Except for the days when she's struggling with depression and can't even with her kids. On those days, she wallows in guilt while her kids slay zombies in Minecraft.

NoonElse's mom keeps a running list of parenting mistakes in her head. She can rattle them off for you, but she avoids focusing on her successes. Her kids have meltdowns in public. NooneElse's mom sweats her way through grocery shopping and still forgets several items. NooneElse's mom is late more often than she's on time. She forgets to return important papers to school. She makes her kids write thank you cards but then forgets to send them. NoneElse's mom lets her laundry pile up. Her house is well lived-in. She'd do anything for her kids, but sometimes she puts headphones in so she can escape. NooneElse's mom hides from her kids. NooneElse's mom gets weary of playing cars. NooneElse's mom has days when she yells too often. NooneElse's mom loses her patience. NooneElse's mom needs a break.

I mean, that's a lady I can relate to. Some days, I'm like you, EveryoneElse's mom. Some days I have make up on, I schedule appointments and keep them, and I spend endless hours engaged in creative play. Sometimes, like you, I let my kids have too much screen time.

Other days, I'm more like NononeElse's mom. But most days? Most days I'm somewhere in between. The point I've reached, EveryoneElse's mom, is that I'm going to stop comparing myself to you, even when my kids do it. I'm not EeryoneElse's mom, I'm their mom, and that's good enough.

Sincerely,

Good Enough Mom

Are You Social Distancing "Correctly'?

 Apparently, some discrepancies have been floating around on social media. I know, who would've expected such a thing. Questions and even arguments (again, on social media?!) abound on the correct way to social distance. Most of us can agree on the basics. Wash your hands. Don't leave your house except for essentials. Work from home if you can. Keep six feet of distance. These are the rules. But, beyond that, how do you now if your getting an A in social distancing? Don't worry, here at Killing June Cleaver, we've got you covered. Here are the top ways you know you're social distancing correctly.

1. You're husband went to the grocery store and when he walks in you scream, "Do not set those bags down!" as you run at him with disinfecting wipes. You then yell at him to strip off his clothes. He thinks you're being suggestive. You're not. AT ALL.

2. Yesterday, you had an entire conversation with Alexa. You felt bonded to her, until you guys had a big argument this morning. You tried giving her the silent treatment, but only lasted three minutes. Now you two are back on speaking terms.

3. You saw a spider and instead of screaming and killing it, you tried to make friends with it.

4. You find yourself staring out the window for long periods of time, like a dog.

5. Speaking of dogs, your dogs have now become the main part of your social network. Fine. That was always the case.

6. You have clinked glasses and given virtual hugs over Zoom or video chat. You washed your hands afterwards.

7. You've hidden in the bathroom, the bedroom, the closet, and the garage to get a moment away.

8. Your son has developed an unhealthy, codependent, love-hate relationship with the Xbox.

9. Your kids are training for a career in WWF cage fighting.

10. You are obsessed with Tiger King. You find yourself asking your husband, "Do you think Carol fed her husband to the tigers?"

11. You saw your neighbor walking the dog on the other side of the street and you waved longingly.

12. You wonder if Target thinks you broke up with it.

13. You say some combination of the following multiple times a day: "We're stuck in this house together and we WILL make the best of it!" "Stop fighting!" "Turn off the Xbox!" "I'm throwing the Xbox outside!" "I need a minute. Can you give me a minute? ONE MINUTE!"

14. You go through phases of obsessively cleaning and throwing up your hands.

15. You're keeping up on laundry for the first time in... ever.

16. Your April calender consists of a series of X's.

17. A phone scammer called and you asked him all about his wife, his kids, his pets, and how he likes his life as a phone scammer. You wouldn't let him get off the phone. Then you realized it was a recording.

18. E learning is making you pull your hair out.

19. If you hear the words, "I'm bored" one more time you are going run out into the street... no wait... driveway screaming.

20. You've made a recording of yourself saying, "No, you can't see your friends. We're social distancing." You play it on repeat.


If you can relate to any of the above, congratulations! You're social distancing correctly, no matter what Cheryl from the internet says. Please add your own social distancing habits in the comments.

The Voice of Reason Sneak Peak II

Amy stared at him. Everything froze. The air evaporated. “Are you honestly telling me to have your brother locked up in a mental ward?” She shivered.

“No.” Jason took her small hands in his large, calloused ones and squeezed gently. “I’m asking you, begging you as his brother to have him locked up. Right now, it’s the only way to save him.” He dragged a sleeve across his eyes.

Amy turned away from him and cracked Josh’s door open. He remained at the window muttering to himself, or to someone created by his mind.

There in the cold hospital hallway Amy Everett knew a heart could literally shatter, because hers did. “I swear to you,” she whispered, “I’ll find a way to bring you back to me.”

Straightening her spine, she eased the door shut and turned back to Jason. She nodded, not trusting her voice. Somehow, she had to wait to break down. She’d need her strength when she told Caleb Daddy couldn’t come home after all. It was her turn to be the strong one, no matter how impossible.

Jason took her hand and led her back to Dr Jefferson’s office. They didn’t speak. There was nothing more to say. Amy raised her hand to knock but it was shaking too badly. Jason rapped on the door with his free hand.

“Enter.” Dr Jefferson looked up from whatever he was writing, an unmistakable shadow passing over his face.

“Okay,” Amy said. “I’ll do it. I’ll sign Josh into the . . . into the mental ward. Please help him.”

She sank into the chair facing the desk before her legs gave out. Jason sat next to her. His hand made circles on her back. She wished he’d stop. It was taking everything she had not to dissolve into a heaping pile of sobs.

Dr Jefferson’s face softened. “You’re doing the right thing. We’ll take good care of him.” He pushed his chair back to a beige filing cabinet against the back wall and fumbled with his key ring. Everything was locked up. They might as well lock her up too. She didn’t want to go back out into the world without Josh.

But she had to think of Caleb. How would she stay together for him? How could they survive without their family’s foundation? Josh was the one who made her world make sense. If his world didn’t make sense, hers didn’t either.

“Can I still come and see him?”

Dr Jefferson pulled out a thick file folder. “Yes, of course. This isn’t a prison, Amy.”

Prison.

The doctor slid a pen and paper across the desk to her.

The words “involuntary commitment” blurred as tears, just as involuntary, filled her eyes and dripped onto the paper. Amy picked up the pen and scrawled her signature.

The Voice of Reason Sneak Peak

Chapter 1

June 25, 1979

J

osh Everett was twenty-one years old the first time the voices spoke to him.

That ordinary summer morning, he ran a comb through his shaggy, almost shoulder-length black hair as he checked his reflection in the small bathroom mirror. Later, he’d wish he’d looked harder; stared into the pool of his own eyes, attempting to see straight into his brain. Maybe if he’d watched closely enough he would’ve seen it happen; something misfiring deep within the recesses of his brain, an almost imperceptible ripple in the calm waters, a subtle precursor to the storm.

He hurried downstairs toward the aroma of coffee floating up to greet him. At the threshold of the tiny kitchen, he paused to take in the scene. Amy stood at the stove with her back to him. His wife’s long brown hair was secured behind her in a messy ponytail and one of his t-shirts almost swallowed her small frame.  He watched her  frying eggs, humming along with the sizzling of the oil in the pan. She scooped an egg onto a plate with a pancake and turned to slide it onto Caleb’s highchair tray. The baby pounded the tray with squeals of excitement, his thick dark curls bouncing on his head. At one and a half he still hadn’t uttered a discernable word, but he was always making noise and smiling.

Amy caught sight of Josh and broke into a grin. She made him feel ten feet tall just by the way she lit up when he entered a room. “Good morning, handsome,” she said. “Have a seat. I hope Mrs Crofsky’s hens next door keep the eggs coming.”

Instead, he walked up to her and snaked his arms around her from behind, kissing her slender neck.

She gasped. “Stop that! You’ll make me burn the eggs. I’m trying to actually cook them right this time.”

“It’d be worth it.” He inhaled her strawberry scent before turning to greet his son, bending down to his level and ruffling his hair. “Morning, Caleb. High five.” Josh held up his large hand. Caleb giggled and instead reached up with a sticky hand to tug Josh’s hair.

“Oww.” Josh pulled back making Caleb giggle harder. The baby lifted a piece of pancake as a peace offering and Josh bent his head and let him feed it to him. “Mmm,” he said wiggling his eyebrows in exaggeration. “Mama’s such a good cook it tastes delicious even with slobber on it.”

Amy laughed and swatted him with a dish towel. “Sit down and you’ll get your own. Slobber free.”

Taking a seat at the narrow breakfast bar next to Caleb’s highchair, he ran his hand over the distressed wood that he’d constructed with his own hands.

“Smells great,” he told Amy as he picked up the knife and fork and began meticulously cutting his meal. Amy always laughed at his quirk of cutting up all his food before he ate it.

“It’s like you’ve been practicing for fatherhood your whole life,” she’d tell him, and as silly as it was, he liked the thought that somewhere in his subconscious he’d spent his life getting ready for Caleb. He poked one of the egg yolks, letting the yellow bleed across the red plate. Then it happened. A low, unfamiliar voice spoke.

---

Mental Health and COVID-19

Where do I start? Words like "pandemic", "quarantine", and "social distancing" have become part of everyday language, especially within the last week. I'm not here to talk about statistics, lecture you about staying inside, or discuss the physical symptoms of the coronavirus ad nauseum - not because it's not a big deal, but because literally everyone is talking about it. The conversations are important - and overwhelming.

We live in a world where we're one scroll a way from scary headlines and latest news. On the upside, it's never been easier to stay informed and connected. The downside is wide spread - yet understandable - fixation. As a parent of a kiddo on the spectrum, I know fixation, though somewhat inevitable, is not healthy. So am I saying we should hide our heads in the sand and avoid what's going on? No, it's essential to be informed, especially where health and safety are concerned. But now that we're all stuck inside with exponentially inflating numbers buzzing around our heads like flies and every phone conversation circling back to one topic, let's not forget mental health. It's okay to extend social distancing to social media and to limit how much you allow into your brain. It's okay to take a break, read a book, focus on your work, and talk about literally anything else. It doesn't mean your not taking this seriously. Sometimes social media makes us feel guilty for disconnecting. I have to constantly remind myself not to take the bait - for my own sanity.

This pandemic is affecting all of us in some way - those in vulnerable groups the most. But it's not just affecting us physically. No matter who you are, you're likely experiencing isolation, cabin fever, anxiety, and disruption in your normal routine. This is an adjustment for anyone. For those with underlying mental health conditions, current circumstances exacerbate already pervasive struggles. Anxiety sufferers, particularly those with germ-focused phobia, must deal with increased worry over getting sick, getting someone else sick, or a vulnerable loved one. Again, we are all dealing with these very appropriate worries. But, already present anxiety is that much more amplified. Although, if you prefer to be at home like me, certain anxieties (social) may actually be alleviated. On the other hand, if you're a small business owner or otherwise out of work, you are likely faced with financial uncertainty, especially given that none of us know how long we're in for.

Social distancing equals social isolation, especially for individuals like my mom, who live alone. Social isolation is depression's best friend. If you don't suffer from depression, this is a time to watch for it in yourself and those around you. Especially check in on those who live alone. Signs like lack of motivation, sleeping ore than usual, changes in appetite, and irritability (especially in children) can all be warning signs of depression. If you're a fellow depression warrior, now is the time to take extra care of yourself. If you rely on a routine that has been subsequently interrupted, create a new or modified routine. It might sound simple, but getting up and dressed and showered even when you won't be stepping foot outside your door may help retain some normalcy. While it's healthy to distance from social media, it's also important to keep connected. I've done this by participating in the live streaming of my church services, spending time coming up with new activities to do with my kids, enjoying rare moments to talk with my husband with fewer distractions (sports, a long commute to and from the office), and maintaining regular phone contact with my mom.

This isn't the time to put extra pressure on yourself. If you have a family and even if you don't extra chores will be created y people being home all day using dishes, taking things out, etcetera. If you have restless kids at home like I do, you may see an entirely new level of clutter. My ten year old was recently looking for his GoPro charger. He asked me where it was. I can't even keep track of my own stuff, so I told him to look in his room. Apparently, this ultimately fruitless search necessitated taking every book off his shelf and leaving it stranded on the floor. Well, at least he can keep himself busy cleaning his room. Spoiler alert: hasn't happened yet.

I got some great advice from my son's therapist. She encouraged me to avoid putting too much pressure on academics, instead focusing on mental health right now. I feel like this is good advice anyway, but with a first grader on the autism spectrum, I have to check my expectations. Though my older son is used to homeschooling, E is used to the structured environment of school. His day to day has changed - not ideal for someone on the spectrum. Fortunately, we have access to e learning and his teacher and aids have been great about filling his virtual subject folders. I've been employing the use of our visual schedule to intersperse school with free time, but I have to remember not to push it. In general, we all have this fear of falling behind. Maybe we can put that aside for now. Maybe we can take a lesson from all the chaos and learn to slow down, prioritizing our health and well-being. Now is not the time to introduce new material or stress about extra screen time.

As we navigate this new, uncertain terrain, we are inundated with reminders to practice proper hygiene and safeguard our physical health. let's remind ourselves to also focus on and safeguard our mental health too.

Please feel free to leave your own tips for mental healthcare, as well as ideas for helping those living alone feel connected, in the comments

Things stay at home moms are tired of hearing...

This Was Tough to Write...

I haven't posted a blog in a long time! It's been a busy year for both Kathleen and me as we navigate this new territory in our writing life. Last July I published my first novel, Shoes on the Stairs, centered around a mother's love for her family even after her death. This story was a labor of love as I wrote about my own insecurities as a mother, questioning if how I am raising my children will ultimately screw them up later in their life. 

Reality shows abound with adults who, because of their troubled childhood, have resorted to self-destruction in the way of drugs, alcohol, obesity, hoarding or prison time. How does someone get to be 600+ pounds? How does someone live in piles and piles of filth? Why does someone turn to drugs or alcohol or commit a crime that puts them behind bars? More than likely, it's due to a trauma in their life, especially during a time when they were most vulnerable. Not all trauma that leads to these behaviors happens during childhood, but that is when humans are the most vulnerable and the least capable of processing harmful events.

As parents, it's our responsibility to protect our children. I would take a bullet for my children without any hesitation; I would do anything to ensure their safety. But what if there is an unknown threat you never see? It's right in front of your face, but it's disguised as someone you trust, someone you would never consider to be a threat to your child. What then? And when you find out what that friend did to your child for years, there is nothing you can do to change the damage that has been done. Your child, the one you protected with your life, is now swimming in a tumultuous sea, her head bobbing under the water, disappearing for long, agonizing moments before coming to the surface, sucking in a breath and going under again. Each day I pray that she keeps fighting the white-tipped swells, that she continues to return to the top, that she continues to swim no matter how tired she is, no matter how hard the fight is. "We are fighters," I tell her. "Things will get better, the waters will calm." 

But what cuts me to the core is that I can't save her--she must save herself. No matter how hard I try to get close to her, to pull her out of the water, my arms can't reach. All I can do is sit in my tiny boat and watch in complete terror, afraid that if I move one muscle I will create a wave that will push her under for good. The fear and helplessness are isolating, and at times, unbearable. "God, take me, save her."

I know more than I ever wanted to about the effects of trauma, about sexual abuse, in children (by children), about 5150s, suicide hotlines, CPS (Child Protective Services), PHPs (Partial Hospitalization Programs), IOPs (Intensive Outpatient Program), antidepressants, mood stabilizers, Neurofeedback, individual, family and group therapy. My days are spent driving my daughter from one therapy to the next, picking her up from school because she can't stop crying, getting an IEP established because she's unable to function well in school, hiring a tutor to get her back on track and trying like hell to find something, someone, someplace, that makes her happy--even if it's only for an hour or two. 

So, while parents can be the ones to screw up their children, so can those who appear to be harmless, in fact, those are the ones you must keep your eye on. Don't let your guard down, don't assume that all your child's friendships are safe, even those of the same sex. Set rules, keep your child close, keep their door open. Never assume, just because you know someone or their parents, that the child is not capable of doing something unhealthy or uninvited to your child. Protect your child. 

With social media dictating and directing our children today, I fear who they will become as adults. There is too much pressure to be "liked" or accepted and while they think this allows them to be unique individuals, it's actually taking away their ability to think freely because to be "liked" is to conform to what everyone wants to see. As parents, we are losing our grasp on our children and our children are quickly losing their grasp on childhood. Sex and drugs, a time when more kids are questioning their sexuality than ever before at younger and younger ages, and a depleting sense of self-worth are plaguing our children. More children are taking antidepressants, seeing therapists and killing themselves than probably any other time in history. This is what we are up against as parents and there is no margin for error, there is no time to "drop the ball" or shrug our shoulders.  Instead, be the parent your child needs you to be, be vigilant, ask questions, and love them fiercely. Remember, we only get one chance to raise them, and we only get a short time to protect them.

What Is Social Anxiety?

Social anxiety is... Fear in anticipation of social events

Social anxiety is not.... Being a party pooper or a buzz kill

Social anxiety is..... Exhaustion, irritability, or headaches and a need for down time following social events.

Social anxiety is not..... A lack of desire for connection or a hatred for interaction with others

Social anxiety is.... Feeling overwhelmed in large groups and crowded areas. Feeling claustrophobic, unable to breathe, or panicked. Feeling an overwhelming need to escape.

Social anxiety is not.... Simple nervousness

Social anxiety is.... Automatically and involuntarily cringing when the phone rings due to feeling unprepared and fear of saying something awkward and filling awkward silences

Social anxiety is not..... Blowing you off

Social anxiety is.... Sometimes needing to cancel social events or leave early

Social anxiety is not..... Flakiness

Social anxiety is...... Not knowing how to start or end conversations

Social anxiety is not.... A lack of intelligence

Social anxiety is.... Over thinking everything you said, if you said the right things, and what people were thinking

Social anxiety is not.... Craziness (whatever that is!)

Social anxiety is.... Low tolerance for small talk but often a preference for deep conversation with a trusted person

Social anxiety is not.... Being stuck up or standoffish

Social anxiety is.... Insecurity making friends

Social anxiety is not.... A lack of desire for friendship (often those who take a little longer to get to know make the most loyal frriends

Social anxiety is.... Needing to set boundaries and limits to preserve energy and sanity

Social anxiety is not.... Antisocial or rude behavior

Social anxiety is.... A type of anxiety disorder

Social anxiety is not.... All in the sufferer's head/simple nervousness


Note: This post is based on my own personal experience with social anxiety. It is not meant to represent all those who deal with social anxiety or generalized anxiety. Each person is different and not everyone with social anxiety will relate to each point. However, if you can relate to any of the above, you are not alone or weird. Please feel free to add your own experiences in the comments. Be gentle with the friends who don't always show up or stay long, or those friends who prefer one on one interactions or small groups to big parties.

To the Parents of the Classmates Who Didn't Give Up On My Son This School Year

Dear Parents,

           

In the daily grind of schedules and snow pants, I’ve neglected to acknowledge my appreciation for you and your family – namely, your sweet, amazing child. 

 Let’s start with you. Before I first dropped my child at your house for a playdate I informed you that my son lives with moderate autism. I hate having this conversation, not because I have any shame surrounding his diagnosis, but because it sounds like I’m giving a warning, when really I’m just highlighting what my son needs to be set up for success with peers, and potential pitfalls I can predict. But if I’m being honest, we didn’t really know each other. We were moms with kids the same age in the same class. We’ve come a long way when it comes to stigma, but the reality is, not everyone is comfortable with special needs. You seemed like a mom I could really get along with, but how could I be sure you wouldn’t have reservations about hosting a child with unique needs, with whom you were unfamiliar? If you had reservations, you didn’t show it. On the contrary, you put my mind at ease, assuring me you’d let me know if any snafus popped up. 


I appreciate your openness, acceptance. Parenting a child with unique needs is often isolating. It can feel a lot like living on an island. Finding someone willing to reach across the water is invaluable. There’s someone else I appreciate. Here’s to your child.

            
You see, my son transitioned (transition – a four letter word to many on the spectrum) from a special-needs preschool class to a mainstream kindergarten. His IEP team proved amazing, but we were nervous about how he’d relate to his peers. We had the same fears most parents face. Would he make a friend? Would he be lonely at recess? Would he get bullied? I remember relating to Julia Roberts’s character in the movie, Wonder, when she watches he son, Auggie walk into the school building and whispers, “Please God make the kids be nice to him”.

 Our concerns were amplified by E’s social anxiety and difficulty reading social cues and communicating verbally. Selective mutism was suggested, as E spoke to teachers and aides but tended to freeze with peers. This looks like flat affect, and a frozen, staring face. Often, he won’t respond when a peer says “hi” or asks to play. When he sees peers playing together, he wanders around them waiting for them to invite him to play. Despite role play, he struggles to verbalize his desire to be included. My biggest prayer wasn’t about reading or math. I prayed that God would send him a real friend to make his school days more comfortable.

           
God gave more than I asked. He gave E. your child. When we ask E. who he played with at recess, instead of hanging his head and saying “no one” like he did in the beginning, he mentions your child’s name with a grin. When E. struggles to transition back into the school week after a weekend or longer break, we remind him that he’ll reunite with your child. That helps. Your child gives him something to look forward to, someone to comfort him when he gets homesick.

Your child was okay with taking the lead, which my child needs. Your child not only asked mine to play, but they were undeterred when E. didn’t respond to their invitations and greetings. Instead of (understandably) running off and finding a more receptive playmate your child persisted, somehow recognizing that my son’s companionship was worth the extra effort. Your child kept asking, kept greeting, and kept inviting. 

I remember the ice cream social during the fall of first grade. E. clung to me, overwhelmed by the excited voices bouncing off the cement walls of the cafeteria and the lines of people. To be honest, I was a bit overwhelmed myself, though I didn’t show it. I saw you and your child. We all exchanged greetings. E. was overloaded and didn’t say “hi” to your child, even with prompting. He remained glued to me even when your kids asked him to come outside and play on the playground. E. tugged on me to go with him, but I was in line for his coveted ice cream ticket. Your kids ran outside.

Moments later, they were back. I watched in grateful amazement, as your child amended, “E., do you want to play with us?” to “Come on, E., let’s go play.” I watched your children gently but firmly take my child’s hand and lead him outside. By the time I made it outside the kids were chasing each other and rolling down the hill. E. was sweaty and laughing. He’d forgotten about me, and more amazingly, he’d forgotten about his ice cream melting in my hand. I’ve never been so happy to have sticky vanilla running down my wrist. That night I got to watch my son run and play with friends - no social worker, aide, or parent prompting him – just being a kid. This was possible because of my son’s bravery to venture away from his comfort zone, but the opportunity was offered, no, insisted upon by your children. We all chatted while our kids frolicked, and I got to be just one of the moms. I went home from that ice cream social with high spirits.

Your child is so much more than a playmate. Your child is the friend who encourages my son to raise his hand in class. Your child has made him comfortable asking for sensory and movement breaks, referring to these accommodations as cool privileges. Your child often accompanies mine on these breaks, and while I’m sure they enjoy the break from class too, they engage my child without asking why he’s given these breaks.  

When your child invites mine for playdates, he hesitates, not because he’s not excited to play, but because leaving his familiar environment and predictable afternoon brings its own challenges. Often he asks that your child come to our house instead. He always has fun at your house once he’s there, but your child is just as happy to roll with the punches and play at our home. On one of these playdates, we were having some work done in our basement, and our internet cable was accidentally cut. I was informed it would be two days before it could be repaired. In general, dusty, noisy home repairs and a cut internet cable equals first world inconvenience. For someone on the spectrum, an unexpected change on top of a noisy disruption in their safe environment is a potential recipe for a meltdown. This particular week, my son’s fixation is building a boat in Minecraft with his brother. Per our therapist’s recommendation, he gets this at the end of his day. When you’re looking forward to something and it doesn’t happen, you probably feel disappointed and maybe frustrated. To my child, unexpected disappointment can feel like the end of the world.

            
But it can look like a bratty temper tantrum to the outside observer. I get it, I do. I’m telling you this because on this day your child witnesses a full-blown screaming, crying, throwing the X-Box remote at the (already cracked) television screen, and falling on the floor. I won’t add a full dissertation on the difference between a tantrum and a meltdown but suffice it to say no seven-year-old CHOOSES to have a meltdown in front of a peer – especially a classmate. But here we were. While attempting to deescalate, I glanced over at your child lingering at the threshold of the family room with a pensive frown on their little face.


In that moment, I froze. I didn’t want your child to be scared, but I didn’t want to embarrass my child further by attempting to explain. Before I could decide how to handle the situation, your child came into the room, walked up to my child, and without missing a beat, said, “E., I’m sorry you don’t get to play Minecraft today. That’s sad.”

My mouth hung open. Without prompting and in the sweetest voice possible, your six-year-old did what I’ve personally witnessed countless educated adults fail to do in these situations – validate feelings and show empathy. Your child didn’t see a kid “too old to be acting like that” being a brat. Your child saw a friend and fellow human upset, and showed understanding without judging whether or not his reaction was too much. My child didn’t respond immediately, but ultimately your child coaxed him out of his fixation and into another activity. 


I’m rambling now, but this event made me think. As an advocate for my child, I feel the need to learn every single fact about autism, therapy, and how to diffuse meltdowns while also raising awareness to other people. I believe those stares and passive aggressive comments (always from adults) in public sprout from simple ignorance rather than cruelty. After all, autism is an invisible disability. However, I doubt your child knows or understands that my child is on the spectrum. They probably haven’t stayed up until 1:00 A.M. reading articles and scouring online support groups. They don’t have any letters after their name (yet). In this moment, none of that was needed. Good old-fashioned human empathy and validation did the trick. What would life be like if we all responded that way? Maybe the opposite of ignorance isn’t knowledge but compassion.


In my long-winded way, I’m circling back to you, parent. Your child learned empathy and compassion from somewhere. They learned inclusion and kindness. They learned that sometimes the most valuable friends are those you have to work a little harder to get to know. Maybe you’ve sat your child down and talked about differences. Maybe in the beginning of the school year you reminded your child to be kind to classmates and look for the kid keeping to themselves at recess. Either way, I can safely assume your child has learned the most from watching you.

            We don’t know each other well, dear parents, but we know our kids watch us even when we think they don’t, and they’re always absorbing like little sponges. When you approached the new, socially anxious mom hiding in plain sight in the farthest corner of the classroom, they were watching. When you offered a kind word to someone having a bad day, they were listening. When you responded with compassion instead of snapping back at the cranky barista, they noticed. So, thank you for modeling acceptance, understanding, and perseverance. Our kids are only in first grade. Chances are they’ll lose touch over the years. But your child will always be the reason my child didn’t play alone in first grade. Your child will always be the reason my child didn’t have to feel different. Chances are my child will remember these friendships and sense of belonging well into adulthood. I’m not saying this to be cheesy. As an adult, I can name every bully, but I can also describe in detail every classmate who showed kindness. 

Through their persistence, your child gained an invaluable friend. E. is the most loyal person you’ll meet. E. is a fun, silly, imaginative, and complaint playmate. Your child took the time to learn this. Thank you for sharing your child’s pure heart with our family.

           

With love,

A Fellow First-Grade Mom