A letter from your future self

This morning in the middle of my meditation, I started thinking about what I would say to the version of myself that existed five years ago.

So I wrote a letter outlining the three things I needed to hear most back then to give me strength to continue supporting my PDA son through burnout.

I want to share it with you.

I hope it feels like a loving hand on your shoulder, encouraging you to trust yourself as a parent!

Three things I would say to myself five years ago

❤️‍🩹 Your child will be OK ❤️‍🔥

Your son will be more than OK.  I know right now it seems impossible to believe.  I know that any attempt at interaction, affection, or conversation is met with a “stop talking” or a growl. I know he targets William (his younger brother) in a way that sometimes make him look like a sociopath and that he laughs at you when you cry or get hurt.

Trust that he is good.

That he is a little boy who is hurting and scared. He loves and depends on you more than you can imagine. He will remember and refer to your kindness once he can. He will eventually be kind to his little brother much of the time. When he is 8, he will ask you to pet his head before bed for the first time. When he is 9, he will start saying “I love you” for the first time. When he is 10, he will tell you that you are a great parent and that you are a lot like him. He and his dad will laugh about this and say “silly mama” who sometimes does things way too fast like a whirling dervish and therefore makes mistakes. His teacher will write you and say – Cooper is really starting to take his time on his work. Because he sees that mama should slow down sometimes, so maybe he should too.

Patience. PATIENCE dear grasshopper.

🐛 YOU are not lost 🦋 

I know that it feels like your life is falling apart. As you prepare to leave your career, you are feeling the loss of your income, your routine, your colleagues, and the ideas of how your life would unfold. You are losing part of your identity and the shape and form you occupied in the world until now.

It’s OK to grieve that, to rail and howl at the moon and stars, and feel the injustice of it all.

At the same time – and even though you don’t believe me – in the space left behind from the loss of your professional identity, newness, growth, and expansion will flow in. You will meet other parents of PDAers who make you feel sane and belly laugh. You will realize eventually that your identity is bigger than your career and achievements. This will give you freedom because careers can end, bosses can become fickle, and the external world can suddenly become unstable.

But YOU can never be re-orged, or furloughed, or fired, or lost. Because you are a divine and sacred light that is timeless.

You will make a contribution.

It will start small and with no grand plans. It will begin in the garage of another mom with a PDA child. You will sit 20 feet apart from her during the pandemic, in your snowpants, recording a podcast about being a mom to a PDA child that you assume no one will listen to.

Keep going.

Find small moments of joy and know that caring for – and guiding - your PDA child is the most important work imaginable. You are healing inter-generational trauma and building peace one child and household at a time. And it will ripple out in ways you never imagined.

Give it time.

✨ Preserve your energy ✨

Anyone who doesn’t meet you with curiosity, non-judgment, and openness does not deserve one ounce of energy from you. 

For a season of your life, your nervous system and energy will be your son’s ONLY accommodation for his disability. Preserve that energy like your life depends on it. Do not waste it trying to convince someone about your life choices, that PDA exists, or that the unconventional approach you are taking is the right path.

Do not waste it trying to convince others you are good or enough.

Find a new therapist, reduce conversations about PDA with skeptics, focus on the specific needs of your child with pediatricians.

Learn boundaries.

Boundaries will be your armor and shield as you protect your family. At first it will be physically painful (you will feel a cement brick on your chest) to exert yourself and take up space in the world. Learn to accept that and act anyways. You will slowly start to chip away at the cement brick and your future self will thank you.