Yesterday I lost my 💩

On the ride home from school yesterday with my older PDA son, I did something I refrain from 99% of the time: I asked him about a school assignment. 😬

He was reading a chapter book, which is something that is very difficult for him. 

He reads slower than all of his friends (mostly because he doesn't like it) and it's hard to retain the information if it isn't aligned with one of his special interests (entrepreneurship, football, fishing, friends).

Here are the things I did to help him in addition to a flexible timeline for reading the book from his teachers:

📚 Collaboratively researched and found a book he would like

📚 Bought two of the books and read it alongside him so we could discuss every Friday for comprehension while he did laps around the kitchen island

📚 Supported him to listen on audible as he reads the book, for better retention

But yesterday he announced that he didn't *need* to read books because he was already at the level of average adult readers in the United States.

Of course, I should I have just let it go. 

It's a fair point and it was just not necessary to keep the conversation going in that direction.

But I pushed back because I was exhausted.

It turned a normally pleasant and chill car ride home into a silent and tense drive.

Then when we got home, he asked to go on the trampoline before his conditioning practice for football. 

I obliged, but deep down if I had been honest with myself I should have said that I needed a break (a gentle boundary to protect my own nervous system).

Instead, I pushed myself to provide my safe nervous system as an accommodation. 

On the trampoline, and as he started complaining about his (very accommodating and expensive private) school, I lost my patience.

What I said was not with a raised voice or even harsh. 

To a neurotypical family without PDA kids, it would sound like the most normal interaction in the world. 

I simply said:  "Daddy and I do everything in the world for both of you and I don't want to hear any complaints about school anymore. I'm done. I've had enough."

Cooper turned in on himself and removed eye contact.

My younger PDA son, William, ran from the trampoline back to the house sobbing and screaming because his feelings were so hurt.

It was a messy end to what had already been a messy day.

That's what it's like most days trying to run a family business while caregiving for a PDA child in burnout. 

The truth is, I am a human whose nervous system does best deep in thought, in silence, with no interruptions, and no visual or auditory chaos.

For example, my happy place in college was "The Stacks" - a remote location of a quiet library that no other undergrads went to. 

I spent 8-10 hours a day in silence for years in libraries during my doctoral program. 

In addition to the need for silence, I sometimes have relentless, intrusive, and self-destructive thoughts that I now understand as internalized equalizing. 

It simply gets worse when cumulative stress is high, even after 18 years of therapy, meds, and lots of trauma work. 

So, I messed up yesterday.

I lost my patience and I didn't read my own nervous system accurately

I really hurt my younger son's feelings who was bravely playing on the trampoline instead of disappearing into a screen.

And it's all ok.

I'm human. You're human. We all lose our 💩. 

We say things we don't mean. 

Or we say things we DO mean, but from a place of anger, resentment, or frustration.

I wanted to share this with you, because often parents - before they get to know me a little - assume I am some Buddha floating on a lotus flower above the stress and the paradox of this experience.

But I am not.

I am a PDA researcher, a parent educator, and a mother who loves her sons more than anything in the world. 

And some days, I still get it wrong.

You are not the only one. You are not crazy, and you are not a bad parent. 

You are a human being carrying something extraordinarily heavy, often with very little rest and very little support.

You are caregiving for a fluctuating nervous system disability while the world tells you it's a parenting problem. 

William and I repaired last night. 

I let him scream into a pillow that I was "A Meanie" while I rubbed his back and let him cry. 

This morning, I delivered Cooper peanut butter toast with the crust cut off like I do every day. 

That was enough repair for him. 

The goal in this work is not perfection. It never was. 

You are doing a great job. ❤️‍🔥