The Kevin Chronicles: Dirty Laundry

Sometimes I write because I’m inspired to communicate something. Sometimes I write because I am desperately frustrated. When Kevin’s behavior is humiliating I communicate that, because I don’t want any special needs parent to feel alone the way I once did. Often times I write because I’m angry and on 3 occasions I wrote in response to someone’s request for advice.

On October 14^th of this month The Kevin Chronicles celebrates its first birthday. 12 months, 12 entries, none of which have been written when I was sad. I am sad today. Very sad, and I’ve decided to write about it.

I was rude and disrespectful to someone I’ll call Leala because it means loyal. I could make an excuse for my behavior but that’s all it would be, an excuse. I have a really big mouth. A dear friend wrote to me yesterday to say my big mouth built her daughters up and maybe that’s true, but I can tell you my big mouth has cut people down over the years and some of them didn’t deserve it.

Now as I write this my grandmother is rolling in her grave screaming, “I cannot believe you are airing your dirty laundry like this!” But here’s the thing: we all have dirty laundry. The underpants have shit stains, the pants are encrusted with piss and the bras are soaked in sweat. Laundry is ugly and it smells and we all like to pretend we don’t have it. We hide our dirty laundry away in the basement until it’s clean as a testament to the fact that we don’t have any problems. And if a stain is so deep it cannot be washed away we discard the item, because we can’t have that. Stains are bad. Stains communicate to the world that you are careless and thoughtless and have no pride. No, no we cannot have stains.

I am so tired of standing out in this world simply because I’m stained. Aren’t we supposed to be honest about that? Why am I getting credit for something I’m supposed to be doing in the first place? It’s maddening. We have, as a society, lost the ability to tell the truth and take accountability for our actions. When was the last time someone apologized to you for something they did? When was the last time YOU apologized to someone you hurt? You can’t remember can you.

Look in the mirror. Ask yourself, “What harm have I done? What about my own behavior is holding me back? How can I change? How can I make amends?” People don’t do this. I don’t know if there was ever a time when they did. After all Christ was complaining about it how many thousands of years ago? Look not at the twig in your neighbor’s eye when there is a plank in your own. No we’re all too busy rifling through our neighbor’s laundry, finding stains, and patting ourselves on the back because we’re so clean.

I spent a long time this morning looking in the mirror and I didn’t like what I saw. What I saw made me ashamed. Writing this entry is agonizingly painful but I’m going to see it through because I can’t ask any of you to extend forgiveness or admit your wrongs if I don’t do it myself, so here goes.

I have a big mouth. I say whatever I’m thinking without a thought to how it might make other people feel. This is irresponsible and juvenile of me and I’m going to stop. I’m going to mind my own business and stop looking for the stains on other people’s shirts. When I catch myself doing it I’m going to head straight to the mirror and say something like “Hey Rachel she might have some dirt on her pants but apparently you’ve been walking around all day with that piece of spinach stuck in your teeth you look like a hobo.” I’ll remember how deeply flawed I am and this will make me more mindful, which I should be at 42 years old but am not.

And here’s the real truth: I use Kevin as a crutch. Despite my rantings about the land of acceptance I’m still mad sometimes. I’m mad that I have to bathe him and dress him and brush his teeth. I’m mad that I’m scared to have Kayla’s friend Tinkerbelle sleep over because the last time she was here Kevin hit her and then laughed in her face. It isn’t fair.

I realize now that at some point in my journey I decided that Kevin’s condition gave me a free pass to do and say and think whatever I want, and it doesn’t. It does not. Most of you can get the stains out of your clothes but women like me can’t. My pain and my problem is the type of dirt that will never wash away and it has left me utterly exposed, like the child at Kevin’s first Holy Communion with a huge ketchup stain on her white dress desperately trying to pretend it wasn’t there. Dear God did she stand out. Dear God did I sit there staring at her the whole ceremony thinking, “I know how you feel right now. I feel like that every day. Every. Single. Day.”

Why has it taken me so long to realize how I have allowed my sorrow to harden me? Maybe I’m glad I was so obnoxious the other day. It has forced me into my present state of self-reflection which, although painful and humiliating, is loooooooooooooooong overdue.

Below is a transcript of the conversation I'm currently having with myself:

Ok Rach, this is good. This is a good thing. You now realize why people don’t apologize even when they know they’re wrong: it’s embarrassing. But YOU, you are going to do the right thing regardless of how uncomfortable it makes you feel. You’re going to admit you were out of line, tell Leala you’re sorry, and ask her to forgive you. She may not, but don’t let that stop you from offering her an apology she clearly deserves.

But I don’t wanna do that.

What if she yells at me?

That would be fair you yelled at her

Can you please shut up?

I’ll shut up after you apologize AND forgive yourself for your shortcomings.

Yeah forgive yourself. You’ve been making yourself sick over this for 2 days. You screwed up. Everybody does. Now strap your balls on and go apologize!

Well, here I go people, wish me luck. While I’m gone, please do me a favor and air out your dirty laundry. Make someone’s day by allowing them to see that you have shit stains in your underwear too.