I spent time
looking in the mirror this morning. I
haven’t done that in a long time. Usually
I avoid mirrors like the plague. It’s
one of the reasons I despise department stores:
too many mirrors. Getting my
picture taken? I can’t remember the last
time I allowed it. I’ve even mastered
the art of applying makeup without looking too closely at myself. It involves a lot of crouching and squinting
but I manage. I’ve known for years how
pathetic this is but as the old saying goes:
change only occurs when the pain of staying the same outweighs the fear
of creating a difference.
Something is
very different this morning. Yesterday I did something I haven’t done in almost
9 years: I accepted an offer of help. If I got a dollar for every time someone has
offered to take Kevin for a few hours, just to give me a break, I wouldn’t have
to work for a living but I’ve always said no.
Yesterday I said yes.
Christmas is
the worst time of year for us. I never
much cared for Christmas but since Kevin came along I am a complete Grinch. Why?
Because at this time of year, all the behaviors he exhibited in Kindergarten,
the ones that very nearly got him thrown out of school, come back for a very
unwelcome visit. Christmas is the
perfect recipe for aggressive outbursts:
no schedule, unfamiliar sounds, lack of structure, lots of people, and
LOTS of excitement. It’s sensory overload
and Kevin’s only defense against the tidal wave of uncomfortable sensation is
to hit, kick, bite, and cause the people close to him all manner of pain and
discord. He spent most of Christmas Eve
in a restraining hold, or outside pissing on my house. Christmas morning was complete hell (even
Chris lost his shit and almost smacked him) but the crowning glory was the day
after when moron over here decided to get him out of the house to hit the
sales.
Poor Barnes
and Noble in Marlton might never recover.
It all started because I refused to buy Kevin The Complete Guide To Mastering Calculus in hard cover. I said “no” and he threw it at me. I told the girls we had to check out
immediately and he followed me to the register throwing punches the entire
way. When I continued to ignore him he
destroyed a display of Christmas cards and that’s when the girls, out
desperation and embarrassment, made the worse possible mistake. They said, within earshot of their brother, “Mom
can you please just buy him the book? “and the battle ensued.
Not to this
extent, but most mothers have been humiliated by their children’s behavior in
public. Good parents say no to a great
many things in a vast variety of places.
They say no when it comes at great cost to them, like in public, where
it’s very possible their child might throw a fit and embarrass them. You know how much I love going to Shoprite
now that Kevin and the cereal have made peace with each other right? Well last weekend I watched a mother refuse
to buy jelly beans for her son and he went apeshit. It was an academy award winning tantrum to be sure and Mom kept her cool the entire
time. She just gazed at the candy
taking deep breaths and every moment or so would lean down and calmly say, “This
is not going to get you want so you might as well stop.” Utterly impressed, I
took a moment to examine the faces of the women around me and they were all so
disgusted. I realized, “They’re judging
her.” It seemed so strange. As impressive as it was, Kevin’s outbursts
put this one to shame but people don’t look at me that way when he flips out and
I realized: it’s because they pity you. When Kevin loses his shit in public people
realize immediately what they’re seeing and they feel sorry for you. I tried to
take offense but found I couldn’t.
I’ve always
thought of pity as a shameful thing but really it’s not. Pity simply means “to feel sorry” and what is
the shame in that if you direct your pity towards someone whose life is a
little harder than your own.
We don’t ask
for help. Ever. Moms don’t ask for help, even when they desperately
need it. We’ve been programmed to believe
that asking for help is a sign of weakness, an indication that motherhood is
overwhelming and therefore, we’re inferior at it. We OFFER people help all the time but when
the going gets tough we smile that much brighter, lie that much more, and
pretend that everything is hunky dory.
Why? Because good mothers are
supposed to love motherhood. Good
mothers aren’t supposed to need help because they’ve got it all together. Good mothers are supposed to be happy, all
the time, and it’s such a crock of shit.
I am the
recipient of two types of pity: those
who are genuinely sorry for what I have to deal with sometimes, and those who
pity my inability to hide it. Some women
cannot imagine having to live the way I do and some women think they could not bear
to be so exposed.
I am appalled
it took me this long to realize it but being exposed is probably my greatest
asset as a special needs parent. When
good hearted people see I need help they offer it and all this time I’ve been
saying no. Why? Because I’m no different than the other
mothers who are trying to pretend, not that I don’t HAVE problems, but that I
don’t need help with them.
For years I’ve
been telling myself, “You can’t leave him with someone. What if he acts out?” But it’s such a lie! I’ve left him with countless babysitters over
the years without concern: The most
reliable cure for Kevin’s worst behavior is a beautiful teenager girl with a
cell phone. The truth is, all this time,
I haven’t accepted help because I don’t want anyone to think I need any and
that is cowardly. Getting a break from
Kevin is probably the best thing I could do for both of us.
It was
hard. My hands were shaking as I typed
the words into our little Medford Lakes Mommy page but I did it. I wrote, “Hi guys. You know how you’ve ALL offered to take Kevin
for a few hours a hundred times over the past 3 years? Well if it’s not too late I’d like to take
you up on your offer. He kinda beat the
shit out of me and Barnes and Noble yesterday and I could really use a break.” Moments later, a woman named Amy (That’s
really her name. Under normal
circumstances I would change it but Amy means you are loved and how do you top that?) messaged me and offered to
take Kevin for the afternoon.
So
yesterday, my girls and I got three hours of violence free shopping and Kevin
got spoiled rotten by Amy and her daughters.
By the time I got there he was surrounded by 6 beautiful teenage girls
with cell phones, looking like he’d died and gone to heaven. Turns out he needed a break from me just as
much as I needed a break from him.
So now comes
the part about me looking at myself in the mirror. I always attributed my distaste with my appearance
as just that but it’s more: since Kevin
came into this world I’ve been dissatisfied with who I am. I spent so long hiding from my feelings is it
any wonder I started hiding from my reflection? I honestly thought that a
better mother, a better person, would not get frustrated with her aggressive
child and require time away from him. And
nothing could be further from the truth.
Kevin will
always be what he is but something is going to change for me: it’s already
started. I just got back from the hair
salon and for just a few moments I looked at myself in the mirror again and
thought, “See that’s not so hard!” I’m
actually kinda cute when I brush my hair and wear clothes that match. I feel better about myself. Why?
Because I asked for help and received it from someone who was genuinely happy to extend it.
This blog
began in response to a request from the editors at SheKnows to explain “how I
intend to make a difference in the world in 2017”. I have no clue how to make a difference in
the world but thanks to my friend Amy, who is loved, the pain of staying the
same has finally outweighed the fear of creating a difference. From this point forward I’m going to say “yes”
every time someone offers to take Kevin, even if I don’t need a break. I’m going to let people be kind to me and
take no offense to the pity they may feel because I have people I feel sorry
for and wish I could help too. All moms
need to start asking for and accepting help and maybe if I do it more someone
else will too. I won’t pretend I’m not
weak when I am and I won’t be ashamed that I need distance from Kevin when he
spends the afternoon hurling discounted Christmas cards at strangers. I’m going to stop telling lies. When he hits me I will not say what I usually
do which is, “I’m used to it,” because I’m not.
You never get used to your son hurting you, ever. I’m not sure what I’ll say next time but it
will be something that assures whoever I’m talking to that I don’t have
ANYTHING together, I’m not always happy, and sometimes motherhood sucks.
And finally,
I’m going to start looking in the mirror again, a little more every day. I’m going to tell the girl I see not to hide
anymore. I’ll
be a little happier every day because I’ll be a little more satisfied with what
I am: limited. It started this morning, the day after I
asked for help for the first time in 9 years.
Give it a try people, out there is an Amy, because you
are loved.