Tag Archives: life

The Diagnosis

31 Wednesday Jul 2024

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Sometimes, most of the time, I feel at a total loss with my kid. He breaks my heart. He was such an adorable baby and little kid.

Then, we discovered that there was something a little “different” about him.

We had always known that he was very intelligent – beyond his age.

We would have people speak to us in streetcars, in parks, asking his age because he was so well-spoken with a large vocabulary by the age of two.

What I didn’t realize is that he was behind in other areas: emotional regulation, fine motor skills, and his social growth.

He is such a beautiful human and it constantly makes me sad when people fail to see this side of him because they are put off by his abruptness or aloofness.

Having said that, these days he makes me sad as it feels like I am totally losing my ability to take care of him. I struggle more every day to get him to do anything other than play with his “friends” online. I do not have any problems with video games, in fact, I also like to play and will play with him and his “bros” sometimes.

But, when his real-life best friend comes over and wants him to go outside and play with them and he refuses to put the screen down and go outside, I cry.

I cry because it will be a fight.

I cry because I know that it is not simple for him either. He has anxiety, depression, autism, and physical discomfort that makes everything more difficult and challenging than it should be for him.

Do I want to fight him to try and get him out of his “comfort zones”? Should I try to fight him to get him out of his “comfort zones”?

I used to cry because he would try to connect with the world and the world didn’t seem to know how to make room for him.

Now I cry because he doesn’t want to try to connect with the world anymore and I don’t know how to help him make room for the world.

I am exhausted and stressed every single day. I don’t know what to do with it all anymore, except to write about it.

So, that’s what I’m going to do. Maybe it will help me process this journey for myself. Maybe it will help someone else with their journey. Being a parent is tough – being a parent to a neurodivergent child is that and then some.

We cry.

We cry a lot.

There are days, many many days, when we think ‘I can’t do this anymore…’

And yet, we still have to get up and do all the things.

When we first received the diagnosis, the doctor was very kind and compassionate. He warned us to take our time digesting the information and to be kind to ourselves. He commented on the feelings of loss, or anger we might experience. I didn’t really get it at the time, because all I felt was relief. I was relieved that we finally had some answers and could really start approaching things from a place of information.

Now I get it.

Being the parent of a neurodiverse child is tough. It is especially tough if you are also neurodivergent and have specific needs and requirements.

I feel like I am still at the beginning of this journey and that there is still so much to learn and discover.

I am trying to acknowledge the small victories and give myself credit for them. But, it is very challenging when you feel like you are far from where you should be, and things do not seem to be moving forward or improving.

In other words, it is tough to see the light when you are burnout.

That will be my next post. Burnout. Watch this space.

Geoff Ryan

15 Tuesday Aug 2023

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There are a few people from my life that I haven’t seen for years, but miss all the time.

You know those ice breaker-type games that ask questions like, “if you could meet one dead person, who would it be?” (Louisa May Alcott)

Whenever I’m asked, “if you could have lunch with any living person, who would it be?” I always have the same answer…and I have for the past 10 years.

Geoff Ryan.

Geoff is a person of high intelligence and dark, sarcastic, wit. And, I love him. Even though I haven’t seen or spoken to him in 10 years. He is the person I would most want to sit and catch up with…over some dumplings, curried chicken, plantain, and ginger beer!

Geoff was a Salvation Army officer who taught me how important it is to never ask anyone to do more than you are willing to do, to think more critically about everything and not be so easily swayed by emotion, to do things with intention, and how to turn the Tim Horton’s drink lid tab inwards to avoid being splashed on while drinking.

I have no idea where he is today, or what he is doing, but I miss him almost every single day. He had a huge influence on my life. He was strong and steady. He knew how to be careful with people’s lives and didn’t get caught-up in a “saviour complex.”

He is hilarious, irreverent, talented, a good cook, a horrible singer, and a deep thinker.

I often wonder what things might have been like if he had been more in-charge during the time I worked alongside of him. I am thankful he was there because he helped keep some balance when other forces were so overpowering and domineering that it made it difficult to keep the wheels on all the time.

Speaking of wheels…he was also responsible for my favourite vehicle of all-time. The big, psychedelic, noisy van lovingly referred to as, “The Beater.”

“The Beater”

I spent countless hours driving-around in this thing. You could hear it coming for several city blocks. I met Stephen Dorff while driving it one day when he, jokingly, asked me for a lift!

This is the kind of guy Geoff is: Always thinking outside the box, looking for different ways of doing things, being authentically cool, and finding ways of bringing others into his orbit.

He once shared a poem with me that talked about how, when someone has walked among the stars they will no longer be able to travel through life as a normal person again – they will always feel out of place and dissatisfied. This is how I’ve felt all of these years that I have been missing his friendship.

I was at his house over 10 years ago and he asked me if I’d be interesting in writing for a project he was working on. But, I was burnt-out and feeling pretty disillusioned and replied, “in order to write, you have to have something worth saying, right?” I had nothing.

Well, Geoff, all these years later I do have things I want to say – a lot of things.

For now though, let me just say “thank you” for the part you had in my life, and I miss you almost every day.

And, if you ever see this, this is for you:

https://www.ifitshipitshere.com/jesus-novelty-gifts/amp/

Authority

16 Sunday Apr 2023

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When I was a Christian it was easy to do things to help others in a way that felt very monumental; after all, I was doing God’s work. Believing yourself to be a direct conduit between God and others is pretty major.

I walked in, what Christians like to call, “authority.” I had the authority of God with me. What I did, what I said, it was greater than myself, it was done with a believed God-given authority.

The belief that I was part of something bigger, that I had a “calling,” and that I was doing “God’s work,” gave me the confidence, or the imagined authority, to get involved in situations and in people’s lives that could seem, and does seem to me now, to be intrusive.

One thing I realized many years ago, when I first became an atheist, was how Christians use the idea of prayer as a free ticket to pry into people’s lives, and make assumptions.

I was taught to “pray with authority,” even though you know that you can’t tell God what to do. Part of being a responsible pray-er was to be as specific as possible. Therefore, it was important to know specific details about people’s lives and struggles, in order to pray for what was needed with more authority.

One thing that has not changed for me since becoming an atheist, is my love and care for people. I still want to do what I can to help those around me live their best lives. I like helping and supporting people. I like being able to celebrate with them, or be there when they need a helping hand. But, this is much harder to do without this sense of “authority” behind me, without a feeling that I’m doing God’s work, and therefore am infallible.

I know better. I know and have witnessed how much harm can be done by those who try to help, but are not professionally equipped or trained to do so. I have experienced how “the power of God” has been an insufficient tool to deal effectively with complicated situations. The truth is, the “authority” under which Christians operate is dangerous because it gives the believer a sense of entitlement as well as a false idea of ones ability.

But, as I was trying to drift off to sleep tonight, I was missing this feeling of authority and wondering how things might be different if I still felt as though I had authority. Could I find somewhere else from which a sense of authority could be plucked? Can the authority to assume I have the answers to someone’s problem, or am a solution to their struggles be found in my humanity? Separated from a celestial being or deity?

As I finish up, I will be drifting off to sleep thinking about this: Can I conjure a similar feeling or level authority from the idea that who I am as a human gives me the authority needed to help who you are as a person, not because some God exists and says so, but because my humanity can reach out to yours and find common ground?

The Best of Times/The Worst of Times

12 Wednesday Apr 2023

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I frequently have dreams that place me in various times and places of my “previous lives” with people I haven’t seen for years.

There was, what is now, a short period of my life that has had an enormous impact on me. By the amount of emotional and mental baggage it has left, you would think it spanned more than 15 years, when, in reality, it was around 5.

Spanning the years between (roughly) 2001-2007, I lived an incredibly exhilarating and intense life that left me feeling burnt-out, beat-down, and deflated. Though, not right away. Some of this settled-in over the years as I reflected on the life that I have lived, the experiences I had, and how horribly underprepared and unqualified I was for so many moments I found myself living.

I’m going to attempt to unravel this time of my life that has kept me tied in knots for over 15 years now.

This is me just putting it out there and starting the process for myself.

Watch this space.

That Space in My Head

30 Tuesday Nov 2021

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I used to walk a lot. When I lived in Toronto, I walked everywhere, all the time.

I loved walking very early in the morning, or later at night – things change then. The city is different.

I would listen to music and play through a million different worlds in my head.

I never realized, until now, that this is where I have lived for most of my life – in my head.

However, as the pressures of adult life increases and presses in on me, I have had to vacate my head living space, to make room for lists of things for which I am responsible.

Despite this, I continue to fight to try and find my way back to that place – where daydreams are vivid and there are a million possibilities just waiting for my next step to play out.

My brain has become stagnant. It doesn’t write anymore. It doesn’t play anymore. It doesn’t create anymore.

Even dreaming takes work these days. It used to be as real and as constant as each breath.

I have been struggling to figure out what I want my life to be. I thought that I was trying to figure out who I am, what I want, etc. but, I am beginning to wonder if I’m really just searching for dreams.

Where do dreams exist?

Do they live in music? In movies, books, or television?

Do dreams begin to fade as you get older?

I enjoy being a dreamer – I love living in a land where anything is possible, where the stories are live and full of adventure, fear, love, wonder, and hope.

Music brings me to that place.

“Be the hand of a hopeful stranger / You’re scared but you’re strong enough / Be the light in the dark of this danger / ‘Til the sun comes up” (A Safe Place to Land, Bareilles/McKenna)

“I’ve been twisting and turning / In a space that’s too small / I’ve been drawing the line and watching it fall / You’ve been closing me in, closing the space in my heart / Watching us fading and watching it all fall apart” (The Pieces Don’t Fit Anymore, Brammer/Robson/Catchpole)

“When you’re walking downtown / Do you wish I was there? / Do you wish it was me? / With the windows clear and the mannequin’s eyes / Do they all look like mine?” (Come Pick Me Up, Adams / Alston)

“I’m down I’m down on my knees I’m begging for all your sympathy / But you (I’m just an illusion) you don’t seem to care . . . You humble people everywhere (I don’t mean to hurt you)” (Time, Kreviazuk, Wattenberg, Maida)

I walked down our street at 1:30am this morning and I dreamt. I breathed, I ran, I soaked-up the diamond snow and I began to make some space in my mind to rent it to myself occasionally until I can completely renovate and move back up there.

These are the Times

25 Tuesday Sep 2018

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Sometimes I get lost in nostalgia. Today is one of those days.

I lived in Toronto for 11 years in two different time periods. There was pre-New Zealand and post-New Zealand and the experiences are vastly different from one another.

This morning I find myself in deep reflection, once again, on my time there pre-New Zealand. This was an intense time full of deep relationships, friendships, emotions, highs, lows, struggles and heart aches.

During this time I led a reflection activity for a group of young people using Billy Joel’s song “This is the Time,” encouraging them to make the most of their young days because they would not last forever. I didn’t realize how true these lyrics would become for me. I truly thought that this was a time that would last forever; at least for me.

Watch on YouTube: This is the Time

As I sit here writing this, listening to these lyrics again, I am almost surprised by how much things have changed. I was certain that my life was going to continue-on in the same manner, that I would be surrounded by the same people, doing the same things, for the rest of my days.

But, everything has changed.

There are beliefs, lifestyles, locations and people long-gone that I thought I would never leave, or leave behind.

Despite the fact that I was encouraging a group of young people to be mindful of their current situation, that it would not last forever, I did not seem to grasp this reality for myself.

There is one truth I know in life – things will change. I miss my friends, I miss the city and sometimes I even miss some of the experiences. I never thought I would be sitting here, miles away, having not spoken to most of these friends for many years, worlds apart from one another, living completely different lives.

In-between us now sits the large ocean called “Life,” and it seems impossible to cross.

“Sometimes it’s so easy
To let a day slip on by…”

 

Remember What You Love to Do

28 Monday May 2018

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It’s so easy to get sucked-into the stresses of life and lose-track of the things you enjoy. I love to write, but I tell myself that I have to do all the other “important” things first before I can focus on the things I enjoy, and then more often than not, never get-around to doing what I love. I do not stop to take time for myself.

I am currently taking 3 condensed university courses and struggling just to keep-up. Not to mention the fact that I have a precocious 4 year old who is keeping me on my toes.

On my desk there sits a daily calendar that offers vibrant, artistic, inspirational quotes. I was underwhelmed by today’s message, until I glanced-over to it while stressing about all that I had to do and all that I have been unable to do, and realized that its message was one I desperately needed to read: “Remember what you love to do.”

Remember what you love to do.

Don’t get lost in all the stress. Don’t fill your day with only that which has to be done, but take time to do something that you want to do – something you enjoy. Don’t forget to do what you love to do.

And, I love to write.

Yes, there are assignments, tests, quizzes, books to read, papers to write, rooms to be tidied, chores to be done…

But, in all of these things, I should never forget what I love to do – because, if I do that, I forget myself.

We all have responsibilities, chores, tasks and maybe even deadlines, but it is so important to not allow these things to become who we are. They are not more important than taking the time to do something we enjoy, to express ourselves and allow ourselves to rest and to be renewed.

Therefore, even though this is just a little note, I sat still and allowed myself to write before running-off to fulfill my next responsibility and in so doing, discovered that taking 5 minutes for myself not only allows me to remember what I love to do, it also reminds me to love who I am and to be kind to myself.

Remember what you love to do.

The Thorn in Her Side – A Poem

09 Wednesday May 2018

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I spent some time reading-through two of my old journals tonight. I found a journal entry from December 4, 2001 that piqued my interest. Once again, it reminds me of something I could have written yesterday, because of how familiar it is and how applicable to my current state:

December 4, 2001 (21 yrs old)

Sometimes when I sit down to write in my journal it is very difficult to know what to write and where to begin. I am sure that my journals are some of the most strange, inconsistent journal writings ever recorded. But, it serves its purpose for me.

***
I thought that this entry was particularly interesting, given the fact that I had begun this evening’s readings with a few poems in a previous journal that are very raw and unpolished.

In my previous post, I commented that I was going to start with bones – bare, naked and vulnerable, and this poem is just that.

NOTE: This poem could be triggering to those who have experienced the trauma of sexual abuse – if you are concerned for yourself, please do not read further.

 

 

The Thorn in Her Side _- June 12, 1999 (18 yrs old)

A little girl,
Unsure and frightened.
Unknowing and trusting
Of those around her.
They are older and wiser
And she should be able to
Trust them.

One night
A friend
Took advantage
Of that small
Trusting
Child.
Stripped her of innocence.
She stood naked for the entire
World to see.

She felt it was wrong,
But did not know
What do do
What was happening?

Ashamed of letting her
Brother hear.
What if he knew?
He would tell and she would be
In trouble.

Closing her eyes
She attempts sleep
But she feels
Restless
Scared
Ashamed
And sleep won’t come.

Curling into a fetal position
Longing
For the safety of her mother
She hears herself
Screaming
Yet knows that she makes no sound.

As the tears stream down her
Rosy cheeks
Soaking the pillow where
They land
She eventually drifts away into
A deep
deep
Deep
Peaceful
Sleep.

When she wakes the next morning
She remembers it as a
Haunting dream
And shoves it –
Violently
To the back of her mind.

But the seed had been
Planted
And it would soon become a huge
Thorn
In her side.

Authentically Me – Dec. 1998

08 Tuesday May 2018

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When you are someone who journals, you have the great advantage of being able to go-back and answer that nagging question: Was I always like this?

I have begun exploring my old journals and while there are many in this world who would say that I am still a baby, a mere 37 years young, I believe that there is a wealth of information and experience to be mined from within their covers.

When I was eighteen years old, I felt like I was so old and so mature. There are valid reasons for this because, by my eighteenth year I had already lived what felt like several lifetimes and been-through an incredible amount of unusual and phantasmagorical life-experiences.

The following journal excerpt is from December 17, 1998 and is the very first entry in a new journal. It is incredible for me to read because it sounds like something I could have written last year.

As I explore my journals, I will be sharing excerpts that I find interesting. They will be in original form, non-edited and raw. One day I will put more meat to the content, but for now, I start with the bones.

Dec. 17, 1998

Sometimes I worry about my sanity. I am terribly confused. I no longer know what I believe in, what I like and dislike and very plainly, who I am. I find myself liking things and not liking things on the basis of the opinions of others. I also find myself not liking things just because they are liked and popular. I feel that if I like something that is popular I am saying that I am a crowd follower and cannot form my own opinions. I do not know how, but I have to discover myself again and find out who I really am. Unfortunately, I feel as though I have to hit absolute bottom before I can. It is too easy right now to simply ignore things and pretend things are alright. I have to feel, believe and know that it is absolutely necessary that I find myself.

***

Wow, kid.

The idea that, at eighteen, I felt that I had to try and “discover myself again,” boggles the mind. I see eighteen year old’s now and they are like babies, so young, innocent, and unaware. I thought I was a “worldly” eighteen year old, but I didn’t know jack. I was a baby like them once; I just didn’t know it.

They say that ‘hindsight is 20-20,’ and this entry is an obvious red flag to me knowing now that it would be a mere few months later that I would overdose on pills in an attempt to find relief from all of these troublesome thoughts and feelings.

Like I said, I was naïve. I knew nothing of what was yet to come and had a flimsy grasp, at best, on all that had been.

Nonetheless, there is a beautiful trait that pokes through the mess – and that is the constant intent to be genuine. I do not now, nor have I ever, wished to pretend that I am somebody I am not.

“I must keep my own style & go on in my own way; and though I may never succeed again in that, I am convinced that I should totally fail in any other” (Jane Austen, Jane Austen’s Letters).

The yearning for authentic sincerity that I often wore like an inconvenient abnormality, has been rubbed by the intimate hands of time and is showing itself as one of my most beautiful strengths.

An Unholy Confession

06 Sunday May 2018

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She knelt down at the bench that was drenched with the tears and prayers of all those who had come before her. This was a seat that was not meant for resting, but for wrestling. Sinners came to this bench to confess, to plead, to repent and to rise in salvation.

The black shoes she had been wearing restricted her from attaching herself to the bench in the manner she thought necessary to get close to God, and as she twisted-around to remove them, her black uniform skirt got caught on the sleeve of her tunic, revealing more of her regulation nightshade pantyhose than modesty would approve.

She did not know that he was watching her.

He was always watching.

She went about her business, preaching and teaching the word of God, leading the people in praise and worship of the creator she loved so very much. She was just doing what she had been called to do, the best way she could.

In her twenty-one years of life she believed she had a firm grasp on the world, and was wise and mature to its ways.

When he came to her and confessed his love, she found herself spinning and dizzy, unable to find her bearings and questioning what she had believed to be the safest place.

“My wife knows about you,” he confessed. She felt sick to her stomach and wanted to turn from him and run. Unable to speak, he continued, “I’ve been talking to my therapist about you.”

Was she, honestly, hearing him correctly? It seemed as though she had been thrust into another world, like a twisted version of what one might find beyond the wardrobe.

How could she have let this happen? What had she done to lead him on?

She stared back at him, in shock and disbelief and noticed for the first time how many wrinkles his face held and the glisten of his silvery white hair.

He was in his 50’s and had kind, but lost, eyes. She had always appreciated his gentleness, but now she felt like he was a predator. He was no longer a sheep, but a wolf in sheeps clothing.

“I love you,” he made his confession plainly.

She tugged at her white blouse nervously, suddenly feeling naked and exposed. In her mind she was pleading with him to stop looking at her. She felt undressed by his stare.

“What am I going to do?” he asked.

She said nothing. Frozen to the ground, unable to move, the world rang in her ears and she remembered what it felt like to want to disappear.

She never wanted to be seen by a man again.