Breaking out my best Leia impression and mustering up my calmest, least snarkiest, most empowering, annoyed, sarcastic tone for this post. Carrie Fisher take the wheel...
I came across this article this morning.... And usually I swipe on by because, frankly, unless it's a fellow mom - I don't much care. Most blurbs about autism are full of stats that came in the disheveled, half torn, half chewed, droll covered, wine soaked, and smeared "handbook" that comes with a new diagnosis. Some are all about miracle cures up to and including bleach cocktails. Many are, indirectly, stating that death from some horrible disease is a more fortunate fate than the "disorder" that my child lives with on a daily basis. And the damned comments. Cripes, people. What THE ACTUAL FUCK is wrong with those people?
This morning I was feeling froggy. It was a local article doing some Q&A with some new therapist with some new practice touting its success with bridging gaps between ASD kids and educators.
She's the Autism Whisperer.
We are saved.
Maaaaaybe I'm cynical. Maaaaaybe this isn't the week. I'm frustrated with our school system, again. Maybe I'm pissed off that some dillhole community group page leader deleted my query looking for other kids that share the same interests as my son because she doesn't know how to read. Maybe it's all the things. All of them. Maybe.
But she uses the most cringeworthy line I can think of - "We have hope."
Are you fuuuuuuuuuucking serious? "Hope". We have "hope".
What does that mean exactly?
We ran out of cheese, milk, bread, eggs, and peanut butter - but we have "HOPE!"
Congratulations, Spectrum Families - WE HAVE HOPE!!! HOPE HAS ARRIVED AND JUST IN THE NICK OF TIME!
Rejoice!
Plenty of hope to go around! Form a line!
As if "Hope" has arms and legs, a pulse, shoulder length hair pulled back in a conservative, low bun, tortoise shell glasses, sensible shoes, and wears just the right amount of perfume. She has her arms crossed and sleeves up and she's ready to kick some ass and take some names.
This is what people say that don't know what else to say.
This irritates me. Obviously.
No shit we have hope.
Thanks lady.
I hope to win the lottery but that doesn't pay my bills.
That sounds dismal. That sounds like everything else has failed and this is all that we have left. Our Hope™.
Come back when you have Solutions.
Not solutions to the Autism puzzle but solutions to help make their lives the way they want them. Encourage independence when possible. Connect those in need with resources. Help us advocate for our children. Educate the public. Foster compassion.
And for all that is good and holy in this world can we just get through a school year without having to ask a teacher to read the IEP? Maybe attend a party where we aren't a sideshow? Kid first, Autism second. Please?
Keep the hope for World Peace, that the Kardashian's will quietly retire to some remote island with no social media, and maybe fat free cheesecake that tastes just like the real thing.
Monday, July 27, 2015
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
She Traded Her Voice to the Sea Witch and Got Legs
We all have body issues.
Some girls want bigger boobs. Some girls want smaller ones. A thinner waist. A smaller nose. A bigger butt. Tinier earlobes. More delicate hands. Fewer wrinkles. Cover the grays. Suck in that stomach. Slimmer necks. Trimmer thighs. Thicker eyebrows. Blue eyes. Blonder hair. Less freckles. A mermaid fin.
Make me someone else. But still me. But I don't want to look like me. Make me my fairy tale me.
I will be the first to admit that I have body dysmorphia. I look at myself and have this distorted vision of what my whole body looks like. This is a facet of anorexia. Some days I check the mirror 4, 5, 6, or even 40 times. Do I have muffin top? Did that cookie I ate last week add to the cellulite on my ass? Does that milkshake I drank define me? How many calories determine my worth? This insanity has to end sometime.
This is a gift from past child abuse. I was starved. My body really just stopped feeling hungry. It was a way to make me submit. There's more to that... just not for today. Anyway, when I got out of that cage I started taking control back. It started with food. I used to beg for it. I used to cry for it. Once I was safe and home, I could choose to eat. I could choose to not eat. There was the conflict though - I hated myself. Brainwashed into being "fat" and "ugly". Cutting my arms up was another outlet I found. I wasn't being beaten anymore. No more punches. No more slaps. No more kicks. But those were my new normal. I almost needed that pain. Self mutilation and starvation were crutches. They were ways for me to wean myself off of the abuse. While, I packed up my favorite razors years ago, I keep Anorexia in my purse for emergencies. Sometimes, I need to take a puff or 2 to get myself straight. Usually, when someone has taken my voice away or I'm not able to use it for whatever reason. But that cringe at my reflection is more present than I 'd like. Much of my abuse was also sexual. There were many days where I couldn't walk. That's as far as I'll go with that, for now. I got robbed of the beauty of sex.
A few months ago, to get out of the tailspin relapse I was in, I decided to try something else. I'm pretty willing to try anything to get better. This time, I decided to fulfill a bucket list item. I have a great friend at Seippel Studios who happens to be a gifted photographer. I also have an affinity for the pin up culture. So I commissioned Shayna to shoot me - boudoir style!
I picked out some lace, some fishnet, some heels, and some courage and hit the studio. And shutter click by shutter click I felt better and better. There's something freeing about baring yourself. It's not about the attention, for me. I don't care about the opinions of others. There is nothing worse anyone could ever say to me that hasn't already been said or worse than I've already thought. Insecurity is not flattering and you can smell it a mile away on some women. I just wanted to be free. I wanted to accept my corporeal self. I wanted to feel comfortable in my own skin. It was about me, entirely. My husband is a very loving, and doting man who is generous with compliments and appreciation for my body. But I needed to be, also. I won't see myself the way that he does. But, an idea would be nice. The shoot wasn't a cure all. I'm not sure that anything is. What it was was a step towards a greater self acceptance.
And, it was so much fun. Not gonna lie. Doing my hair and make up and nails and dressing up - it was fun. I got to be fairy tale me that was really just me, dressed up and un-retouched. It was empowering. I legitimately felt better.
Of course, there was much laughter. And that helped.
Some girls want bigger boobs. Some girls want smaller ones. A thinner waist. A smaller nose. A bigger butt. Tinier earlobes. More delicate hands. Fewer wrinkles. Cover the grays. Suck in that stomach. Slimmer necks. Trimmer thighs. Thicker eyebrows. Blue eyes. Blonder hair. Less freckles. A mermaid fin.
Make me someone else. But still me. But I don't want to look like me. Make me my fairy tale me.
I will be the first to admit that I have body dysmorphia. I look at myself and have this distorted vision of what my whole body looks like. This is a facet of anorexia. Some days I check the mirror 4, 5, 6, or even 40 times. Do I have muffin top? Did that cookie I ate last week add to the cellulite on my ass? Does that milkshake I drank define me? How many calories determine my worth? This insanity has to end sometime.
This is a gift from past child abuse. I was starved. My body really just stopped feeling hungry. It was a way to make me submit. There's more to that... just not for today. Anyway, when I got out of that cage I started taking control back. It started with food. I used to beg for it. I used to cry for it. Once I was safe and home, I could choose to eat. I could choose to not eat. There was the conflict though - I hated myself. Brainwashed into being "fat" and "ugly". Cutting my arms up was another outlet I found. I wasn't being beaten anymore. No more punches. No more slaps. No more kicks. But those were my new normal. I almost needed that pain. Self mutilation and starvation were crutches. They were ways for me to wean myself off of the abuse. While, I packed up my favorite razors years ago, I keep Anorexia in my purse for emergencies. Sometimes, I need to take a puff or 2 to get myself straight. Usually, when someone has taken my voice away or I'm not able to use it for whatever reason. But that cringe at my reflection is more present than I 'd like. Much of my abuse was also sexual. There were many days where I couldn't walk. That's as far as I'll go with that, for now. I got robbed of the beauty of sex.
A few months ago, to get out of the tailspin relapse I was in, I decided to try something else. I'm pretty willing to try anything to get better. This time, I decided to fulfill a bucket list item. I have a great friend at Seippel Studios who happens to be a gifted photographer. I also have an affinity for the pin up culture. So I commissioned Shayna to shoot me - boudoir style!
I picked out some lace, some fishnet, some heels, and some courage and hit the studio. And shutter click by shutter click I felt better and better. There's something freeing about baring yourself. It's not about the attention, for me. I don't care about the opinions of others. There is nothing worse anyone could ever say to me that hasn't already been said or worse than I've already thought. Insecurity is not flattering and you can smell it a mile away on some women. I just wanted to be free. I wanted to accept my corporeal self. I wanted to feel comfortable in my own skin. It was about me, entirely. My husband is a very loving, and doting man who is generous with compliments and appreciation for my body. But I needed to be, also. I won't see myself the way that he does. But, an idea would be nice. The shoot wasn't a cure all. I'm not sure that anything is. What it was was a step towards a greater self acceptance.
And, it was so much fun. Not gonna lie. Doing my hair and make up and nails and dressing up - it was fun. I got to be fairy tale me that was really just me, dressed up and un-retouched. It was empowering. I legitimately felt better.
Of course, there was much laughter. And that helped.
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