You know when I got married, there are just things I never thought I’d ever say to my husband. And yet, somehow, when I’m not looking. There they are. Things I find myself saying and thinking…
“God did I just say that?”
I wasn’t feeling good last night at all. Yesterday was Trace’s second Asperger’s assessment. And, although it went well, it was very long. 2 1/2 hours of asking question after question, in order to get know our family history, Trace and how we feel as parents about our son. I was completely drained when we got home.
I couldn’t sleep at all, and by the time eleven o’clock rolled around I was hurting and not feeling well. My stomach was upset, I felt sweaty and ill. I knew it was a panic attack. I just didn’t know why.
I tossed and turned until about 2am when I called out to FD to come to me. I couldn’t stop crying. He came and sat beside me as I blurted out everything I was feeling.
All my pain for Trace, my guilt for what he’d been through in his life and that I didn’t do more to protect him.
My fears of dying. I’m afraid of having a heart attack like my parents, dying and leaving this earth, leaving my kids and husband.
My fear of having sex with my husband because I’m not in great shape. I’m afraid of dying during intercourse. And I actually blurted out …
“The last thing I want is for the kids to know their mother died with stiffy inside of her!” OMG!
I was a little bit hysterical at this point.
FD listened, allowed me to cry and bawl and whine and shed my fears until my body grew numb.
I know why I have these fears. I know where they come from, how they manifested, and even what they mean. I just don’t know how to cope with them.
I told FD that I wanted to blog about it. I mean writing is like a solace for me, but that I was afraid others would think I just whine too much all the time. Sometimes readers can be mean and I just don’t want to deal with mean.
But in the end I am true to a part of myself that needs to put things down on paper, to get them out, to analyze them and try to figure things out.
And I came to one final conclusion.
I blame myself for my son’s condition.
I know that is selfish, I mean it’s not about me. It’s about him. But I do. I blame myself.
I blame myself for the thoughts I have when days are hard. When I stare at my beautiful six year old boy and think to myself…
“Why the hell can’t you just be normal?” or “Where did I go so wrong you have to act like this?” “Why can’t you eat a cookie after it has touched another cookie. It’s not dirty. It’s just a damn cookie!”
I blame myself for thinking I could done something to change things. I could have protected him better. It was my job. He was inside of me and it was my job, to make sure he was alright. He was healthy. He was happy.
Now I have a little boy who struggles to understand things. Who doesn’t feel loved a lot of the time. Who thinks everyone is against him. And I realized something today in that doctors office.
Trace is just like me.
I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know where I will go from here. I know I have a lot more growing to do as a mom. I have growing to do as a woman and person, despite the fact I’m nearing 40.
One thing I do know is that I love my son. God how I love him and nothing that happens during the reading of the results is going to change things, except one.
I am not going to allow my son to grow up feeling as though he doesn’t matter or that he isn’t understood. Because I understand. More than I ever realized before. And I’m going to make sure that one way or the other.