Mother As the Giving Tree: Reflections on Conditional Acceptance

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Last Monday, I attended an online meeting for adults who spent time in the NICU as infants. It touched me on many levels. One thing that was mentioned was the fact that most NICU parents go through their own emotional process, which then is passed on somehow to their child in the NICU and beyond. For example, many parents back in my day and before didn’t know whether their baby would survive, so they didn’t attach to their babies as they normally would have.

I was also reminded of something I read in the book The Emotionally Absent Mother. In it, motherhood is compared to the giving tree in Shel Sinverstein’s writing. I don’t think I’ve ever read this piece, but its point is that the tree keeps on giving and giving and expects nothing in return.

I have been thinking about my parents’ attitude to me as a multiply-disabled person. When I suffered a brain bleed in the NICU, my father questioned my neonatologist about my quality of life and what they were doing to me. “We’re keeping her alive,” the doctor bluntly replied. My father has always been adamant to me that he wouldn’t have wanted me if I’d had an intellectual disability, because “you can’t talk with those”.

I have always felt the pressure of conditional acceptance. I’ve shared this before, but when I was in Kindergarten or first grade, it was already made clear to me that, at age eighteen, i’d leave the house and go to university. I tell myself every parent has expectations and dreams for their child. This may be so, but most parents don’t abandon their children when these children don’t meet their expectations and certainly not when it’s inability, not unwillingness, that drives these children not to fulfill their parents’ dreams. Then again, my parents say it’s indeed unwillingness on my part.

I still question myself on this. Am I really unable to live on my own and go to university? My wife says yes, I am unable. Sometimes though, I wish it were within my power to make my parents be on my side. Then again, the boy in Shel Silverstein’s writing didn’t have to do anything to make the tree support him either.

I’m linking up with #WWWhimsy. I was also inspired to write this post when I saw Esther’s writing prompt for this week, which is “giving”.

Kymber’s Get to Know You (January 9, 2025)

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. I have been quite tired over the past few days, so didn’t do much writing. I’m still proud to say that this is my sixth blog post in January. Considering that some months in 2024, I only published five posts total, this is good.

Anyway, regular readers may remember me participating in the Wednesday Hodgepodge for a while. I stopped doing that, because I didn’t like it that the overwhelming majority of participants’ posts were heavily Christian-based. Now though, I seem to have found something to replace it with: Kymber’s Get to Know You. Here are the questions for this week and my answers.

1. What is the most memorable activity you did with your family as a child?
Not an activity we did as a whole family, but play-based learning with my parents comes to mind. For example, my father taught me to calculate squares using computer chips he’d been removing out of the devices himself. I also remember us looking at maps together. My mother also made little books in large print for me to learn to read when I was about four. Here in the Netherlands, children don’t usually learn to read until they’re six, but I was a precocious learner. My parents will probably be proud to see me list these “intellectual” activities.

2. What quality do you appreciate most in a friend?
Acceptance. I want to be myself with a friend and if they aren’t willing to accept that, fine but they aren’t my friend. I will also accept my friends for who they are. I don’t mean that mutual annoyances can’t happen. They happen between me and my spouse, who I consider to be my best friend, all the time. However, when it comes down to it, we accept each other for who we are.

3. What is one characteristic you received from your parents you want to keep and one you wish you could change?
My mother jokes that I inherited all my positive qualities from my father and all my negative ones from her. I was almost going along with it, because indeed the first positive characteristic I thought of comes from my Dad and the first negative one from my Mom. However, I’d like to boost my Mom’s self-esteem a bit (should she ever read this) and lessen my Dad’s. Therefore, I’d like to keep my Mom’s creativity and get rid of my Dad’s snobbishness.

If You Aren’t Prepared For an Imperfect Child…

Posted on by Astrid

Yesterday someone on Reddit’s Childfree sub asked why many parents-to-be have this idea that they’ll get the perfect child. You might say that having dreams for your unborn child is normal, and it is. Having this clear-cut image of what your child will (that is, should) achieve in life, is not.

Of course, there are thankfully many parents who are able to adjust their image of their child if (or rather, when) said child does not conform to their initial expectations. My parents, unfortunately, are not among them.

Like I’ve probably shared on this blog before, when I was a baby and sustained a brain bleed due to premature birth, my parents were concerned for my quality of life. This is more or less normal, although it wasn’t back in the ’80s. In fact, the doctor flat out told my parents not to interfere, since they were keeping me alive period. I am forever grateful for this, despite the fact that the same doctor admitted in 2004 that he sometimes meets former preemies he’d been keeping alive that he now thinks of: “What have we done?!”

At that time, I thought he would not mean me. I was still passing for “just blind” and, though blindness is considered a major disability, it’s one that by itself does not prevent someone from living independently and going to university.

That was the exact same reason my father, when talking about euthanasia of severely disabled babies in 2006, didn’t mean me. He did, however, mean those with intellectual disability and those with severe mobility impairments (the case at hand involved a baby with severe spina bifida). And I’ll never forget that he added to his statement that he didn’t mean me, “because you’re training to live independently and go to university”. As you all know, that didn’t work out.

My parents did find a workaround to the problem of my not being the perfect child they’d envisioned: they decided that my landing in the mental health system and now in a care home for those with intellectual disability, is my choice rather than a necessity. I haven’t fully processed all the ways in which this attitude, which some of my care professionals took over, has impacted me. It hurts though.

Now back to the idea of a perfect child. Even when disability isn’t involved, a child is their own unique individual, with their own strengths, weaknesses, wants and needs. When a parent decides that their child should go to university at eighteen even though they are still in Kindergarten, like my parents did, that doesn’t just impact a disabled child. It impacts any child for whom for whatever reason university isn’t the best place to go at eighteen. Such as, for instance, any child with an average or even slightly above-average IQ. Or any child that is more capable of practical jobs than of academic ones. And any child who, God forbid, doesn’t want to go to university.

If you aren’t ready for a disabled child, a child who isn’t a top achiever, a child who might I say has their own personality, by all means don’t become a parent. You don’t know what your child will be like, after all. Having dreams is alright, but be ready to adjust your image of your child when the need arises. And for goodness’ sake, don’t guilt trip your child for being themselves.

I’m linking this post up with this week’s #WWWhimsy.

Parenting Advice From a Childfree Survivor of Childhood Trauma

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Today’s RagTag Daily Prompt is “parenting”. Since I’m currently recovering from meeting my parents for my birthday, I’m going to make a list of parenting advice my parents should’ve received. I realize their inability to love me unconditionally wasn’t unwillingness. In fact, the fear that I may have this same inability is one reason I’m childfree. This post is a random list and may come across a bit harsh, but so be it.

1. A family is not a business. It doesn’t have to be run efficiently. Yes, I understand you get impatient with your child’s struggles at times, but this isn’t their problem – it’s yours.

I was constantly shamed for needing too much help and my parents gave up on teaching me basic skills of daily living because I got frustrated and the task didn’t get done efficiently.

2. Challenging behavior does not make the child (especially young child) bad or manipulative. Behavior is communication, yes, but to search for hidden motives behind it, is actually quite arrogant.

I was told by my parents that, by age seven, I had come up with some idea to manipulate everyone into thinking I was different in all kinds of other ways besides blind because I didn’t accept my blindness. News flash: I am those other things.

3. Children are incredibly loyal to authority figures, be it their parents, teachers, or others. When you fight the school or healthcare system over something rather than trying to be cooperative, the child will experience a conflict of loyalty. This means that, just because they side with you eventually, it isn’t necessarily in their best interest.

My parents were constantly fighting the school over my needs, because the school denied my intelligence. Then again, my parents minimized my emotional difficulties. When an educational psychologist who saw both my intelligence and my emotional issues, nonetheless advised special education for me, my parents still weren’t happy even though they’d chosen this ed psych, because they were dead set on me being mainstreamed.

4. Your child is not an extension of your ego. For this reason, they do not have to follow an educational or career path you like. It isn’t their job to make up for your lost dreams.

See also above. From the time I was a young child on, it was clear that, by age eighteen, I’d live on my own and go to university. Interestingly, neither of my parents have a college degree and particularly my mother feels “dumb” for it even though she worked herself up to a management position that usually requires a college degree.

5. Your child doesn’t need to prove their value. They do not need to prove they were “worth raising” by being anything, be it independent, successful, or whatever. If you don’t want a disabled child, a child of a certain gender, or whatever, you shouldn’t have a child.

I have probably said this before, but my parents, particularly my father, seriously think that a child needs to prove they were worth raising by being successful in life as an adult. He didn’t mean me when he said this, “because you’re training for independent living”. Well, now that I’m in an institution with seven hours of one-on-one a day, he obviously does mean me, since the few times I’ve seen him since he’s barely acknowledged me.

6. Love your child unconditionally. This does not mean agreeing with every single decision they make, but it does mean being there for them when they need you. And this doesn’t end when they turn 21. With a few exceptions (an adult child becoming a criminal, for example), parenting is a lifelong commitment.

I am linking this post up with #WWWhimsy as well.

“St. Nick, I’m Stuck!”

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Sorry for not having touched the blog for nearly a week. I’ve been struggling once again. However, today I feel in an okay place mentally at least, so I thought I’d join in with John Holton’s Writer’s Workshop. One of the prompts is to share when you learned that Santa/the Easter bunny/the tooth fairy was your parents.

I’ll have to talk about St. Nicholas rather than any of the others here, because that’s what we celebrate most here in the Netherlands. St. Nicholas is like Santa, except he has helpers called Peters. They used to be black, but now they come in every color or with black streaks across their faces (from creeping through chimneys to deliver presents) because the concept of Black Peter is racist.

I was eight the last year when I still believed in St. Nick. This was 1994. As the legend goes, St. Nick and his Peters would ride over the rooftops on a white horse and maybe they’d descend through the chimney to deliver presents.

That year, on the evening of December 5, my parents, sister and I were having dinner when we heard noise coming from the roof. We didn’t have a chimney, but I was still too clueless to think about that. “St. Nick, help, I’m stuck!” We went looking for where the sound came from and saw that there were presents in the loft under the staircase.

Eight is a fairly old age to still believe in St. Nick. In fact, I’d been packaging St. Nicholas presents for my teachers for several years by then. By the year after this, when literally everyone my age had stopped believing, my father spoiled the beans for me: he came to me with a cassette tape, put it in the player and there it was: “St. Nick, help, I’m stuck!” It was his own voice, slightly distorted. By that time, I knew for sure that St. Nicholas was my parents.

Memories of My Paternal Grandfather

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Today is National Grandparents’ Day in the United States. I heard of this a few days ago when looking for inspiration for my blog, but didn’t feel like writing about the topic at the time. Now, the subject returns in Marsha’s 10 on the 10th post. This is a meme in which Marsha asks ten questions related to a particular topic of the month. Rather than answer all ten, I’m going with one of them, which is to share a favorite memory involving your grandparent(s).

I have shared about my paternal grandmother a lot of times already. She was certainly my favorite grandparent. Today though, I’m going to share about my paternal grandfather.

My paternal grandparents divorced in 1973, years before I was born. They didn’t have much contact since, as all of their children were adults by that time. In fact, I can’t remember a birthday or holiday when they visited my family on the same day.

My paternal grandfather was a radio technician during his working life. He knew a lot about all sorts of science and tech things. Indeed, my parents tell me I acquired my first spoken word from him. As the story goes, my father and grandfather were discussing aviation and, at one point, either of them mentioned the word “aircraft industry”. I, then ten-months-old (seven months corrected for prematurity), parroted: “Aircraft industry.” This, my parents see as a sign of my being a genius. Most of my psychologists in my adult life have seen it as one of the early signs of autism.

My paternal grandfather was probably on the spectrum himself too (as is my father, though he doesn’t care about diagnoses). We had these traditions built into his visits with us. One of them was him always giving my sister and me Æ’5 each. At one point, when my father had probably decided we were too old for this, our grandfather put the coins in a very hard to open money-box with transparant sides, so that we could see our money but not reach it. I am pretty sure I had a tantrum over it.

My grandpa had a small motorized boat. Well, large enough to sleep in. My sister once went on a week-long sleepover on the boat with him. Mid-way through it, my parents and I visited them and we sailed IJsselmeer a bit. I was both scared and excited, as we could leave the boat when it was anchored and have a swim around.

I went to grammar school, the type of high-level high school I attended, in 1999. My grandfather had attended grammar school back in the 1930s, so he gave me some kind of a button with “grammar school 1” written on it.

By that time, age 75, my grandfather started thinking he was suffering from dementia. My father brushed it off, saying he probably thinks he has dementia when he doesn’t remember the most difficult of the Latin words he learned in grammar school. As it turned out, my grandpa was right after all, as he was diagnosed with pretty advanced dementia in late 2001, age 77. At this point, he needed to be placed in a nursing home. He died not even eighteen months later. Now that I know more about dementia, I know that the stage of not recognizing people and having no short-term memory whatsoever, is by far not the first stage of dementia. I realize now too that my paternal grandmother probably suffered from mid-stage dementia too, but died of another cause before entering the phase at which point my grandfather was diagnosed. It is truly tragic that my grandfather wasn’t taken seriously.

A Child Called “Baby”

Posted on by Astrid

Today, Emilia of My Inner MishMash asks us about our name. How do you feel about it? Do you know where yours came from or why your parents picked it?

I probably shared this before. In fact, I did indeed write about this topic in 2019. I didn’t bother to actually look up the post until finishing this one though, so well, here’s the story again through a 2023 lens.

When I was born, my parents didn’t have a name picked for me yet. The reason is the fact that I was born three months prematurely. As a result, for a few hours, the name plate on my incubator read just “Baby”. According to my mother, my father was so displeased with this that he quickly came up with a name (or picked one from the names they’d been discussing among each other). And thus I was named Astrid.

Of course, my parents do have a story of why they named me Astrid. Apparently, I am named after Swedish author Astrid Lindgren. Similarly, my sister was named after Sigrid Undset.

I do like my name, sort of. I like its relative uniqueness. I don’t like the fact that it’s hard to pronounce in English, but I do like the fact that in English-language literature for this reason I hardly come across characters named Astrid. I avoid books when I know they have a character named Astrid in them.

I don’t have a middle name and yet, I always wanted one. As a teen, I’d pick random middle names that bore neither an etymological nor a linguistic similarity to “Astrid”, such as “Elena”. Now if I had to choose a middle name, I’d go with something that also has its origin in northern Europe but is relatively easy to spell and pronounce in Dutch and English, such as “Kirsten”. I liked that one back as a teen too but didn’t use it as often. The name “Kirsten” is Christian in nature though, while “Astrid” has Pagan connotations. However, I don’t really care. The combination might actually signify the importance of the Christ, as the name “Astrid” means something like “beautiful God”.

The Wednesday HodgePodge (June 22, 2022)

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. I’m joining the Wednesday HodgePodge once again. Here are Joyce’s questions for this week.

1. Something you learned from your father?
Well, I shared about this on Sunday already: my father mainly taught me academic skills. He also was the one who taught me the limited personal hygiene skills I did learn as a child. There’s a story he used to tell me about having to teach some personal care to my mother when she moved in with him at age 22. In this sense, I shouldn’t really feel embarrassed at the fact that my husband had to teach me to use shower gel when I was in my mid-twenties.

2. Do you like onions? Raw or cooked? How about onion rings? What’s something you love to eat that calls for onions?
Onions, mmm, love ’em! Raw is nice, cooked even better. I love onion rings too! A recipe I love and used to cook when I still cooked independently which calls for lots of onions (and garlic!), is macaroni with mushrooms, bell peppers, onions of course and I’d use a mushroom soup that you’d need to add water to in order to turn it into a soup as the sauce. Sadly, that brand of soup eventually added ham to its mushroom soup, which I don’t care for. When I cooked for just myself, I’d also add chicken, but when I’d cook with my husband, we’d skip that as he was a vegetarian back then.

3. It’s officially summer (in the Northern hemisphere)…your favorite and least favorite things about the season?
My favorite thing is, of course, my birthday at the end of June (in five days’ time!). Other than that, I love the longer daylight. My least favorite thing are mosquitoes and other summertime bugs such as the oak processionary.

4. When you think about the summers of your childhood what are two or three things that come to mind?
Vacationing at Vlieland, one of the Wadden Islands. For the first several years that we went there, I loved it. I remember building treehouses with my holiday friends one year when I was eight. The next year, we didn’t return. And not for another several years. When we returned to Vlieland again the summer I was twelve, I didn’t like it nearly as much, because I’d by then lost most of my vision. Besides, kids my age no longer wanted to build treehouses.

5. A hot mess, the heat of the moment, beat the heat, if you can’t stand the heat, catch heat, in a dead heat…choose a ‘hot ‘phrase and tell us how it applies to your life right now.
A hot mess… that’s my country at this point!
Today, two protests took place in the Netherlands: one by farmers against the government’s nitrogen crisis-related policies (or plans, really, as no real policies have yet been implemented), which will likely cause some farmers to need to stop business; the other by Extinction Rebellion, a group of climate activists, also against the government but with the opposite aim. The farmers caused huge traffic jams on various highways because they were coming to the protest in their farming vehicles. The climate activists gained unlawful entrance to the Tax Service main office in The Hague. The police claimed to be powerless against the farmers, but arrested 22 climate activists.

Thankfully, neither protest is impacting me personally, but all the bad news does worry me.

6. Insert your own random thought here.
I was going to ramble on above about the rapid rise in COVID cases here, but I guess that needs its own heading. Last night I had a slight headache and, since that was how my COVID started last February, I worried that I was going to get it again exactly four months after I’d initially contracted the virus. That in turn would mean canceling my husband’s visit today, my birthday celebrations this weekend and my nurse practitioner’s appt on Monday, which, though Monday is my birthday, I decided to go on with after all. Thankfully, I have absolutely no symptoms indicative of the virus now. Please pray I won’t get sick anytime soon.

Precious Memories of My Father

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Today in her Sunday Poser, Sadje asks us to share our most precious memory of our father or the father figure in our life.

My father was a homemaker and my and my sister’s primary caretaker when we were children. As such, he, rather than my mother, was the one I’d see when I came home from school.

As a child, I took very much after my father, but now I have very mixed feelings about our relationship. My father is intelligent and he knows it. He also knows that I am intelligent and he feels that this somehow negates all my problems. In his opinion, all people who disagree with him, particularly those in the helping professions, are stupid.

Because my father and I are both intelligent, my father did encourage my cognitive development from an early age. This is evident in my different response to my parents when prompting me, for example. There’s this Dutch nursery rhyme that goes: “One, two, three, four, paper hat, paper hat.” Whenever my mother chanted: “One, two, three, four…”, I’d reply with “paper hat”. When my father chanted the same though, I’d reply with “five!”.

this is not a direct memory I have of my father though, as I was too young to form actual, verbal memories when this happened. I do remember, however, my father teaching me math when I was about seven. He would show me square calculation by using computer chips that were square-shaped. He’d lay them in a row of, say, three, then lay them in a square of three by three and explain that this is a square calculation. (The Dutch word for the square calculation and the shape isn’t the same, so I had to follow an extra step.) Similarly, he’d explain squareroots by doing the reverse.

We would also spend long evenings looking at his world atlas to see where different countries and other geographic areas were located. I still had enough vision to, with some difficulty, follow his finger along the maps.

When I got older, I had to catch up on reading, as this was one of my weaker subjects, mostly because I didn’t like the fact that I had to read Braille. My father encouraged me, well more like forced me, to do extra reading at home. One memory I have is of me reading Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland in Dutch when I was about eleven. To show me that he, too, was taking up a challenge, he read the book in its original English. I am currently listening to the audiobook in English on Apple Books.

In short, my father nurtured my intellectual side. Currently, I much more value my creative side, which my mother nurtured (a little). Still, my memories of doing academics with my father are mostly good.

The Wednesday HodgePodge (May 18, 2022)

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Joyce has prepared some fun questions for the Wednesday HodgePodge this week, so I’m joining in again. Here goes.

1. What’s something that makes you feel stressed? How do you cope?
Uhm, me, stressed? 😉 Seriously though, there are a lot of things that make me stressed. The most likely stressors for me are when my routine gets disrupted and when I get frustrated during a craft project or other activity that’s important to me.

As for how I cope, well, usually, uhm, I don’t. I do try to calm down by reminding myself that whatever’s going on isn’t the end of the world. However, most of the time I need someone else to sort out the problem I’m facing for me before I can calm down.

2. What’s a food you eat that evokes a memory? Explain.
I honestly don’t know, since I don’t eat most foods from my childhood anymore (or at least not in the form my parents used to cook them). I also don’t have many memories attached to foods I do currently eat. I mean, I clearly remember the licorice “pie” my staff and fellow patients at the psych hospital made for my wedding, but I haven’t eaten that brand of licorice in years.

3. This week’s Hodgepodge lands on National Visit Your Relatives Day. Will you celebrate by visiting a relative? If so is travel involved? Geographically, who is your nearest relative (not counting those living in your own house)?
I had no idea this holiday even existed, so no, I won’t be celebrating and no, I didn’t happen to visit a relative today anyway.

I am not sure whether in-laws count as relatives. If they don’t, my parents are my closest relatives geographically. They live a little over an hour’s drive and about 100km away. If in-laws count too, my sisters-in-law are probably my nearest relatives geographically. They are about an hour’s drive but only about 60km away. Both live in the same town but not in the same house.

4. What’s your most frequently used emoji? Do you make more phone calls, send more emails, or mainly text to communicate with friends and family?
My most frequently used emoji is the slightly smiling emoji followed by either the purple heart or the laughing emoji.

I mainly text to communicate with my husband, although we do talk on the phone nearly everyday too. With other family, well, I call or text them every once in a while but I wouldn’t say either is frequent. E-mail is used for discussion lists and contact with my staff mostly.

5. Tell us the story behind a favorite piece of furniture.
Okay, I’m going with the desk I have my computer and phone on right now. This one, my father bought for me on a marketplace site in like 2006. I think the person selling it was located in Fryslân in the north of the country, about a two-hour drive from my family home. The desk isn’t too large, but it cannot be taken apart. My father drove an older Nissan Micra, so a small car. The desk just about exactly fit inside the back of the car. Or actually, just about exactly didn’t fit. As a result, my father had to drive while the back of his car was open. This was quite an interesting ride. That being said, I’ll still have to ask my father how he got my tandem bike from their home to the psych hospital in Nijmegen, either in or on that same Nissan Micra or on a train.

6. Insert your own random thought here.
All this talk of relatives and family makes me want to talk to my sister. She’s expecting a baby. That is, unless she’s left me out of the loop, the baby’s still inside of her even though she’s past her due date. She said she’d probably let loose what she’ll be calling the child already. I’ve heard two names so far, one of which I like and one of which I, well, dislike quite a bit. I’m just hoping mother and baby will be well and that my sister can have a home birth, as that’s what she’s wished for all along. With her other daughter (she’s expecting a girl again), she did give birth at home but the child had to be taken to hospital a few hours later anyway.

All this is making me feel all sorts of feelings. In a sense, I wish I were closer to my family of origin, but I know they don’t agree with the choices I needed to make (ie. going into long-term care). My sister also lives about two hours and 180km away from me. It’s all rather sad really.