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.

Health Anxiety

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Today in her Sunday Poser, Sadje asks us whether we deal with health anxiety. Health anxiety is excessive worry about one’s physical health. People who suffer from it, interpret normal bodily sensations or minor ailments as a sign of serious illness, such as cancer. There are people with health anxiety who are constantly running to the doctor, but also those who bury their heads in the sand and worry in silence.

As for whether I myself suffer from health anxiety, I used to suffer pretty badly. I could be a mix of the head in the sand type and the running to the doctor type. When I was nineteen, I remember having pretty bad anxiety one night and concluding I had some serious thing going on. My sister was in my room trying to comfort me, but not being able to figure out why I was having the symptoms I was having (most likely, a panic attack), drove me crazy. I don’t know why I didn’t peruse Dr. Google, but I didn’t. The next day, I called my GP, who wasn’t fully comforted either, particularly when she learned I have hydrocephalus. Long story short, three weeks later I got the all-clear on my shunt from a neurologist, but I never figured out what those weird symptoms were.

I also had bad health anxiety when living on my own in 2007. I, being the type for objectivity, at one point purchased a talking thermometer, so that at least I could take my body temp. After all, my parents used to have a rule about staying home from school: if you don’t run a fever, you aren’t sick.

Thankfully, most of my health anxiety went away once I was admitted to the psych hospital. I still worried about my health sometimes, but it wasn’t significantly distressing. My health anxiety didn’t return once I was kicked out of the hospital to live semi-independently with my spouse.

One thing I struggle with, is knowing when a symptom is significant enough to go to the doctor for or even when it’s abnormal. I for this reason can go months with a symptom before I actually ask my staff to call the doctor.

Since owning an Apple Watch, I don’t freak out when its values are abnormal. Like, back when I first used it in 2022, my oxygen levels often were way below the minimum normal value of 95%. Now they are usually high enough and I have had them checked with an actual oximeter several times. I might’ve had sleep apnea back then, but then again my night-time breathing rate according to my Apple Watch is usually higher than average, not lower. In any case, I am not one to consult my doctor just because my smartwatch says I might be ill. Maybe that’s burying my head in the sand, but I do feel fine generally.

How My Body Has Changed As I Got Older

Posted on by Astrid

Hi all! This week, there are many interesting writing prompts in the Writer’s Workshop. I am choosing to write about ways my body has changed as I’ve gotten older.

I’m now 38 and I consider this an age at which positive changes can still happen. That is, of course you’re never too old to start a healthier lifestyle, but at a certain age, I assume it will not have as much effect as when you’re younger. In fact, I’ve heard that smokers have until age 35 to quit or their lungs will never be as healthy as those of non-smokers. Thank goodness I’ve never smoked.

In my case, my thirties so far were the decade of getting healthier in many ways. At age 30, I weighed 80kg (176lbs), which is over 20kg overweight for my height. I slowly started losing weight then and got to 55kg )121lbs) last year. Since then, I’ve gained some weight back on, but I’m barely 1kg overweight now at 59kg. I agreed with my dietitian that I should not gain any more weight, but the 55kg I weighed last year is also the lower border of my goal weight.

Weight aside, I got slightly fitter. When I weighed 80kg, my spouse proposed we do a brisk walk for just over half an hour each day to get the weight off, but I could barely do fifteen minutes. Now I must say I don’t usually walk as fast as that brisk walk should’ve been, but then again I couldn’t keep up with my spouse back then either and now I can walk for an hour sometimes.

I do feel that my flexibility and strength have decreased a bit. Not that I ever was flexible or strong at all. In fact, my spouse jokes that a brick is more flexible than me. However, when we tried a game of Twister at the home recently, I noticed I was hardly able to stand on all fours even in a simple position. I’m pretty sure I used to be able to do this.

My mobility also has slightly decreased. I fall when I wear anything other than my orthopedic shoes. I also used to think my shoes get damage a lot easier from the way I walk. That is until I recently looked at the shoes I wore at my wedding and saw these were damaged too just from one day.

When I got married, I was 25 and about at the weight I’m now at. I recently tried on my wedding dress just for the fun of it. The skirt fit, but the top was too tight.

With respect to appearance, I’m told I haven’t changed much over the years. That is, my spouse found my first grey hair when I was 31 and I now have quite a few, but my hair still looks dark overall. I don’t have many wrinkles either. In fact, it feels as though my frown wrinkle has decreased. That probably isn’t possible, so maybe I’m just not bothered by it as much as I used to be. I’m also grateful to report that my hands, which are among the body parts I feel most positive about, are still pretty smooth.

Overall, I don’t think there’s been an age at which I was happier with my body than now. That is, I do get frustrated with my impaired mobility and flexibility. However, when I was thirty, I was probably less fit overall and I wasn’t happy with my appearance at all. Now I feel content enough with my body to wear nice clothes and occasionally jewelry. I in fact reserve my loose-fitting sweaters and fleece vests for when I’m sick now.

How I Coped With Losing My “Job”

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. This week, one of the prompts for Writer’s Workshop is to write an essay titled “How I coped with losing my job”. I don’t do well writing fictional essays and have never had a “real” job, in the sense of a paid position or even volunteer work. I did, however, once “lose my job”, in that I got told the day center I went to couldn’t keep me there anymore.

This happened sometime in January of 2018 at my first day center with my current care agency. They had had me there for eight months, in two different groups, but when I was struggling to cope at the second group, they could no longer serve me or so they said.

I felt really distressed about this. The most frustrating aspect was the fact that they blamed me for no longer being suited to the center, while in reality, three new clients had been accepted into my group and no additional staff had been hired. I remember the reason they said it was me being the problem, not the new clients, was the fact that I’d been having meltdowns shortly before they arrived. Now I know that any anticipated change will cause me distress and that doesn’t mean I’m just a problem client. However, in hindsight, I’m pretty sure they wanted me gone sooner rather than later all along, for the simple reason that I don’t have an intellectual disability.

Thankfully, I wasn’t told to leave on the spot, but got time to find a new place. I initially had no clue how to, but did remember that, in 2010, I had been helped by the Center for Consultation and Expertise (CCE). I told the staff that I wanted to involve them again.

This was a bit of a hassle, as my community psychiatric nurse from the mental health agency said I’m far too high-functioning for the CCE. I applied nonetheless and got an orientation meeting in May of 2018.

In the end, I didn’t need the CCE for finding a new day center, but the consultation was what led me to accept that living independently with my partner wasn’t working and I needed long-term care.

I did feel intensely frustrated, like I said, at being “fired” from this day center. However, in the end, I don’t blame the staff, who were just powerless in the face of my challenging behavior. I think the manager, who didn’t look beyond my psychiatric diagnoses, is partly responsible. So was the psychologist from the psychiatric hospital, who more or less made the manager accept me on partly false premises.

September Dreams and Memories

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Last night I dreamt of being admitted to the psych hospital. It’s no wonder, since the anniversary of my actual admission isn’t very far away, on November 3. September 23 is my anniversary of going into long-term care and last Wednesday, I celebrated one year in my current care home.

I was reminded yesterday that September is a bittersweet month. That is, I was reminded of the sweet aspect, ie. it being me and my spouse’s wedding aniversary yesterday. The bitter aspect has overshadowed my days with flashbacks and my nights with dreams more than I’d like. I am, thankfully, still coping.

I am hoping that, as I acquire more pleasant memories here at this home, the flashbacks and nightmares will lessen. I know I was saying something similar when reclaiming November in 2021. I hope this time around I will choose following my dreams and aspirations over re-enacting the past.

Sharing this post with Friday Writings #145, for which the optional theme is dreams and memories. This was more of a freewrite than anything else, but oh well.

Play Therapy #SoCS

Posted on by Astrid

I had my first play therapy session on Wednesday. That is, I used to have play therapy when I was in elementary school. That was nearly 30 years ago though. Yikes, how time flies!

Anyway, I only had four sessions back then before the school holiday and apparently those were either enough or my parents didn’t consent to more play therapy. Not that they were paying, but oh well. My parents were very reluctant to agree to these first sessions anyway, because they were suspicious of anyone in the helping profession, including the play therapist. I wonder why, since the goal of therapy was that I not get angry as quickly anymore. I back then denied getting angry much at all. However, I did play with toy weapons all the time, threw out the purple-haired dollhouse figurines because people don’t have purple hair and tried to overflow the water tray. That might have been telling. Or not, since I don’t know whose initiative the toy weapons were.

I hated play therapy though, because I had to go to it during my favorite subject in school, biology. I wonder honestly what the point was.

Same now. I was initially told, back in February when I had the intake interview for therapy with two different therapists, that the type of therapy I’d get was called something like “differentiation therapy”. I filled in what I thought this meant and behaved in a way that I thought was consistent with this. I thought that the goal is to learn to identify different feelings, so this Wednesday I constantly named the attributes of the objects I played with. The therapist did note that I was adamant about which types of play-doh I liked or didn’t like, but she didn’t write anything about me constantly saying, for example, that the PlayMobil® figurine was giving its companion its left rather than right hand, etc.

I’m pretty sure I was trying to show off with this behavior. I’m now scared she’s going to think I’m far more capable of identifying feelings than I am. Or think I am. Or whatever. I hope we’ll get something out of play therapy this time around, unlike back in 1996 when I was ten.

This post was written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday (#SoCS), for which the prompt is “school”. I interpreted it loosely, because I really wanted to write about play therapy. I’m going to write an actual post on my first session later.

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.

Vignettes About Unicorns

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Today I’m joining Writer’s Workshop. One of the prompts is to share at least five moments of your life (not events, but merely vignettes) that are somehow related. I, for some reason, was immediately drawn to the theme of unicorns. Let’s see what I can come up with.

1. I remember having a unicorn My Little Pony figurine as a child. In fact, that’s a lie, as I think it was my sister’s, but I loved her anyway. In my memory, she was light purple, but I could’ve misremembered that, since my favorite color is lilac.

2. Last October (I think), I got a unicorn soft toy from my spouse as a thank-you gift for my support throughout our relationship and particularly over the past several months.

3. The other two unicorn soft toys on my bed, I bought at the fall fair here on institution grounds last October too.

4. Which reminds me, I have a lonely unicorn soft toy sitting in the soft toy cabinet. I got that one for Christmas at the last day center I attended while living with my spouse.

5. Oh wait, no, I have another unicorn soft toy in the cabinet. I got that one when leaving the care facility in Raalte for the intensive support home. Oh, how I miss being in Raalte still.

6. Now enough with the soft toys. The first unicorn I created, in July of 2021, I did entirely from a YouTube tutorial. I gave it to my spouse, who probably still has it.

7. I remember crafting my first unicorn at the intensive support home with my assigned staff. It didn’t turn out as good as I’d liked, but it was okay.

8. I gifted her my best unicorn I created while there when I left. Too bad she ignores me now…

9. When I left the intensive support home, I gifted each of my fellow residents a small cutter-created polymer clay unicorn.

10. I used for it a cutter I’d gotten for my birthday last year from my parents. My spouse had also gifted me unicorn-themed cutters at some point, which I originally intended to use.

11. I read my first unicorn-themed book a few years ago. That is, I probably read some in childhood too but not sure since they weren’t as popular as they are now. The book was a short picture book called First Day of Unicorn School.

12. My current unicorn-related read is the second book in the Unicorn Academy series by Julie Sykes. Oh wait, that’s not exactly a memory I’m sharing…

13. I can’t remember when I started calling my spouse “head unicorn catcher”. The reason is the fact that my spouse’s truck route is named after a city which has the unicorn as its symbol. Oh wait, that wasn’t really a memory either.

But I got to thirteen. So I’m allowed to share this post with Thursday Thirteen too. So if my post doesn’t meet the criteria for Writer’s Workshop, at least it meets the criteria for that.

Creativity: How I Have Evolved As a Creative Over the Years #AtoZChallenge

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. It’s late once again as I get to my letter C post. I don’t tend to think up my topics in advance. Same with this one. It actually popped up in my mind several minutes ago and here I am writing about my creative journey. Okay, I did my entire #AtoZChallenge of 2022 on creativity so am pretty sure I covered this topic already, but let’s do a repeat in that case.

I am not very imaginative. Like I said on Monday, I most likely have aphantasia. This combined with blindness and my other disabilities doesn’t make me all that great of an artist. And yet, I love to create!

In childhood, I’d often draw dresses and other fashion items, pretending I was a fashion designer. I lost the vision needed to draw around age 12 and, even though my drawing teacher found me paper that would create raised lines when drawing on it, I also hardly drew anything beyond stick figures in boxes from then on. Don’t ask me about their meaning – yes, I know they meant something, but for the life of me I can’t remember what.

I didn’t craft or create art again until my mid-twenties. Then I started card making. Over the next five years followed at least a dozen other crafts. And now, I’m stuck on polymer clay, although to be honest I don’t use the medium nearly as often as I used to.

Creativity can, of course, also involve the written word. I wrote stories from a young age on. I started out writing fiction and the occasional poem. Now, I almost exclusively write blog posts.

I must admit, as I think back on my creative journey, that my level of imaginativeness has probably declined over the years and I didn’t always experience aphantasia. Not that I ever had a rich inner world. Well, that is, I have and always had a strong inner monologue (or inner cacaphony, in fact) and could probably describe an inner world in words, but I couldn’t visually imagine it at all.

I think this lack of imaginativeness is the reason I write personal blog posts mostly and craft mostly realistic figures or things from tutorials. I mean, of course a unicorn isn’t real, but I almost literally copied my style of unicorns from a tutorial. Realizing this makes me feel really sad.