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.

Bulimia (Or Something Like It): My Relationship With Food and My Body (Revisited) #AtoZChallenge

Posted on by Astrid

Hi all and welcome to my letter B post in the #AtoZChallenge. Today, I’d like to share a more personal piece and describe my history of disordered eating and body image issues. After publishing this post, I saw I did a post on this topic in 2019 too.

I first started struggling with a negative body image when I was about thirteen. I remember writing stupidly specific worries in my diary about food and my weight, such as whether the nails I’d bitten off would cause me to gain weight. All the while, I didn’t realize that I was, in fact, pretty close to overweight if not overweight already from consuming enormous quantities of candy on weekends and daily sausage rolls at the school cafeteria.

I was lucky that I never became significantly overweight until around age 25. By that time, I had developed something at least bordering on bulimia: I ate a full 500g bag of candy, sometimes more, in one ten-minute sitting at least three times a week. I also purged, although I did that after regular meals as much as after bingeing.

In the six years that followed, I gained over 20kg in weight and, by the time I was kicked out of the psych hospital to live with my spouse in 2017, I weighed 80kg. At my height of 1.53m, this is quite far in the obese range.

Yet my body image wasn’t as much of a concern to me at the time. Yes, I hated the way I looked, but at the same time I was too careless and unmotivated to change my habits. I had stopped purging for the most part by the time I moved in with my spouse, although I still occasionally did it as a form of emotion regulation.

Now, I’ve been at a healthy weight for about a year. Don’t ask me how I got here, as honestly I don’t really know. I mean, yes, I’ve been supported by a dietitian since early 2022, but honestly I can’t quite say I follow her advice. I mean, okay, I no longer binge due to my food being locked away, but I do snack on “bad” foods all the time.

My body image, honestly, is still as screwed as it always was. I still swing between underestimating and overestimating my size, between hating my body and not caring about it. I still purge occasionally, though not really out of a wish to lose weight, but more out of a need to self-regulate.

Looking back, I don’t think I ever had a genuine eating disorder. I mean, I might’ve at one point met the criteria for binge eating disorder, but I’m not so sure about that. I think my disordered eating is really more a symptom of my emotion regulation difficulties.

My First Airplane Trip

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. A lot is still on my mind, but today, I’d like to write a lighthearted post. Thanks to John Holton, who provides the Writer’s Workshop prompts, I now have several ideas. One is to write about my first airplane trip. Let me share.

My first airplane trip was also my first trip abroad and my first vacation without my parents. It was a trip from Schiphol (Amsterdam) airport to Moscow on August 4, 2000. I was flying Aeroflot, a relatively okay Russian airline. Still, everyone clapped when the airplane landed successfully, something I recently found out stopped in the 1970s with Western airlines.

One thing I remember quite distinctly is the horrible pain in my ears and head in general during takeoff and landing. I haven’t flown in years, but the memories came back when my spouse reminded me about it, having had a similar experience on a recent airplane trip. Honestly, I can’t imagine people actually taking pictures while the plane is taking off or coming down.

I still did have a tiny amount of vision back in 2000, so remember looking at the clouds once the aircraft had fully risen.

I also to this day remember the film playing in the airplane. Not that I could understand any part of it, as it was in Russian, but my fellow travelers explained to me that it was called something like “I want to go to prison”. The plot revolved around a Russian character who had heard that, in Dutch prisons, inmates get their own TV etc. (something that isn’t exactly true, by the way), so he wanted to flee to the Netherlands even if it meant going to prison. I bet nowadays this film wouldn’t be considered appropriate.

“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.

The Wednesday Hodgepodge (February 14, 2024)

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Happy Valentine’s Day! It’s Wednesday and I’m joining in with the Wednesday Hodgepodge. Here goes.

1. What does love mean to you?
To me, it means thinking that (and acting accordingly) someone is special to you. This special someone could be God, someone else, but it could be yourself too. I mean, I know that in many traditions, it is commonly believed that to love is to value someone higher than yourself, but I do think self-love is love too. In fact, I recently commented on someone else’s blog that, if everyone loves themselves, no-one will be unloved.

2. Is love blind?
I am blind, so my love certainly is. However, whether love in general is blind, I honestly wouldn’t know. I’m not even 100% sure what this expression is supposed to mean. Probably something along the lines of love preventing people from judging the person they love. Which would be weird, since justice is also characteristically thought of as blind. Oh well, maybe it means love prevents people from judging others based on appearance. In that case, as someone who has never been attracted to anyone for their appearance (in fact, I didn’t know my now spouse’s hair color until we’d been together for several months) but seems to be in the minority here, I cannot be trusted to give my representative opinion on this.

3. How do you remember Valentine’s Day as a kid? Do you have any special plans for the day this year?
I don’t remember it as a kid. In fact, I don’t think back in the mid-1990s, it was a thing for kids here in the Netherlands. In high school, I do remember kids handing out roses and can vaguely remember once having gotten one, probably as a prank.

My spouse and I aren’t celebrating this year. In fact, though we used to give each other small presents each Valentine’s Day, this year, since we both have a lot on our minds, we decided to take the pressure off by agreeing we’d give each other presents whenever we felt like it. I honestly feel that, in a committed relationship, love is an everyday thing. If you need Valentine’s Day to remind each other you still love one another, I doubt the relationship is going to last.

4. Are you a fan of the movie genre known as “rom-com”? What’s your favorite (or one of your favorites)?
I’m not a movie watcher, so no. In books, I do like them occasionally but I wouldn’t say I’m a fan.

5. What’s something you recently put your heart into?
Nothing. I’m struggling a bit, so I don’t feel inspired for any bigger (or even smaller) projects.

6. Insert your own random thought here.
I enjoyed a great Thai meal out with my mother-in-law yesterday evening. We went to Buddha Garden, the same restaurant in Apeldoorn I’d been to with my spouse and parents for my birthday. The food was just as delicious as it’d been the last time I went there.

Ways In Which I Was Not a Typical Teenager

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Today’s Word of the Day Challenge is “Teenager”. This reminded me of a question a fellow blogger, I think it was Emilia from My Inner MishMash, once asked: in what ways we were not like a typical teenager.

This post could have been a lot shorter had I had to answer in which ways I was like a typical teenager. After all, I wasn’t like a typical teenager in any way. That doesn’t mean I didn’t try. Like, I pretended to be a Backstreet Boys fan even though I knew next to nothing about them and had hardly heard their music. I also pretended to have crushes on boys (and girls) even though I hardly knew them and quite frankly didn’t understand attraction.

I tried going to school proms the first few times in high school, but didn’t fit in at all. I also tried wearing what other girls my age wore. My mother asked my younger sister for advice when clothes shopping for me. However, somehow I always missed the mark. I couldn’t wear makeup nor was I interested in it.

With respect to interests, I have no idea what teenagers in the early 2000s were into. I did read what I assume was somewhat popular Dutch YA fiction, but had no friends so couldn’t discuss it with them.

With respect to socially appropriate behaviors, I was way off. Still am. I didn’t know how to take care of my personal hygiene, for example. I remember my sister gave me a deodorant as a birthday present when I turned fourteen, but I didn’t get the hint. Months later, when my teacher reminded me about hygiene because my classmates had been complaining, I still had no clue what an appropriate bathing and personal hygiene routine was.

Back in the day, most teenagers drank alcohol. I tried wine at home when I was fifteen (the legal age for alcohol consumption was sixteen at the time). When I was sixteen, I went out to a pub with a few classmates. I had two beers, the most alcohol I’ve ever had in a single sitting. Later that evening, a guy we were with from another school offered me and another girl in my class some pot, which we accepted. Since I hadn’t smoked beyond a whiff here and there, I probably didn’t inhale anything, as the stuff didn’t have any effect on me whatsoever.

Where it comes to Internet and social media usage, I was probably a rather naive teenager. I wrote posts like this one about my current rather than past life in my public online diary using my full name (I do think it’s still on this blog somewhere too). Not only did I not take my own privacy seriously, but I used teachers’ and other people’s full names when writing about them too. I’m so happy none have ever made a serious problem out of it and I also haven’t been the victim of online predators. That being said, I wasn’t one to make obscene comments, like some other people my age did back in the day using their full name. I would also panic when I accidentally clicked on something that might be unsuitable for minors.

In summary, in many ways, I was like a child in a teenage body. I still often feel like a child in an adult body, truthfully.

I Am (Not!) 154

Posted on by Astrid

Hi all. Today’s topic for Friday Faithfuls is IQ testing. This topic is very dear to my heart, as IQ tests have often been used and even more often misused to determine my entire life path.

When I was twelve, I had an IQ test administered to me. It was the verbal half of the Wechsler intelligence scale for children (the performance half can’t be administered to me because of my blindness). On this verbal IQ test, I got an overall score of 154. According to the educational psychologist writing the report, this is a sign of giftedness.

There were several problems with this assigned IQ score. For one thing, like I said, it’s just a verbal IQ score. The year prior, another ed psych had tried an intelligence test for visually impaired children which utilizes non-verbal components, but had given up on the test midway through because I got too frustrated. This ed psych had also administered the verbal half of the Wechsler scale, but her report doesn’t give an IQ number.

Another thing, which you might figure out from my previous paragraph, is the possibility of a retest effect, since I took the exact same test twice in a year. The ed psych that labeled me with an IQ of 154 did try to find out whether this had actually happened. He asked me whether I had been told when taking the test the last time which answers were correct and which weren’t. I had, in fact, with some, and besides, my father had given me extensive advice on how to answer some questions even more cleverly than I had done. However, I knew the purpose of this assessment: to get the green light for me to go into mainstream, high level secondary education rather than special ed for the blind. I wasn’t at the time really sure whether that’s what I wanted, but my parents did and I, being twelve, didn’t question their authority. So I said “no” and the ed psych concluded there was no retest effect.

I don’t doubt that I have an above-average verbal IQ. But 154, in my opinion, is probably too high. Besides, verbal intelligence is what you need to succeed in traditional schoolwork. What you need to succeed in life, is more related to performance IQ, if you ask me.

Even now though, nearly a quarter of a century later, the number 154 pops up here and there and everywhere with regards to me. Professionals keep assigning new dates to the original IQ score, calling it a total rather than verbal IQ, and making more nonsense out of these ever-intriguing three digits.

I have tried to talk to the behavior specialist about this. What I really want is to be re-evaluated. Not just with respect to (verbal) IQ, but with respect to other things too. She for now only agreed to write a note by the IQ score of 154 saying that it dates back 25 years.

You’d assume that, in intellectual disability services, it wouldn’t matter whether your IQ is 100 or 150, since it means no intellectual disability regardless. However, several of my current staff have admitted being wowed at my IQ score before they got to know me. I hate that the most, being reduced to being 154.