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”.

Disabled Ace Day

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. I once again haven’t been active on the blog much. I’ve been listening to a lot of podcasts lately, mostly true crime. Today though, I decided to check out the podcast The Ace Couple. In their most recent episode, which came out today and which I’m currently listening to, the podcast hosts said that it’s disabled ace day today. Ace, for those not aware, is short for “asexual”.

Like I shared when writing my post for coming out day, I’m for the most part asexual. I’m still figuring out where exactly I fit on the asexual spectrum. For those who don’t know, since sexuality isn’t an all-or-nothing thing, asexuality is a spectrum describing anyone who experiences significantly less sexual attraction to other people compared to the general population. People who are not asexual, are commonly called allosexual (“allo” being Greek for “other”). This also clarifies that people on the asexual spectrum, even people who are altogether ace, may experience sexual desire and pleasure.

I do not claim to be an authority on asexuality. Had I been able to be open about my queerness all this time, I might’ve been able to gather more information without feeling guilty. Like I said, I’m still figuring things out.

This is also where disability comes in. Commonly, it’s thought that disabled people, particularly those with intellectual or developmental disabilities, don’t experience the same sexual feelings as non-disabled people do. This is simply not true, although disabled people are more often taught to suppress our sexual feelings. After all, particularly those with intellectual and developmental disabilities are too often seen as “children in adult bodies”. I myself have used these analogies when describing emotional development. Because it finally enabled me to get sort of okay care, this analogy appeals to me even though it’s inherently ableist.

When a disabled person identifies as asexual or somewhere on the ace spectrum, it is then too easily thought that this is because of the way the person was raised or educated. This is the counterstereotype I so often used to talk about in my early days on WordPress (oh my, I need to bring some of those old posts back): if we want to defeat the idea that disabled people can’t have sex, asexual disabled people could be seen as harming the cause, similarly to how I’m seen as harming the cause for community-based support by living in an institution. In reality though, prejudice and oppression are systemic, not individual. Besides, it’s not our job as marginalized people to fit ourselves into society’s neat boxes, whether these are stereotypes or counterstereotypes or other ways of telling us who we are and how we should live our lives.

This doesn’t mean I’m not influenced by prejudice. Regularly, I think I’m too disabled for a relationship and that’s why I’m ace. I’m pretty sure that’s not true, as I do have many years of being in a relationship with my wife before either of us clarified our authentic needs and wants to the other. I remember writing a post back in 2008, which I’m not going to bring back here (don’t worry, wife!), in which I described not knowing whether I was actually attracted to her and thinking I certainly wasn’t interested in sex. If that doesn’t tell me I’m ace, what does?

The more I write, the more memories confirming that I’m indeed asexual, come to mind. I was quite repulsed as a teen, purposefully skipping the biology chapter on reproduction and refusing to read the sex ed material that my parents brought me at around age nine. Then again, I’m pretty sure my refusing to read it was because I hated reading Braille at the time and my parents made quite a big deal of me reading this book.

However, what if my asexuality is in fact related to my being multiply-disabled, including autistic? Does that mean I’m doing the disabled or autistic communities a disservice? I don’t think so, because like I said before there’s no value in dictating who I am. Besides, as someone who lived for twenty years not knowing she’s autistic and yet who was autistic all along, chances are we’ll never know for sure.

I’m joining in with #WWWhimsy.

Neurodivergence and Emotional Dysregulation

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. On Monday, I listened to an episode of the Navigating Adult ADHD podcast. It was on emotional dysregulation and it’s been on my mind ever since.

I don’t have a diagnosis of ADHD, but have wondered for years whether my emotion regulation issues are “just” autistic meltdowns, whether I have borderline personality disorder like my psychologist in the psychiatric hospital used to believe, or whether something else is going on. So far, I haven’t found a satisfactory answer and, with that, I have not found something that helps.

I tried a ton of medications but none truly helped me, except for maybe my antidepressant. That is, obviously my antipsychotic did lessen my emotional outbursts, but it didn’t do so in a pleasant way. In fact, I only felt irritability or I felt nothing. That’s not emotion regulation but being numbed down too much.

I tried dialectical behavior therapy, which I still believe could’ve been helpful if the clinician hadn’t been so horribly invalidating. I mean, there’s quite a world between going along with every single emotion I describe without question (which I realize could be counterproductive) and telling me, albeit implicitly, that my entire way of experiencing things is invalid. I haven’t been involved with DBT for long enough to know whether it in itself is invalidating or whether it was just the clinician being judgmental.

In the podcast, the speaker described six ways in which emotional dysregulation can show up. I related to all of them, though some more than others. For example, my low frustration tolerance is truly debilitating. So is my inability to calm down. I literally still fret over things that happened at the intensive support home and these influence how I react to my current staff. My spouse and I also regularly fight over both of our (but more so my) inability to let go.

The things I relate less to, interestingly, are things I see as relatively “positive”. For example, I do get slightly over-excited at times, but not to an extreme degree. Then again, the fact that I don’t experience it to an extreme degree, is probably why I see it as “positive”: after mulling over negative things for weeks, I’d love something to get overly enthusiastic about. In reality though, finding a new hobby and buying all the “needed” supplies within hours, isn’t actually good for me financially. I just wish I’d experience that rush of excitement. Then again, when, rarely, I do, it often leads to even lower lows afterwards.

I’m joining in with #WWWhimsy.

Reminders to My Struggling Self

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. In one of my many collections of journaling prompts, I came across a prompt about what you’d like to remind yourself of the next time you’re in a downward spiral. I’m pretty sure I responded to this prompt already at least once, but I’ll do it again. After all, today is the first day in a while that I didn’t have any significant stressors. Not that I’ll likely look at this list when I’m spiraling into crisis, but oh well. Here are some notes to my struggling self.

1. I have a friend. My spouse and I may be in the process of divorcing, but that doesn’t mean we won’t stay friends.

2. I have supportive people to connect with online and in real life. I’m thinking of my in-laws, but also of my support circle online. Some of these people, I’ve known for 15 years.

3. My staff may not always do the right thing, but they mean well. Yes, it’s a myth that they’re completely working in my best interest (simply because they have other people’s and the organization’s interest in mind too), but they do want to help me.

4. I have survived much worse than I’m enduring now. This doesn’t mean that my current suffering isn’t valid, but it does show that I am strong.

5. I am allowed to feel like crap, but wallowing in my feelings doesn’t help the situation.

6. The world may not have been made for me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t work towards improving it.

7. I can still write. And I can still create with polymer clay and other materials. I can express myself.

8. I can still move. Even if walking is painful (it currently is, but thankfully less so than it used to be), I can move in other ways.

9. I know myself best and know what’s best for me. I should really use my voice.

10. Pain (be it physical or emotional) is temporary. Things will (most likely) get better.

11. I have the capacity to find joy in little things. Such as homemade latte, my staff having repaired an old handmade necklace, or a staff complimenting me on my ability to adapt that particular moment.

12. A day doesn’t need to be perfect. I don’t need to listen to what my former assigned staff at the intensive support home said: that I’m negative because I didn’t have a perfect day even when my day schedule was followed without interruption. I am allowed to say “Okay” when people ask me how I am. I am not a bad person for not being upbeat.

13. I’m not a monster for being in crisis. I am still me.

I’m joining Thursday Thirteen (even though it’s still Wednesday here). I’m also joining #WWWhimsy.

Young At 40 Yet Old At 36

Posted on by Astrid

Hi all! A few weeks ago, my spouse sent me a YouTube short about millennials’ reactions to the idea of midlife. According to the American Psychological Association, or that’s what the YouTuber said, midlife starts at 36.

Then I read a blog post today in which the author, now retired, reflects on how she imagined retirement to be when she was still young… at 40.

I am 38. Does this mean I’m in midlife or does it mean I’m still young? It probably depends on your perspective.

After all, with respect to my daily life, since I don’t work or study and since I’m childfree, it allows me the same freedom a retiree would have. I also enjoy many things older people enjoy, such as crafting. That is, often younger women do craft, but it’s more for their kids.

With respect to my health, it’s a mixed bag. I am physically healthier than I was five years ago thanks to weight loss and moving more. I however do notice the effects of my disabilities (and probably my history of obesity too), in that I’m probably less fit than many women my age. For one thing, I do find that my knees hurt regularly.

All this being said, age is in many respects just a number for me. Sometimes, I feel like a lady in her seventies, while at other times, I feel quite childlike, both in a positive and a negative way.

Statistically speaking, I do realize I’m at midlife. This sometimes causes me to worry about aging, but then again I always had this worry that I’d die young. That’s not necessarily specific to midlife. I am pretty sure, in fact, that now that I’m physically fitter, the worry is less about myself. That doesn’t mean the worry has gone, but now it’s more of an existential dread regarding the world as a whole. I don’t think one is easier to deal with for me than the other.

I’m linking up with Talking About It Tuesday and #WWWhimsy.

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.

Opportunities for Peer Support

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Recently I was talking to my spouse about ways to enrich my life and my spouse mentioned trying to connect to more people through peer support. I have some negative experiences with peer support, for example being kicked out of the Dutch DID peer support group for allegedly being a faker. However, once I’ve found the right tribe, peer support could certainly enrich my life.

Last Tuesday, I attended an online meeting for my regional branch of CP Netherlands, the Dutch cerebral palsy alliance. Even though I’m not 100% sure I have CP, I was welcomed with open arms. Originally, the organizers were thinking we may need to end the meeting early, as there were only five of us in attendance including them. However, we ultimately chatted the entire 90 minutes of the meeting. I even showed the other participants the polymer clay dinosaur my spouse and I had created.

One of the other participants is also visually impaired in addition to having CP. He told me there’s a “young people’s” (ages 25-45) meeting of the Eye Association (for blind and visually impaired people) in Zwolle. Zwolle is about 50km from where I live, so not too far away but not quite in my local area. This means I can travel there at a heavily discounted price using my national ParaTransit taxi card.

I also found out, when looking at the Eye Association website, that there are general meetings in Apeldoorn, Deventer and Zutphen, the three cities nearest to where I live. These meetings, since not catering to “young people” specifically, will most likely be mostly attended by people over age 50, but I don’t mind. I don’t yet have a local ParaTransit taxi card though, so can’t go there yet. My male assigned staff is going to apply for one for me though.

On Saturday, I attended the annual nationwide conference of CP Netherlands. It was less informative than the last few times I attended, since I knew most things the workshop leaders talked about already. However, it was much better with respect to peer support, in that I got to meet several people I’d either spoken with at the online meeting the previous Tuesday or met at nationwide conferences before. I also felt validated once again. And, yet again, I came away with the idea to finally ask my GP for a referral for rehabilitation medicine. Given that most likely my childhood medical records are all gone somehow, I’m pessimistic about getting any answers as to whether I actually do have CP or not. I’m trying to reason that this might be beside the point, but honestly my gut instinct is that it’s not.

I’m linking up with #WWWhimsy again.

Reminders When I’m Feeling Like Life Is Pointless

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Like I said on Saturday, I’ve been struggling lately. It’s been so bad that I’ve actually been considering talking to my doctor about options for medication. I mean, I’ve been tapering my antipsychotic aripiprazole (Abilify), which is sometimes used as adjuvant medication to treat depression. However, I honestly struggled with mild depression already before starting my taper.

That being said, I really need to remind myself of the things I have in life. For this reason, I started a list of positives and negatives for each day that I’ll send to my second assigned staff weekly. She is more socially adept and empathetic than my other assigned staff, which is why I have her to discuss my personal issues with. Anyway, I allow myself to list the negatives too, which sometimes outweigh the positives, but the last few days, the positives have outnumbered the negatives.

For instance, today I had as a positive the fact that I finished a pair of polymer clay earrings. Okay, I haven’t yet seen how they turned out, but who cares? The process is more important than the outcome. I also listed as a positive the fact that I had a good online meeting with the regional branch of CP Netherlands, the Dutch cerebral palsy alliance.

I listed one negative, ie. the fact that I got slightly stressed out when my male assigned staff asked me some questions about swimming. I’m supposed to go swimming in a group on Thursdays but this hasn’t happened yet due to staffing issues. I have tried to jump through all kinds of hoops to accommodate the staff and felt like I was being pushed around. Thankfully, tomorrow (Wednesday), it turns out, I’m allowed to try out swimming with my fellow clients.

I think that, when I’m in a downward spiral and particularly when I feel like my world is becoming smaller and smaller and life is pointless, I need to remind myself that there are still lots of things I can do even though I’m at home a lot. I could read, watch YouTube videos, blog, scroll on social media, do all kinds of crafts. Honestly, in fact, when a staff is entertaining, even a dice game can be enjoyable. And the entertaining factor is a two-way street. After all, I noticed this with a staff yesterday with whom I hadn’t gotten along a few weeks back. He was about as unengaging as could be and left 15 minutes early, but then again I treated him badly first by refusing to explain my routine because “it’s not my job to train temp workers”. It isn’t, technically speaking, but I could’ve been kinder. Yesterday, he actually made our game of Yahtzee fun.

I do still think my world could be enriched. I also feel this isn’t a cure-all for my depressed mood. Some of it comes down to grief, too. Grief for having lost the support I had in late 2021, when I was 95% sure I wanted to stay in Raalte. “Make that 98% please,” the manager said. Not even half a year later, it turned out, either she or some other people involved there were glad I was asking to leave. That angers and saddens me to this day, but wallowing in these feelings won’t help. Involving myself in positive activities might.

I’m joining #WWWhimsy.