WOW: Resilience -Saturday

A quick refresher: 

Resilience:

re·sil·ience

rəˈzilyəns/

noun

noun: resilience; plural noun: resiliences

1. 1. the ability of a substance or object to spring back into shape; elasticity.

   "nylon is excellent in wearability and resilience"

2. the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.

"the often remarkable resilience of so many British institutions"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life is full of complications. It's full of challenges.  It's full of moments and moods of every sort.  

I know.

I've been there...in the thick of it.  I've  wrestled with problems that seemed impossible.  I've struggled to find myself again after everything in me broke into a million pieces.  I've wanted to lay down and give up.  I've been absolutely alone...absolutely lost...and absolutely hopeless. 

I know.

I've also become resilient. 

I've learned that challenges are only as big as I allow them to be.  I've discovered that hope is never really lost, even  if it seems to go missing for a while.  I've realized that I can either let the hardships define me or refine me.  I've chosen to keep going. 

I've become resilient. 

So should you.

Choose to be happy.

Choose to be hopeful.

Choose to keep going...keep growing.

Choose to be resilient! 

~Leanna

...from way up here...

From way up here, I can tell you...

Have faith.  

Have faith in yourself.  Keep trying all the suggestions.  Keep doing what you're intuition tells you to.  Keep believing that there is room for improvement.   Keep asking questions and seeking out answers.  

And keep up all that hard work.

I know you're tired… I know you're exhausted…but don't stop to rest.  The breakthroughs (and there will be many) will come when you least expect them and are weary to the bone.  The miracles are on their way, but you are going to have to sacrifice everything first.  Give it all your time. Give it all your energy and all your emotion and all your strength.  I promise you, the results will be worth it, but you are going to have to give him your all. 

From way up here, I can tell you…

Have faith.

Have faith in him.  Diminish every disappointment for him, because he'll need you to put it in perspective.  Reward his efforts.  He's going to surprise you.  Catch him when he falls, and hunker down next to him when he's tired.  Follow that intuition of yours and celebrate every single step…every achievement…every success.  

From way up here, I can tell you…

There will be so many people who are wrong.

There will be so many predictions that are wrong.

So keep you chin up and push back, and don't you dare for a minute let it get to you.

From way up here, I can tell you…

This life you're living is going to be touched by magic.  Miracles are going to happen.   All the No's will be transformed into Yes's.  Things you thought impossible are going to change.  Dreams you never dared to dream will come true. 

From way up here, I can tell you…

Soon, so soon, it's all going to start.  You are already on the path.  That step you took way back there?  It's leading you all the way to here.  It's going to take you beyond even this moment.  

From way up here, I can tell you…

I want you to enjoy it this time.  Revel in it.  Stopping being such a self-conscious twit and let your guard down.  

From way up here, I can tell you...

You are going to sit in the audience at his fifth grade talent show and every single emotion ever will flood through you.  Every moment of every struggle that the two of you have gone through will flash through your mind as he gets up from the risers, retrieves his cello, and sets his music on the stand.  There in that crowded gymnasium, perched on a folding chair in the dress he picked out for you, you'll hold your breath as he picks up his bow.

He will begin his solo there, in front of children who have torn him down for years.  You will watch his face as he prepares...serious and determined.  That moment when he does just what you've taught him and shuts out the audience.  

He will begin to play.  The first note filling the silence...then the next and the next.  

He will give you back the music.  

That piece, played on that night, will fill you back up with every wish you've ever had for him and every tear you've cried.  

He will play. You will listen.  

And the music you sacrificed and thought was lost, will come pouring in.  

From way up here, I can tell you…

Go ahead and give it everything you've got, because he will give you back the music.

You will realize that you are the luckiest...ever.

~Leanna

WOW: Resilience - Friday

A quick refresher: 

Resilience:

re·sil·ience

rəˈzilyəns/

noun

noun: resilience; plural noun: resiliences

1. 1. 

   the ability of a substance or object to spring back into shape; elasticity.

   "nylon is excellent in wearability and resilience"
2. 2. 

   the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.

   "the often remarkable resilience of so many British institutions"

   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   
   

   Resilience, it seems, requires an open mind and accepting spirit.  It's the idea of taking something bad, or something that turned out all wrong and either finding good in it or discovering a way to use it to build something good.  

   
   

   Resilience is being open to the possibilities and accepting the realities.

   
   

   To some extent, resilience goes against our nature.  We're programmed to grasp tightly to the way things are and the way we want them to be.  Loosening that hold can be difficult and painful.  We often equate it with failure.  But the truth is, we can only grow if we are willing to look past the original plan.  Resilience is allowing for changes in the plans and in yourself. 

   
   

   
   

   
   

   
   

   
   

WOW: Resilience - Thursday

A quick refresher: 

Resilience:

re·sil·ience

rəˈzilyəns/

noun

noun: resilience; plural noun: resiliences

1. 1. 

   the ability of a substance or object to spring back into shape; elasticity.

   "nylon is excellent in wearability and resilience"
2. 2. 

   the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.

   "the often remarkable resilience of so many British institutions"

   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   
   

   The above image pretty much sums up my every little hope for my son.  I want just exactly that for him.  Truth be told, I want it for myself just as much.
   
   Let's face it...perfection is a lifeless goal.  Perfection doesn't allow for any of the experiences  that make up a life-well-lived.  Perfection is cold and sterile and remote.
   
   Perfection is out to get you.
   Perfection wants to take you down.
   Perfection whispers insidious little messages of discontent and discouragement into your ear.
   Perfection wants to tell you that you aren't enough.
   Perfection will demand that you relinquish everything that makes you unique.
   
   Perfection is, in my opinion, the very absence of life.
   
   Wouldn't you rather write your story in the lines of mistakes and lessons learned?  In the doors closed and windows opened?  In risks taken and challenges faced?
   
   Perfection, opposite a life full of real nitty-gritty living, doesn't seem so appealing after all.
   
   You know what's really wrong with perfection?  It's perfect. It's complete. It's the absolute absence of anything else. It's unwavering -unchanging - ungrowing.
   Un-Growing.
   The opposite of growing.
   The opposite of living.
   
   I don't want my son to strive for perfection. I want him to strive for a life well lived.  A full, rich, storied life of ups and downs and twists and turns.  A life of realizations.  A life of lessons.  A life of finding his own unique paths.  A life of ever-changing, ever-rearranging growth.
   
    A life of resilience.

...the junk drawer...

I've got one,

You've got one.

I'd wager a bet that everyone has one, in some form or other.

For some, it's an actual drawer-usually in the kitchen, nice and handy.  For others it might be a folder wedged in the back of the cabinet. Maybe it's the hold-all in your car's center console.  Or perhaps it's a box or carton stacked up high collecting dust, or hidden behind more important things.  The point is we all have one.  We all have a place to put things we deem not quite necessary, but still retaining of potential use. 

Full disclosure?  I have several of varied rankings in importance.  There's a small corner in the top drawer of my dresser that's dedicated to things that I don't necessarily need in my pocketbook, but that might become needed.  There's the shallow drawer in the console by the front door that houses extras of the items I usually carry.  Underneath the utensil organizer in the bottom drawer in my kitchen, you'll find all the specialty tools that only see the light of day about once a year.  And over in my long-term storage, there's boxes and totes filled with all the things I don't have room for but I haven't considered letting go of.  

Even my son has one.  Though were he to hear  it labeled as such, he'd undoubtedly look at you askance, and declare his to be a treasure chest!  

We all have a junk drawer. 

We all have things we don't quite know what to do with, or where to store, or how to apply to our everyday use.  We all have things we're holding onto.  We all have things collecting dust in our life, that we don't use regularly or even readily recall owning. 

We all have a junk drawer. 

Question is: When's the last time you looked in yours? 

When's the last time you stopped in the middle of whatever's going on now, and thought about what had gone on before?  When's the last time you checked back in with your past to familiarize yourself with it's contents?  When's the last time you dug through all that junk to see if there was something worthwhile?

I'll be the first to admit, I carry around a lot of baggage. I have a past cluttered with mistakes, bad choices, embarrassment, and regrets.  And often times, I carry around a good deal of shame because of that. But in the past couple of years, I've been making a conscious effort to release the shame and move forward with some degree of pride in who I am now.  Yes, I have a past. I have a past that's cluttered with all that junk.  But so do you. So does everyone.  

We all have a junk drawer.

If there were a way to make mine tangible, you could open it and see those things I put aside but never really got rid of:

You would see my emotional investment in a failed marriage.

You would see my disappointment  when I couldn't make it work.

You would see my shock and shame when I met the woman who gave birth to me.

You would see my embarrassment and my fear that I had been deemed a throwaway.

You would see unfinished projects.

You would see Band-Aids and glues and adhesives that didn't fix anything properly.

You would see all the expectations I had when I was pregnant, that never had a chance of coming true.

You would see all the leftover love from past relationships, because it doesn't ever really go away.  

And:

You would see all the important words I collected through the years.

You would see all the hours spent sitting in a marriage counselor's office.

You would see lessons finally learned.

You would see the keys to doors I've closed and locked and walked away from.

You would see moments of minor triumphs in the midst of desolation.

You would see all those useless No's, that I've replaced with Yes's. 

You would see all the bits and pieces that contributed to building my present, but that don't actually have a place in it.

You would see my junk.

And if all that were possible...if it could be made tangible…if you could see it… then so could I.  I could pull the handle, and slide it out. Dump it all out on a flat surface and sort through it.  I'd grimace when my fingers touched one or two of those choices I'm ashamed of.  Smile when I happened upon one of those triumphs. And reminisce a bit when sorting through all those keys, remembering how excited I was when I first put them in their locks and opened those doors. 

I might be tempted to take one or two or more items out of the drawer and try to find somewhere else to put them.  Try to find somewhere to fit them into my present.  I might try shifting things around a bit, hoping to make some room for them.

But in the end it wouldn't work. Sure, I might be able to squeeze one or two of them in somewhere-somehow…but it would just sit there, awkward and ill fitting and useless.  And the fact that I had crammed it in somewhere-somehow...would shift everything else over from where it should be.  Nothing in my present would be as comfortable or functional as it is now.  Trying to give new life to the junk from the past, would throw my present off-balance. 

We all have a junk drawer.

It's where we keep the things we know are important, but that don't have a use at present. 

And sometimes it just needs to be emptied.

At the very least, sift through it once in a while.

~Leanna

WOW: Resilience - Wednesday

A quick refresher: 

Resilience:

re·sil·ience

rəˈzilyəns/

noun

noun: resilience; plural noun: resiliences

1. 1. 

   the ability of a substance or object to spring back into shape; elasticity.

   "nylon is excellent in wearability and resilience"
2. 2. 

   the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.

   "the often remarkable resilience of so many British institutions"

   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   
   

   I've written a lot on here about the idea of chasing happiness and the necessity to find your happy moments in each and every day.  So important!

   
   

   Sometimes it's easy...when things are going smoothly and living up to my expectations.  Other times, as I've jokingly referred to, the closest I get to happiness is that first sip of home-brewed in the early dawn before the day really begins.  Thankfully, I think I've mastered the art of  holding on to that happy moment (or moments) and letting it blossom into hope.  Because as I touched on in my last post, hope is really the driving force in continuing on when things seem bleak.

   
   

   Hope is what feeds resilience.

   
   

   In times when defeat seems but one false-step away, it's that resilience that you and I need to tap into.    That hope. That intuitive knowledge that if we bend into the problem and allow it to reshape some portion of us, we'll survive.  

   
   

   And when things change, as they always do, it's our resilience that allows us to build a new normal from the pieces of what went before and to be hopeful that in doing so, we'll be able to find our happiness again.

   
   

   It's resilience that allows us to free ourselves from past expectations and to dream up new goals.

   
   

   Happiness fosters hope.

   Hope feeds resilience.

   Resilience encourages growth.

   
   

   You can't possibly have one without the other. 

   
   

   So find your happiness...each and every day.  No matter what...find it!

   Allow your happiness to make  you hopeful.

   Allow that hope to strengthen your resolve...to make you more resilient.

   Allow that resilience to support you and change you...and grow into whatever is needed next.

   
   

   Because the only other option is defeat.

   
   

   So choose resilience.

   Today.  Tomorrow. Every day.

   Choose happiness-hope-resilience-and growth.

   Accept reality and take all it's pieces and make something amazing out of them.

   
   

   Make your life.

   
   

   
   

...I forgot...

Over the weekend, the only bathroom in our teeny-tiny home was undergoing some renovations.  The previous upgrading we'd done had encouraged a few new projects, one of which had alerted us to an alarming fact...the floor panels underneath the tile we were replacing had completely rotted away beneath/behind the toilet and shower!  New flooring and new supports were needed, asap.  A big project in a tiny space, and one that rendered the bathroom unusable for the whole day.

The scary thing is, no one would've known how unsafe it was until the tub fell into the basement (no doubt with me all lathered up in it!)  had I not argued and insisted on removing the tile instead of just covering it over with a new layer.

Go me!  Damn, I should get this intuition of mine insured!

Anyway, getting back on track here...

The prospect of spending all day cooped up with the sounds of destruction/construction and no working toilet was, as you can guess, less than appealing.  So Mister Man and I escaped the commotion and headed off for an extended Mami-son playdate of sorts.  We breakfasted and brunched.  We did more than a little window-shopping.  We whiled away the hours in fitting rooms. 

Ok. He whiled away the hours. In one fitting room.  In Macy's.  With five pairs of shorts and three pairs of pants.  1 hour 47 minutes.  I timed it. 

I paced back and forth and forth and back.

5 minutes. "How's that first pair fitting?" I asked from outside the door.  "Ok." he replied.

10 minutes. "Do you like any of them?" I asked. "I haven't finished untying my shoes yet." he responded.  

Yeah. 

15 minutes. 

Not even out of his own shoes yet...

Totally normal.

Errr...

Totally normal in my life. #autismproblems

Now I don't know about you, but I spend as little time as possible in the actual fitting room when I'm shopping. Sure, I'll hunt and gather in the store and head to the fitting room with arms overflowing with merchandise.  But once I'm in that small enclosed space with that dirty old mirror that doesn't seem to like me very much, that pile shrinks down super fast to the few things I'm actually willing to undress for.   And speaking of undressing?  Yeah, not really a fan of seeing myself in my skivvies in lighting that makes my olive complexion look like an actual olive...the cocktail sort with a pimento jammed in for good measure.  I'm not really sure how they work the lighting in the fitting rooms.

I suspect there's a little gremlin sitting behind a one-way with a laser pointer whose only job is to direct that fluorescence at ever stretch-mark, dimple or wrinkle.

Seriously.  Fitting room lighting. Somehow it manages to highlight every little flaw and magnify it.

Talk about making a mountain out of a mole...err...molehill...

So anyhow, after making short work of reducing my purchase possibilities, I spend as little time as possible at the actual task of disrobing and redressing.  

Over the years, I've learned a really great trick. Turn away from the mirror while you're putting on whatever it is that you are trying on.  Once it's on and everything is where it should be turn back around and face your reflection.  If you're not smiling, it's a no.

In other words, while I may spend an hour or more floating from rack to rack in the store looking at all the options, I'm in and out of the fitting room in under five minutes every single time.

Not so, my son.

Oh no. 

If anything, he's the exact opposite.

He's not interested in looking through the racks at all the options.  He's a scan and pick sort of a shopper.  We walk in hand-in-hand and, with some encouragement from Mami to focus on the task at hand and stop talking about Minecraft already because we're here to find short,  he'll spend a moment looking around him before grabbing the few things he finds appealing.

Short list: Transformers. Exact duplicates of items he already owns. 

Then, oh then, he's off to the fitting room.  And I'm off to let my rear end grow roots on the bench while I wait (patiently) for his triumphant return...more often than not empty-handed proclaiming nothing fit.

Here's the thing: I have absolutely no idea what takes him so long.

No idea.

Is he standing in front of the mirror admiring his hair?

Is he flexing those 12-year-old arms of his?

Is he chatting with the gremlin with the laser pointer? 

No idea. 

All I know for certain is that, no matter how long I wait to do it...five minutes-ten minutes-half an hour...when I finally give in and ask him how it's going, he'll reply that he hasn't gotten his clothes off yet. 

Mind-boggling!

A solid 50% of the time, that pronouncement will spur me into action.  Prune the roots back...off the bench...banging on the door. "Open. Now", I'll growl and once inside this inner sanctum of time-waste-hood...unzip, drop, unbutton, lift...flip, flop, repeat.  Five minutes...in and out.  Off to the cashier.  

Sweating...frazzled...frustrated...

All for a single t-shirt or pair of shorts. 

What's that handy definition of craziness again?  Repeating the same actions but expecting different results?  Good grief! I must be certifiable!  

So where was I? Living on the edge. Showering dangerously.  Bathroom renovation. Mall rats. Fitting rooms. 1 hour and 47 minutes. Ah, yes. Losing my mind.

Standing there in the corner in Macy's watching strangers flit by as the minutes ticked away...  Apologetically shrugging as other customers would stand and wait, then harrumph off in shopping-rage...  Murmuring encouragements to hurry and finish up...  Repeatedly asking if my assistance was needed...  Staring at my water bottle wondering if I dare rehydrate...because who knows how much longer he'll be and when I'll be able to pee...  

Losing. My. Mind.

I forgot.  

I handed him those shorts and pants, whipped out my smartphone and texted and facebooked my little brain away...and I forgot.

I forgot that he's autistic. 

I forgot that he drifts off and spaces out...heading off to the world inside his head.  

I forgot that he has sensory issues.

I forgot that the laces and buttons and zippers can become torture devices to his fingers.

I forgot that those garments have textures and scents unfamiliar.  

I forgot that his eyes can get lost within a pattern. 

I forgot that he needs a routine or a guidebook for everything. 

I forgot to give him an order to follow.

I forgot that he stalls out when there aren't set directions.

When he was first diagnosed, I never forgot.  It was at the forefront of my mind all day, every day.  Everything then was so grim and ghastly and gruesome and always in my thoughts.  I woke up knowing and went to sleep still aware.  He was and I knew it, and I never forgot.

But years have gone by now, and walls have been broken down.  All the No's have become Yes's.  He's triumphed over the odds.  He's no longer labeled as the worst case scenario.  He's grown up and out of his previous limitations. His diagnosis has changed. He's high-functioning. 

And every once in a while now, I forget.

WOW: Resilience - Tuesday

A quick refresher: 

Resilience:

re·sil·ience

rəˈzilyəns/

noun

noun: resilience; plural noun: resiliences

1. 1. 

   the ability of a substance or object to spring back into shape; elasticity.

   "nylon is excellent in wearability and resilience"
2. 2. 

   the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.

   "the often remarkable resilience of so many British institutions"

   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   
   

   Whether or not you believe in an almighty Creator, you've got to admit...we humans are miraculous little creatures.  We are built to withstand all sorts of trauma and tribulation.  There are pieces of us that bruise and break and bleed.  There are pieces that replace damage. Pieces that heal like new. Pieces that scar. There are pieces that protect us from external forces. Even pieces that absorb shocks.  

   
   

   And in those of us who have learned to become resilient, there are pieces stronger than ever.  Pieces that allowed for pain or trauma...processed through...and still kept going.   Pieces that never stopped growing.  Pieces of hope. 

   
   

   Because, you see, there's something of a symbiotic relationship between hope and resilience.  Hope encourages future resilience.   Past resilience blossoms into hope.  The two coexist and feed one another, so that when your other resources are down for the count, you can still choose forward motion. 

   
   

   Allowing for resilience is like tapping into limitless reserves of power.  Harnessing hope and bending around that which might otherwise break you.  You'll come out on the other side smarter, stronger, and able to withstand so much more than you ever guessed.  But in order to be resilient, you must first be hopeful.  

   
   

   The thing is...

   You already are.

   You were made that way.

   
   

   There's nothing stronger than I.  Nothing stronger than you. 

   It's just a matter of being soft and malleable enough to change with the problems that arise. 

   It's a matter of choosing to be hopeful.

   It's a choice to be resilient.

   
   

   
   

   
   

   
   

...in your head...

"I'm not good at getting things out of my head."

That's what my son woke me up somewhere around 3am to tell me.  

He shook me awake and whispered the statement, then promptly rolled over and went right back to sleep, leaving me to ponder over his words in the pre-dawn. 

By the time the sun and son finally rose, I had figured out no less than a hundred possible explanations for his mid-night awakening.  Each of which, it turned out, was wrong. 

Over the course of the day, it all came together in dribs and drabs and here and there… 

He's not good at getting things out of his head. 

He's brilliant.

He's creative.

His mind is positively whirring with thoughts. 

But he's usually silent. 

He's a straight A student.  But he rarely raises his hand.  If called on, he'll answer, but usually so quietly that his para-professional aide will have to repeat it for him. 

He has autism. 

He has autism and sensory processing disorder, and a whole slew of other diagnoses and quirks as well. 

And they all add up to one true thing. 

He's not good at getting things out of his head.

In the early years of his diagnosis, when he had no speech, he and I developed our own nonverbal communication.  Call it teamwork or mother's intuition... 99.9% of the time I could figure out what he was trying to tell me without words.  And as his speech slowly began to develop, I remained the sole person who could decipher his stilted speech patterns and finish his sentences.  In many ways, I had learned to anticipate his needs so well that I could preemptively fulfill them.  To this very day, I'm still the only one who can always figure out what he's trying to say and what it ties into when he utters seemingly tangential statements. 

But there will come a day, all too soon, when having me as his "Autism to Real World" translator won't be a possibility, and he will need to communicate effectively with a whole wide world of people who simply speak a different language than he does. 

And that terrifies me.

Because I have been, and am his translator.  Because I am the mouthpiece he uses to take things out of his head and share them with others.  Because so far, I'm the only one who's 100% effective 100% of the time, at drawing him out of the shell of autism.  

He's not good at getting things out of his head. 

And that terrifies me.

Because he's brilliant, and creative and whirring with thoughts.

  

And he needs to share that.

He needs to be able to get those things out...

and design and create and change...

and live...

All the potential...trapped inside his head.

WOW: Resilience - Monday

A quick refresher: 

Resilience:

re·sil·ience

rəˈzilyəns/

noun

noun: resilience; plural noun: resiliences

1. 1. 

   the ability of a substance or object to spring back into shape; elasticity.

   "nylon is excellent in wearability and resilience"
2. 2. 

   the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.

   "the often remarkable resilience of so many British institutions"

   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   
   

   Even as recent as last year (2014 was just a few months ago!), I have struggled through periods of numbness.  Complete disconnect. Going through the motions.  Emotional shut-down. 

   
   

   I imagine it's fairly safe to say we all have.  Because when life hands you a series of challenges and problems all in a row, it can become very overwhelming very quickly.  And I know for myself, when that happens, my default response is to try to "power through".  

   
   

   Overwhelmed = Steamroller.

   
   

   In general, I've always been guilty of locking down and shutting out so that I can tackle the problem without any distraction. 

   
   

   But what I'm slowly learning, is that the successful outcome when I use that approach oftentimes doesn't feel like much of an accomplishment.  Because I shut down my emotional responses and never allowed myself to participate in the grief or fear or desperation, the success feels hollow.  There's no thrill of "Aha, I made it through that!". Just a dull sense of another thing taken care of.

   
   

   Talk about a hollow victory!

   
   

   So slowly… ever so slowly… I'm learning to give in a bit and allow the problems that arise to mold me.  By letting go of some of the strength that I was so dependent on, I've been surprised to realize I'm becoming stronger. 

   
   

   What I'm in the process of learning, is how to allow myself to remain emotionally invested in a problem until I work out a solution.  What I'm in the process of learning, is how to grow through it.

   
   

   
   

WOW: Resilience - Sunday

A quick refresher: 

Resilience:

re·sil·ience

rəˈzilyəns/

noun

noun: resilience; plural noun: resiliences

1. 1. 

   the ability of a substance or object to spring back into shape; elasticity.

   "nylon is excellent in wearability and resilience"
2. 2. 

   the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.

   "the often remarkable resilience of so many British institutions"

   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   
   

   In choosing to become (or remain) resilient, it really all comes down to how you face a problem.  Allowing it to shake you or, worse yet, break you, is the equivalent of allowing someone else to micro-manage your life. 

   
   

   Something I realized years ago was that whenever I gave into the frustration or depression of a new problem, I was giving it free reign to take over every aspect of my life.  From morning to night that problem would settle right in, making itself at home. I would become irritable, distractable, unfocused...in essence, the worst version of myself.  I was allowing the problem to grow up and out, filling up all the space of my day or week or month.  And all my frustration and depression was merely fertilizer...feeding the beast until it kept me up at night and miserable by day. 

   
   

   The real issue was never the problem, though.  The real issue was my approach.  Instead of bending and making allowances, I was trying to tackle things with rigidity and force.  

   
   

   And I was breaking. 

   Left and right. Day by day. I was breaking. 

   I was overwhelmed and stressed out and losing little pieces of myself all the time.

   
   

   It took a couple of really hard knocks, to get through my own dense fog and realize that I needed to learn how to bend.  I needed to learn how to go with the flow, and roll with the punches, and become resilient.  

   
   

   Because force and rigidity are great for steamrolling through, but you won't learn how far you can stretch unless you allow yourself to try. 

   
   

   Choosing to be resilient means allowing for that stretching of what you thought your limits were. It's giving a problem permission to encourage you to expand your thought process and to find an acceptable resolution. Choosing to be resilient means, quite simply, growth. 

   
   

   And wouldn't we all rather grow, then remain stagnant? 

   
   

   
   

   
   

   
   

   
   

...all the yesterdays...

Prior to his turning 12, I sat down with my son and went through some of our old photo albums.  What fun it was to waste a few hours telling him our story.  The real delight though, came as a surprise.  The surprise moments when he filled in some of the pieces that I had forgotten.  The pieces that for him, made the whole.  

For example, there was a picture from the playground at the park near our old home.   I was telling him how much we loved it there...how we walked the several blocks over almost daily and spent our evenings there from spring to fall.  I was painting him a picture of our time there, when he surprised me and added in his own color.  The chill of spiky blades of grass getting in between his toes on a spring day.  The way the trees cupped together and dimmed the sound.  The springy texture of the woodchip-lined pathway through the woods.  

Another photo-this one from his special needs preschool. Once again, he supplied the details.  The smell of the chair he didn't like...the way it burnt in his nostrils.  The safe solidity of the heavy wooden blocks.  And the curious and somewhat terrifying lightness of the spiky plastic pieces with holes in them.  The bus driver's deep voice and the comforting way it vibrated in his ears.

Home...where Mami moved the furniture a lot but it was ok, because she never moved herself.  Home...where it always felt like a soft feather even when it was cold and dark. 

When he was much, much younger I once told him that photo albums are nothing more than books. Books full of stories about all the yesterdays.  And sometimes, in those early days when he was still struggling to communicate verbally, he would ask me to take a picture of something.  He would ask "Mami, can you make a yesterday?".

We sat on the bed, in a nest made out of pillows and blankets.

One of his favorite things right now is to build a nest in which to settle down and cuddle and be soothed, with his Mami and his Henry and his Katja Noel. 

Anyhow, we sat there all tangled up and flipped through photos.   All cozy and warm.  Telling stories. Asking questions. Groaning in embarrassment. Giggling like madmen. 

Reminiscing.

Reliving.

Remembering.

I wish there were a picture of that. 

I wish that was a yesterday. 

Instead, it's but a memory.  A written down one, but a memory nonetheless. Not a picture he'll add colour to in years to come. Not a yesterday. 

I can fill in the blanks for myself, of course.  I can remember how the whole room was bathed in sunlight.  How every once in a while, one of the birds in the bush near the window would trill out that spring was coming.  How his favourite candle scented the air.  

But that's not enough. That's not everything. That's just my half, not the whole.  

Without his impression...his senses...his expression, it's just a picture in grayscale. 

It's putting the two pieces together that colours in the photo. 

It's putting the two pieces together that creates a lifetime of yesterdays...

...only the lonely...

At 12 years old, my son continues to be the light of my life.  He's a straight A student....a curious and avid scholar. He's intensely creative…a budding musician, an artist in the raw, an author in the making.  He's braver than anyone I've ever met.   He's loyal and generous, sympathetic and empathetic.  He's a caregiver and a defender.  He's a listener, who asks insightful questions.  He's a motivator, who insists that you can do it and he will help. 

In short, he's everything that makes a person a good friend.  

But he's not.

Our home is different.  It doesn't fill up with rowdy activity.  It doesn't host sleepovers.  It's walls have never been stretched by a play date with kids from school.  

Our phone is different.  It's not full of numbers designated so-and-so's mom.  It doesn't ring with offers of play dates.  It's text messages are never confirming birthday party invitations, or plans to meet up at a school event.

Our family dynamic is different. I don't get breaks. Or night's off.  I don't have the luxury of putting things off or saying "maybe later". Because for my son, I have to be so much more.  

I'm parent...singular. Mother and father and aunt and uncle all wrapped up into one. 

I'm teacher.

I'm therapist.

I'm a thousand different roles...

I'm friend. 

It's on me to fill in the gaps.

I will go outside and get in the snowball fight with him.  I will play hide'n'seek and tag.  I will be the decepticon to his autobot.  I will dig holes in the dirt alongside him, and whittle away at twigs with the sharp rock beside him.  I will play the same board game over and over and over again.  I will construct with Legos and destruct on Minecraft. I will go jump in puddles on a rainy day and take soap bubbles to the face on a windy day.  I will go on treasure hunts. I will bury a box of our secret treasures.  I will learn to write in invisible ink and learn to decode messages.  I will pretend that we are on Cybertron, or that we are wolves.  I'll whisper "Don't tell Mom!" and collapse in a fit of giggles.  I'll follow his lead and mix together the most unappetizing foods and play "I double dog dare you" to eat it.

I'll be his friend.

Because everybody needs a friend. Because everybody deserves a friend. Because he's the best friend I could ever imagine.

At 12 years old, my son is an awesome friend.  An awesome, unrealized friend.  

I'm a class mom this year, so I've had ample opportunity to be on school grounds and in the classroom and observing.  I've gotten to watch my son be an awesome friend.  I've gotten to watch my son be an awesome friend to children who don't return the favor.  His friendships are one way.  I've been there to observe as he defends his classmates...helps them...cheers them on...cheers them up.  I've been there to see as he checks in to see how everyone is doing.  I've been there to observe as none of them do the same for him.  I've been there to see him getting poked fun at.  I've been there to see him being ostracized.  

I've been angrier than I ever dreamed possible. 

He's learning, sadly, the lesson I learned when I was his age.  It's those of us who know what it feels like to be on the outside, that grow up sensitive to the needs of others.  We are the ones who never turn away or shut out.  I admire that about him…that ability to take in all that cruelty and remake it into something positive.  

But I want more for him. Oh, so much more!  I want him to have confidants, and pals. Chums and buddies.  Acquaintances and bff's.  I want him to have play dates and sleepovers and birthday party invitations. I want him to have all those moments of childhood and adolescence and adulthood that are so firmly rooted in relationships with others. I want him to have friends.

If you want to know what makes a good friend, ask someone who is one but doesn't have any.  

If you want to know what makes a good friend, ask my son.

Who knows best what to appreciate?  

Only the lonely.