what it was, and is and will be

how quickly we can go back to places we've been.  how amazing the mind is. 

i'll be honest.  school starts in 3 weeks and deep inside me lies that beast named anxiety with one eye open.  he's pretending to be asleep, but i know he's faking.  see, it's been three years since zoe's been in a classroom.  it's been three years of my own struggles to teach her, help her without helping her, and watch and hope and wait and pray and cross my fingers and take steps forward and then a leap backwards.  it's been our own little dance- and it's been hard and good and fun and filled and i'm glad and ready for it to end- but it's been our own.

in three weeks that changes.  in three weeks it goes back to public- to her life lived out loud.  it goes back to all the possibilities, but the two that always scream the loudest are success and ....failure. i've gotten much more used to failure.  i've learned to not hold my breath, to lower the expectations, to stand on firm and rug-less grounds.  but just because those protective measures are in place- doesn't mean the beast is gone or even asleep.

i'm beginning to notice that my days with her are numbered.  she turns 13 soon.  i'm beginning to notice that our days now are lived with the awareness of this- and the encroaching school start date.

last week she did a two day tye-dye workshop.  the second day when i went to pick her up- she was sitting on a tarp, holding her wadded and tied, yet undyed t-shirts and was monopolizing an adult helper who was listening to her rant about how upset she was that she didn't know the game they were playing a few minutes before.  as soon as she saw me- it blossomed- it bloomed- it expanded into full exaggerated drama. 

'mom this is just the way i am!'
'i'll never get over this!'
'i'll just have to live alone and be mean and awful always!'

trying my best to be calm - to be 'that' mom - that super understanding, zen, mom of a special kid- mom; i said,  "zoe, it's not that big of a deal! it sounds like you just didn't like one game, that 's okay! now lets go get your shirts done!"

but while those words were coming out of my mouth, and while i was wondering how can she possibly be so dramatic,  the giant hairy anxiety beast had already opened his other eye and was blinking at me and maybe even shaking his head- like he knew it all along.  she is never going to make it at that school, he said. see, you are crazy for thinking it will work, he said.  maybe you should move- somewhere that has a special school.  maybe you'd better get ready to home school again, he said.

inside i felt the same level of drama that zoe did- the very same overwhelm. her drama was specific- i hated that game because it was new and i felt uncomfortable- so basically i'm going to have a miserable life! 

to me, her drama looked absurd. but i had the same reaction to her! she hated the game, she's upset, she can't handle social situations, she can't learn in a group, this feels awful and uncomfortable, she's never going to make it in school, we are going to have a miserable life!

when i got home i realized that we both have ptsd.  we both suffer from the trauma we've experienced surrounding her learning disabilities and school and her social struggles. we are both scared of the vacuum cleaners that we will run into- we are both scared of her reaction to the sounds and the sensations- we both fear her fear of feeling out of control- we both feel out of control. 

it helped to see it for what it was- for what it is- for what it will be.
all of it, and only it.


it will be moments of new games that cause stress and frustration and sadness- and then she'll move on.  it will be first days when uniforms are scratchy and sitting down in a chair with out asking questions constantly, will feel too much.  there will be melt downs and children snickering and the world will feel like it's about to tip right over.

but it won't. 

the dance will continue- our dance- her dance.  there will be new music and new partners and the non-static newness will be scary and try as i may, i'll accidentally hold my breath and sometimes pass out.  but i'll get up.  so will zoe. 

i will try to remember that small moments can just be small, even when they feel huge- they don't need to mean everything.  i will prepare for jumps forward and days that are so far backward i won't believe it.  i will see her grow and learn and i will too.  the future is unknown, maybe more unknown for her, but that is known. 

we will enter this new season with our heads held high- with faith and thanks.  we will walk slowly, tread lightly, breathe steadily and deeply, and we will laugh and know that we're in it together.