“The antidote to misery is to stay present.” – Pema Chondron
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Jumping out of my skin
I’m not comfortable in my body. No, not body dissatisfaction or hatred. Sensory-wise. My sensory systems are going haywire, and lately they’ve been doing so more and more often.
I’ve never been diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder But, I’ve talked with enough professionals and co-workers to know that I most likely do have some form of SPD. I can’t remember if I had it as a child. I think for me, it goes very hand-in-hand with my sensitivities and intense cravings for things in general–colors, sounds, emotions, visual sights, etc. That’s another post in and of itself; I don’t know how to even begin trying to explain that. But, I wonder if when I was younger, my body was calmer because I craved everything else. Or if I was so active that my systems didn’t have time to freak out. Or if I ignored it just like I ignored my body for years. All I remember is constantly shaking my leg up and down and my parents asking if it was because I was anxious. I used to say “no,” knowing it wasn’t, but didn’t know what it was.
The point is, it’s getting to me now. Sitting with clients all day, and then sitting in class for 3-5 hours all night is really hard. Friends laugh (kindly) when they see me shaking my legs up and down, bouncing in my seat, wiggling nonstop. They know it’s “that thing she does,” where “she can’t sit still.” But there’s more to it. It’s not that I’m bored in class or want to stretch. It’s feelings I can’t even begin to describe. The sensitivity component where the lights start to hurt my eyes, every molecule on my body gets itchy, I feel the fabrics on my skin, the chair hurts my back, I feel it all. And the seeking component, where simultaneously I desperately need to be moving, shaking, jumping, walking. I need weight on my lap to calm me down and sometimes I need tight clothes or loose clothes or high socks or low socks. But there’s nothing I can do about it. And it builds and builds until I feel like I’m going to explode.
It’s so frustrating. It’s all the time. I have to sleep with a pillow on my legs, for weight. I have to sleep with a pillow between my knees. So many little things I need to do, and at least those ones I CAN do it. It’s the times like when I’m in class where I feel sunk. My body is fighting against me and I can’t do much about it.
It’s a little isolating. I know so many kids with SPD. I work with upwards of 50 of them. But it’s okay for a child to use a cushion on their seat, use a fidget toy in class, take movement breaks, bounce on a bouncy ball. It’s not okay for an adult to do that. I don’t know any adults with SPD. I don’t know how they cope. I don’t know any adults with SPD who also experience seeking symptoms of those other things — colors, visual sights, emotions, etc.
I’m not even sure what the point of this is. But I so rarely bring it up to anyone because nobody truly gets it and I don’t think I have the words to explain it. So I’m trying, I’m starting.
Irritated.
I am incredibly irritated. I was at the gym and Dr. Oz came on t.v. He was doing a story about a girl who is severely anorexic and quite literally, near death. The focus was on how impaired she was, how underweight she was, how low her medical stats were, how many pounds she had lost, how many times she had gone to the emergency room, how many calories she had lost. All about numbers. Yes, Dr. Oz was trying to spread awareness and education. I get that. And yes, awareness is important.
But there’s a bigger issue here. And the issue is all of the individuals who are watching that and their response is, “Oh. I’m not 30 pounds underweight. I haven’t been to the ER. I don’t eat under 500 calories a day. I guess I’m not sick then. I guess it’s not a problem.”
I mean, really, would Dr. Oz have brought someone on the show, noticed them, reached out to them, offered them that help and support to recover if the individual was normal weight and didn’t visibly look sick? No, probably not. And that right there is the problem.
I get that people think that the extreme cases make a point. And maybe they do. But that just reinforces the stereotype, the false belief, that you’re not sick unless you’re underweight. That it doesn’t matter unless you’re fainting. That it’s not real unless you go into the hospital.
And that’s so, not true.
This song always makes me teary
“Ordinary Miracle” – Sarah McLachlan
It’s not that unusual
When everything is beautiful
It’s just another
Ordinary miracle today
The sky knows when it’s time to snow
Don’t need to teach a seed to grow
It’s just another
Ordinary miracle today
Life is like a gift, they say
Wrapped up for you everyday
Open up, and find a way
To give some of your own
Isn’t it remarkable?
Like everytime a raindrop falls
It’s just another
Ordinary miracle today
The birds in winter have their fling
And always make it home by spring
It’s just another
Ordinary miracle today
When you wake up everyday
Please don’t throw your dreams away
Hold them close to your heart
‘Cause we are all a part
Of the ordinary miracle
Ordinary miracle
Do you want to see a miracle
It seems so exceptional
That things work out after all
It’s just another
Ordinary miracle today
The sun comes out and shines so bright
And disappears again at night
It’s just another
Ordinary miracle today
It’s just another
Ordinary miracle today
Issues of disclosure
I disclosed my eating disorder history to my supervisor the other day. Since it’s no longer what I deal with on a daily basis, it’s no longer an identifying feature of myself. People who have met me in the last few years don’t even necessarily know that I used to have an eating disorder, unless for whatever reason they asked, or it came up. Anyway, that being said, I disclosed because it was relevant. I don’t tell people just to tell people. But I do bring it up when I think it might better a person or a situation. And in this case, with a bunch of professionals sitting around trying to understand a student and what was going through her mind as she struggles with her own eating disorder, and with them all asking, “What is she thinking?” and “I wish we knew what was going through her mind,” I disclosed. And it ended up being helpful to them.
It really made me think, though. Even when I do disclose now, I’m often hesitant and nervous because people generally make one of two comments right away:
- So, how much weight did you lose at your worst? and
- But you’re thin, you really don’t still have an eating disorder?
I used to be really defensive when those comments were made-and oh, were they made. Because, I didn’t lose much weight at all at my worst. Which speaks to the fact that eating disorders are not about weight. And yes, I am thin. So is my mom, my grandma, and my entire family. But I am engaging in a healthy lifestyle now. I do not have an eating disorder. And I’d find myself almost needing to prove to people this, purposely eating in front of them, trying to convince them that I was healthy.
Until I kind of decided, screw it. I am healthy and I know it. And that’s what matters. And if and when people do ask these questions, during the one or two times a year that my history comes up, instead of getting angry, I’m going to educate. To let them know that actually, them having those beliefs just perpetuates the eating disorder stereotypes. And doesn’t help anything at all.
My supervisor’s reaction was: “Ohhh. I’m so glad you got better. What helped you get towards recovery?” And I wanted to hug her for that response and I told her how meaningful it was.
Just proves how much more education needs to be out there.
Adult friendship drama
I was talking with a friend yesterday who was feeling incredibly saddened by a recent shift in his friendships. A tightly-knit group had “split,” so to speak, into three tightly-knit people with the other two on the periphery. He said, “I feel like there’s something wrong with me–what did I do to not make them want to be as close with me anymore?” I was struck by how similar his thought process was to mine (instantly jumping to the conclusions that it’s something wrong with YOU, not remembering that there are two people in a relationship so the issue could very well lie with the other person).
He then followed up by talking about how these other three write on each other’s Facebook walls all the time, about their inside jokes and plans, and how he feels very much an outsider when watching all of this without being a part of it. That REALLY made me think, because his comments sounded very much like those of the middle-schoolers that I work with. That is not to say that I viewed him as being immature, or his sadness as unimportant; but more to say that issues going on when we are young still creep up into adulthood. He is 23 years old and Facebook is still presenting problems for him. He still feels left out. That makes me really sad. Maybe that’s because I partly understand it; it’s easy for me to jump to conclusions upon reading something on Facebook or Twitter that I’m not a part of. It just made me think a lot; we tell our middle-schoolers and high-schoolers that these issues “get better” when they grow up, and in a lot of ways that’s true; there’s much less petty gossip, bullying, and deliberate attempts to induce jealousy. But it’s all still there, even if to a lesser degree. Even if it’s to a less deliberate degree, which in many ways, is significantly harder to deal with.
The thing is, which I’m realizing more and more each day, it’s really up to us to make things how we want them. If there are issues, waiting around until they magically resolve themselves just doesn’t work. We’ll be waiting a long time.
Simplicity of childhood
I spent so much of my childhood wanting to “grow up.” I’m still working on figuring out why that was. Partly, all of the older people in my life (older cousins, teachers, etc.) seemed so glamorous and magical. I wanted to be like them. And part of me, especially in my older childhood, felt like when I “grew up,” things would get easier. I didn’t realize how wrong that was, but that’s another topic.
I wanted freedom, wanted to make all my own decisions, wanted to have responsibilities. Rightfully so; most children yearn for those things. But now that I am “a grown up,” I find myself yearning desperately for the days of childhood. I see the kids I work with in elementary school who sit in the same chair each day, who are told when to to to lunch and recess, who are told “Re-do it and bring it in tomorrow, don’t worry” when they incorrectly do their homework, who have teachers and guidance counselors and therapists watching out for their every move, whose big excitement is getting a new pack of colored pencils to use for a social studies map-coloring lesson. And oh, how I miss that. I never realized how lucky children are to not have to make decisions, to be taken care of, to be carried around, figuratively speaking, by adults.
I wish I hadn’t given up playing with dolls because it wasn’t what “older kids did.” I wish a new toy still made me feel elated inside. I wish that rainy days meant a day snuggling in the cozy house, baking cookies with my family, and lying on my stomach on the floor, playing board games. I wish that I could still build forts. I wish I still believed that imaginary friends existed.
I miss it all.
And I think that’s a large part of the reason that I so thrive on working with children. When I’m with them, I get to act like them. I get to be childlike. I get to do all of those things. I get to nurture that little-me that’s still inside of me.