Scary Naked October

No, This is not a pro or anti Halloween Celebration Rant. Nor is it a sad statement regarding the STL Cardinals and their non-playoff standings (because I don't care, being neither sports fan or gambler).
I recently found myself as one in a company of women in a religious setting, who were all there for the purpose of spiritual wholeness and healing. While sitting in this group of strange women, and I found myself noticing their shoes. The woman next to me was wearing the cutest pair of brown leather heels with a peek -a -boo toe. Women wearing lovely accessories (I am distracted by shiny and sparkley things) and flawless make up coverage. Suburbanites donning apparel that minimizes our flabby tummies, camouflages our wide hips and maximizes our bust lines (well, not me so much on that one. If I maximized my bust line, I'd hurt someone). Even those of us who were hiding in extra large hoodies (you know I'm a hoodie girl) wore a pound of mascara and lip varnish. We came on time with our neat notebooks and writing implements, like the first day of Junior High, ready to share our prepared answers and insights. Introducing ourselves in AA fashion- “Hello, my name is Kimberly, and I'm Fearful and Bitter” (“Hello, Kimberly”), sharing our goals and expectations. You know how we gals dress to impress one another. Wanting to put our best foot forward and give people the well put together impression of who we want them to think we are. Um......Hello? This is the MESSED UP PEOPLES GROUP. We are fighting an uphill battle if we truly are there because we want “spiritual wholeness”. Doesn't that require vulnerability, honesty, and (dare I use the popular buzzword) authenticity? I'm not suggesting roll out of bed and show up. I am definitely PRO HYGINE. But, It will take the ten weeks to crack through the Cover Girl Foundation, let alone get to the Spiritual Foundation.
The world's perception of Christians is that we're fake. Guess what? THEY'RE RIGHT! Once upon a time I used to sing in a church setting. I don't today because babies and excess poundage have played havoc on my diaphragm muscle and it would take committed retraining not to suck now, and I don't identify with the skinny girls spotlighted on the platform in their Aeropostle and American Eagle T shirts. I do not fit the image the suburban American church is now marketing in the name of being “spiritual-seeker sensitive”. I am really not hating on the skinny girls (Hello, my name is Kimberly and I'm bitter) You can tell who is there to assist in facilitating corporate worship of God and who is there to bring attention to themselves. I am also not suggesting that Self Promotion is absent by any stretch of the imagination in the more traditional religious setting. I've been a Priam Donna in a choir robe, the robe just gave us one less thing to worry about, our appearance, and gave us one more thing to hide behind. I think the in most spiritual, honest worship setting, we'd all be naked. And when we are all spiritual beings, I believe we will be, but as physical beings we can't just turn off the Carnal, so clothing, for now, is necessary.
So, What the heck is the point? Do I EVER have a point? Not really. And NO I am not starting a Clothing Optional Home Worship Experience. I simply ramble on. I am very much into looking pretty and being girly. And though my Beloved loves me plain jane and naked, he also appreciates when I put effort into my appearance. It helps me look and feel confident, and I'm sure it makes him feel worth the effort. After all, HE'S the one who has to look at me all day. Dressing up is fun and can help you express yourself. And Micky Mouse Dooney and Burke Handbags are cool. Makeup can make you feel like a masterpiece and being the center of attention at times is awesome. However, a setting where you are really trying to gain truth and perspective, may not be the place for all that. So, for the month of October, I will be sans makeup in any setting where by being truly vulnerable with myself and others I can work toward spiritual wholeness and healing. SCARY, I know, but for me, necessary. You have all been warned.

Thank You, "Autism"

It may seem pretty messed up of me, but I get bothered by the word “Autism”. I get a pang in my gut every time I read or hear it. It bothers me because it reminds me that my son is required to function in a world which he can't understand and that doesn't understand him. The endless debates on vaccines and and applied behavior therapy and chemicals in food and the environment have no clear cut answer or compromise. They are divisive, play havoc with your emotions and are simply exhausting. The existence of autism seems so unjust for any child to deal with that we need something to blame. Blaming helps us feel like we didn't do anything wrong to cause our child to have to suffer with this disorder. There's part of us that wants to know why. And if there is a why, there must be a solution.
I do not subscribe to popular causes of autism theories. If it were to be vaccines, better autism than death caused by measles induced encephalitis. My odd theory is that God has called us to become more like Him. He calls us who are chosen to be parents to be refined through our children. As life saving vaccines have spared us the horrors of many life threatening and physically debilitating diseases, we needed something else to force us to look outside of ourselves and look to Him to provide strength and comfort. If that is the "why", then the solution is to press on. To depend on God for what only He can do. For His example of perfect selfless Love, and His provision of peace, understanding and relationships.
But as much as I am uncomfortable with the word, I am also grateful to it. At two years old, my child could speak but but only in repeated phrases. He had the receptive language of a seven month old infant. He wouldn't eat anything unless we took a bite of it first because he was unable to categorize what was food and what wasn't. He had all his upper and lowercase letters memorized and one to one correspondence of numbers to 14, but was unable to comprehend that navy and robins egg were both called “blue” because they were clearly two different colors. He would scream if we attempted to put jeans on him but demanded that his bathwater be scalding hot or ice cold.
The label “autism” was a gift that gave us a direction. As much as it frightened me, as much as I didn't want it to be true, it helped him on a path of coping with the foreign world he was born into.
When I look at my son, I don't see “Autism”, I just see my kid- my wonderful, funny, loving, genius, super kid. And this is a list of some of the people the label autism gave to us who didn't just see “autism”, but an amazing, terrific, albeit quirky, little boy-and whom we could never possibly thank adequately for all they have invested in him and us:
Kristina Bratlund, Don Hakenberg, Sharon Balduf, Denise Haffner, Brenda Aflito, Michele Wheeler, Craig Vroom, Laurie Olsen, Ed Hightower, Tanya Patton, Missy Potvin, Karen Bertles, Kelly Hess, Capri Strieter, Laura McNicholas, Roxanne Howald, Chris Treres, Paul Santoro, Jo Marie Yancik, Linda Plant, Jocelyn Garner, Carol Kohlfeld, Amanda Rustio-Murphey, Lea Shabangi, Kelly Baird, Tara Fox, Jennifer Mulvihill, Heather Chapman, Barb Kinsella, a probably a bunch of others.
You can never know how much you mean to us.

"Feels Like I'm Walking on Broken Glass"

Why is it that just when you are confident that you have shut the door on the past, it has come around with it's crowbar to break a window? I mean, seriously? You've done everything you possibly can to deal with it. You've gotten to the point with therapy, prayer and medication that you can finally come into the room where the door is without worrying about it, and there it is! And you're, like, “what the Hell are you doing here?”, and there's broken glass everywhere and now you have yet another mess to clean up and you're left standing there with all the anxiety and insecurity that of being 15 years old. It'd be nice to just leave and go see a movie, eat and drink yourself in to the sweet cradle of numbness for a few months, but then you come back and it's still there and now your another 15lbs overweight and nothing has been resolved. How does someone successfully infuse the horrors of the past with the wonderful of the present? I've given up hope on any fantasies of entitlement to there being a Happy Ending, but can't there be a “happy-ISH” ending? One where I can have backbone and boundaries without being a complete bitch?
To get the door closed in the first place took a long time. My first step was facing the fact that I will never be the Hero. I can't fix people. I can't change things that have already happened. “Couldda Wouldda Shouldda...” doesn't help anyone. And any delusions to the contrary are setting a person up for the absolute failure. Not that I am against failure. There's security in futility.. Sometimes, the thought of actually succeeding is much more frightening. Success would mean having to live differently. But it's much more palatable to fail because you were lazy, did nothing and ignored the situation than if you really tried and just didn't measure up to your own unrealistic expectations.
And THAT was the second step- IGNORE IT. In the name of “moving on”, just go on and pretend like that ugly part of you never existed. It's like carrying luggage and trunks around with you everywhere you go, and when someone asks if they can help you, you're quick to say “what baggage?”. And you try to open doors and go up and down stairs with it, and it's obscuring your vision and you try to get other things accomplished while you're carrying it. Then when you can't possibly deny that you're carrying it, you're pride says to people, “oh this? It's nothing. I got it. No, these bags aren't the reason I'm having trouble. I'm just an idiot.” because, of coarse any normal person would be perfectly able to navigate life carrying 400lbs worth of luggage. Shit happens to everyone. Just get over it.
Then, eventually, you're just tired. You can't possibly carry these bags another moment. And you begin step three- being RESENTFUL. You hate these bags. You hate the people who gave them to you. You hate yourself for lugging them around all this time and you are very unappreciative of the people who knew you were carrying all this stuff and did NOTHING! (Except ask you if you needed help about a million times, but thats completely beside the point).
Now I have declared myself entitled to -step four-BITTERNESS. I can sit here and stew and do nothing but be immobile because I've carried bags around for years. I hereby absolve myself of any responsibility. I can sit on top of these trunks which are an epitaph to my suffering and self medicate because the world owes it to me. I don't have to unpack them or deal with whats in them or move forward in any way because “do you really want to add to my pain?”.
While you were sitting there, bitterness built up walls so you could now -step five- ISOLATE. The easiest way to not be disappointed or be a disappointment is to distance yourself from others. It's how you survive. It's how you can wear your hurts as a badge of honor while avoiding being hurt any further. And theres a large part of you that truly believes that you really are helping the people you love
by keeping them away, but in truth, you're giving them their own bags to carry around. Bags with your name on them.
I woke up one day and realized you can't “get over” things, I had to do the work to “get through” them.
So, with the most supportive loving husband and the two most amazing children ever to walk the Earth as motivation and encouragement, I began the journey of unpacking and identifying things and patterns for what they were. I could look at them and see how A plus B equaled D. I began to tear down the old steps, build new ones that actually worked and repair the foundation of my life. Relationships would be different because I was different. And the good things about myself that were always there could finally be seen and appreciated. I could admit things that were and how they affected things that are and relearn how things can be. And I began to know Joy that I was completely clueless was even real. And I got through, and got on.
But, what to do now with a broken window and remembered feelings and severed ties that want reattached? I don't know. I guess I just start by sweeping up old glass, repairing the window, and not live in fear of opening the door.