Protecting My Peace.

This thought came from a Darling magazine article by Andrea Corp. What is peace? What threatens it? How can I protect it?

I think of peace as a cool, calm sensation in my chest and an absence of the singeing sludge of dread. Peace allows me to move through the world easily. It comes when I complete a major task (such as filing my SSDI appeal), when I pray hard for peace, when someone I trust is with me, and when I have nothing to worry about for a while.

So stress and dread are the main impediments to my peace. These arise in me easily, often without good reason. Taking care of a child with autism is highly stressful. Even the thought of driving stresses me out. I often dread interactions with people, even cashiers. Money stresses me out. Sometimes, reading makes me anxious because it's difficult, and I want to read so many books. I get anxious when Josh is anxious or upset.

To combat all this, I need faith and hope. Hope leads to peace. I need a peace that is not dependent on other people or outside circumstances. This is not easy, and I probably can't actually attain it, but I can work toward it. I can feel more secure by trusting others, forgiving others, and forgiving myself. Even small failures (saying the wrong thing, revealing my ignorance...) haunt me. I have to find a way to let those go. I need to find the roots of my fears. Panic disorder distorts reality.

I need to acknowledge the good in my life and in myself.  Life is hard, but I am not alone. I need to keep learning about autism and about my own disorders to combat the fear of the unknown. I need to practice courage. Peace is attainable.

Lies My Brain Tells Me.

One day, I was sick and discouraged. My mom told me on the phone, "You're my brain is lying to you." That was frightening and encouraging. I know now that I can't always trust my brain. Sometimes, it tells me,

• I'm not a good mother.
• It's my fault that Oliver has autism.
• I failed at giving birth, and that traumatized my baby.
• I'm a burden on all my family.
• I'm not pretty; people find looking at me unpleasant.
• I don't deserve love; I've made too many mistakes.
• I'll never be enough.
• Josh isn't attracted to me.
• I'll never be well.
• I'm not good at anything.
• I'm not safe and secure; betrayal looms.
• I'm generally incompetent.
• I have no joy in my future.
• I can't be disciplined. 
• My flaws are so obvious and memorable.
• I can't admit how I feel. It's risky, and no one wants to know.
• My mental health team cannot really help me.
• I'm useless.
• I will end up alone.

Sensory Distractions.

Two nights ago, I broke down. Oliver challenged me beyond my coping ability, and I started to cry and think dark thoughts about myself. Perhaps the scariest part was that the dark thoughts weren't scary--they were soothing. Josh got home from an errand, and I told him I might need to go to a hospital. Bruce was on standby too. Josh found information for the local crisis center.

Hoping to get stable on my own, I decided to try sensory distraction. Back rubs or tickles from Josh almost always help me, so I experimented. Josh had brought home a root beer, so I drank that while taking a bath with Epsom salts. Then, I read poems aloud. I didn't exactly feel better, but I felt sane. Bruce also wrote me an E-mail that reminded me that in many ways, I am who I want to be.

The next day, I kept up the sensory distraction. I saw my therapist and talked about my word of the year. I got a cherry Sprite from Sonic. I was driving a lot, so when I had a one-hour gap before I could pick up Josh, I stopped at Michaels. I pulled in the colors to paint my darkened mind. I looked at planner stickers and pretty boxes. The night was too cold for walking, so Bruce and I went to Barnes. I spent a long time in the journals and in the children's area. I liked that Barnes had a shelf just for Newbery Award winners. I flipped through Seventeen to look at articles on makeup. I looked at Victoria magazine (which I couldn't reach. Luckily, Bruce is 6 ft. tall). I sort of bathed in comforts and in reminders of my self.

I have to make good choices for my well-being. I need ways to combat the disease when it reaches to choke me. Bits of strength can change everything.