Leisa A. Hammett

DisAbility Dialogues: Things People Say, Part I

So call me "Cougar." He was pretty easy on the eyes. He wore tall, caramel-colored boots. Skinny-legged jeans tucked in. By his side was a high-end, sleek model motorcycle helmet. His lap-top shouted his renegade politics: bumper stickers brandishing "Ron Paul" "REVOLUTION" (with the fourth through sixth letters spelled backwards--LOVE,) and "Legalize the Constitution."

I noticed the young man glancing over at Grace and I but I assumed it was to see if we registered the volume of his  visual-political messages....Shoulda known. Of course. Can't go out in public with my teen daughter with autism without getting noticed. But, that's okay....

 

This is what happens to me, on purpose, when I get my haircut every six weeks. I don't try this at home. Both do's by Lunatic Fringe, Franklin, Matt Fine, owner and photographer. More here, at some point, about our disAbility mother-daughter day there. The purple hair is temporary. The disAbility, not. Purple hair or not, we get looks.

 

I was surprised when he approached me later and commented about the large bling-y bee-shaped broach I wear pinned to my puffy black down vest. His belated and beloved grandmother always wore broaches, he said, adding he'd not seen anyone wear one since she'd passed on. And then the subject turned to Grace. Really, I don't mind inquiries about her differences. I am not ashamed of my daughter's disAbility and I seize most any opportunity to educate. Too often, however, the questions turn to unasked-for-suggestions. And most often, the suggestions are not even buffered by inquiry first. And though the convo about the broach with the young man had chipped the ice, this suggestion was the most "out there" I'd heard in 15 years on the journey.

First question: Did Grace had Multiple Sclerosis? "No. She has autism." Then he proceeded to say autism and MS were similar. [Not.] He proceeded, stating that he wanted to share something that worked with his friend recently diagnosed with MS. Drum roll, please:

Marijuana....

OMG. Really? Give pot to my 18-year-old because she has autism? That's the most bizarre thing I've heard yet, I said.

"Really?" He responded back.

Actually, I realized later that I had heard of medicinal marijuana for MS. I support medical usage. I've had my share of friends who used the drug recreationally, too. I don't judge that. Honestly, I have never touched the stuff. (It's illegal and my old Southern Baptist goody-two shoes of yore apparently still fit.)

Once upon a time I might have walked away from this exchange pissed. (And, underneath anger is almost always hurt.) But, I maintained a calm inner space in his presence and spoke my truth: "Actually," I replied, "I don't consider disAbility a bad thing." He cocked his head slightly, appearing a bit curious. "My daughter and others like her can teach us many things: tolerance, servitude, joy, diversity. And," I added, "we can choose to look upon people of differences as broken or see the gifts that they bring us. I believe part of the Divine plan in my having been gifted a child not only with autism, but autism on the severe end, was so that I could use my gifts to help her realize and demonstrate the beauty of her own, one of which is her artistic ability."

I don't think that was the response he expected. And instead of anger/hurt, I chose to view his suggestion as well meaning. (And quite entertaining.)

So, pot and autism, huh? Come back next Wednesday for the weekly autism/disAbility feature on "The Journey with Grace," for "DisAbility Dialogues: Things People Say, Part II." I'll share some other things I've been offered up by well-meaning passersby, plus some from a community of mothers who also have special needs kids. It gets pretty interesting. And downright incredulous. And sometimes it's received as greatly insulting.

My. The things people say....

*I've since learned, which really doesn't surprise me after all these years, that pot is being used by some in the autism community. Again, it's not for me to judge another person's choices. Here's two "Journey with Grace" blog posts that skim such issues: "Jaded: Vantage Point from 15 Years on the Journey," and "Take Your Cure and Shove It" And upon further reflection, I recall our beloved former pyschiatrist, who no longer resides in the mainland U.S., and who is a renegade himself, told me about cannabis as a promising autism treatment. The autism "bio-medical docs" don't know what to make of me. Fact is, I've used integrative medicine for 25 years, more that many of them have been studying it--largely on their own post medical school. And, yet, I am slow to embrace a good chunk of it as applied to autism because of my philosophy on the disorder, et cetera....As they say in Facebook land: "It's complicated."

Whitney Houston's Death A Reminder of Our Humanity

 

Saturday, much of America apparently perched on their couches and watched Whitney Houston's funeral via television or live-stream internet. The Facebook community was stacked with commentary. Though I'm not a fan of celebrity, I believe in the importance of knowing the pulse of popular culture. And, I admired Houston's flawless beauty and incredible voice.

But, many of the comments emanating from the ethers of Facebook seared my spirit. Our culture is so quick to elevate. So quick to tear down. We deify our celebrities, causing us to forget the reality of their humanity. Blinded by the spotlights and sparkle of fame, we choose to hold them higher than our own selves and also from our media tethered perches, we impose upon them impossible standards. And, then, we crucify them when they fail, all the while forgetting that they are just like ourselves. Human. Vulnerable. Fallible.

I love my alma mater--a small Baptist, East Tennessee college, which, when I attended, had a student body less than 2,000. A former campus minister from those days posted on his Facebook wall a tribute from a D.C.-based Baptist Pastor, Elizabeth Evans Hagan, who pens a blog entitled Preacher on the Plaza. This exceptional young woman, who was born two years before I graduated, wrote in a post published Saturday, "Whitney Houston Took Us to Church." She noted that the televised experience demonstrated how (my words) real church, loving church, can hold space for, among many things:

"Those who have made some bad decisions in their life (i.e. Whitney) being celebrated for the good within them, not the bad because hey, we have all messed up in one way or another! (Who are we to throw stones?)"

I take it a few notches further and choose not to even label her choices "bad" or "messed up." Stay with me here a moment....In the recent events in my own life, culture would clearly entitle me to brandish labels of "messing up" and "bad." Instead, I tongue-in-cheek classify my experiences as "less than optimal choices." For, all our "bad," "the messy," the "less than optimal choices" hold great power to help us  WAKE UP! And CHANGE! To do differently whatever is not working in our lives. Houston had that choice and I do not condemn her for not going there. It appears she had great remorse and that she tried and her decisions were branches in her journey....

In our cultural iconization of celebrity, we forget that like us, they, too, are on a Journey. The. Same. One. As. Us. AKA: Life. And what we all need for ourselves and for our lives is...The "C" word. The biggie. The one of which we have in such short supply in our current culture: COMPASSION.

The loving tributes that resonated with me throughout the week were those that bestowed this compassion. As Spirit Coach and friend Gregory Fisher noted about Houston's interview with Oprah approximately three years back, she got a glimpse of her power if maybe only for a brief while. That power that, again, all of us, as creations of God, have in common--personal, God-given power. Also like myself and so many of us, she also forgot that she had that power within. And you know the rest of her story, which ended in her tragic, premature death. What would the rest of her life had been like if she'd lived on like the greats of her sisterhood, such as Aretha Franklin who graced Houston's funeral? We'll never know.

But...what we can take away are the lessons that in her/our shared frailty, we have a connection to a divine, strengthening source within us. And that, again, compassion--what the world needs--starts from within our own human hearts. Those human hearts that beat together in our global world....Furrowing her brow, leaning over and lowering her voice--meaning serious business--Mother would say to me when I was growing up, "When you point your finger at another there are four pointing right back at 'cha." So, in our rush to judge--which means me, too, here--we forget that we have and that others also have thumping, human, life-blood-coursing hearts that desperately need the resicutation of love, kindess, understanding and compassion.

Thump-thump....

I believe NOTHING. Nothing is ever in vain. Houston left her earthly life of pain for someplace better. Her death, however, holds lessons for those of us who remain behind....

Compassion: A Valentine 4 Self; Dr. Kristin Neff

Psychologist Kristin Neff is the mother and wife featured in the book and movie, "The Horse Boy." The movie was reviewed here on "The Journey with Grace." I found Neff's work via a Google search after I first viewed an advance copy of the film. What an incredibly, multi-talented, loving, amazing family.

 

 

 

Recently, I stumbled upon an online interview  about how Neff used her research practices on Self-Compassion for herself when her son was diagnosed with autism.

I love how this journey of autism/disAbility can use our gifts to transform not only ourselves but those around us near and far....

Happy Valentines Day, tomorrow. Love yourself. You are the foundation of your Life, Your Family, Your World. Compassion for others--so needed in our world--starts from Within....

Here's another incredible look at loving and taking care of yourself from the perspective of another special needs, mother. Julie Keon: What I Would Tell You.

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Interestingly, a week ago after walking Radnor Lake I returned to my car to see someone had gifted me two discount sale copies of The Horse Boy. (Who are you? Either you know me or you saw my autism bumper sticker and puzzle magnet...?) I am keeping one copy since you meant for me to have it and will donate the other to our local Autism Society. Thank you!

Jaded? Vantage Point from 15 Years on the Autism Journey

Uneven stacks of paper protruded from the cradle of my arms. I left the small, crowded exhibition room with more than I'd initially intended. I'd tried to be careful and not to pick up stapled batches of paper, flyers or brochures unless I was fairly certain I was going to reference them. But then there were the smiling vendors who insisted I take home their literature, even if I tried to insist otherwise. As I was leaving, a friend affiliated with an area university handed me more papers. I blurted out: "This overwhelms me! I will take them home and they'll sit in a pile, unread. I won't make the time. I have 15 years worth of papers I've collected about autism interventions. I'm not interested in repatterning my daughter's brain. She's not three. She's almost 18." My comment was sharp. My friend knew to take me with a grain of salt. 

The event was a Summer Opportunities Fair sponsored by our local autism society and is a superb resource for families. Vendors representing camps, therapies of all stripes, sports, etc., come and share their paper wares. It's a wonderful thing. I'm just in a different place.

That place. The place where I didn't think I would ever land. Starting out, a newbie to the autism world, I would bump up against people sort of like me. Jaded from the Journey. The mothers with older children who seemed to let out a collective sigh-combo-eyeball-"roll when I attended my first autism support group meeting and I shared about the vitamin regimen upon which I was going to put my child. Their caustic response: "Been there. Done that." (I HATE support group meetings!)

There was the angry mother who would rant about services versus research every time I saw her. Personally, I believe in research. But, now that I'm perched perilously alongside my daughter on the edge of the cliff, about to lose the majority of services she has received because she's "aging-out"...I kinda get it. At least her point. It is tough (yet understandable) to see so many dollars and energy go for early intervention when especially now there is an army of us marching toward the transition to adulthood....And, yes, because of our army of strong voices and because of compassionate responses to us, there is more research and more opportunities for our burgeoning reality. Yet, not enough. And the smart lot of us realize we've got to do as we always have, roll up our sleeves and apply the grease toward creating a new reality for ourselves. It's freakin' hard work....But, then, it has always been...just with a little more help from our friends in research and service settings....

There was the angry silver-haired man who shook his finger at the Atlanta Autism Society of America conference break-out audience and admonished: "Don't you young families think that it's going to get any better for you by the time you are in this stage!"  Poof! I blew him off as a combination old fart-hot air bag and in my arrogance believed it would be different for me and my peers. I'd help make it so, by damn! Times were changing....In 15 years, the waiting list to receive services in Tennessee remains the same or longer and meanwhile our Republican governor is threatening to cut the minute funds some of us receive. My words, my meetings, my letters, my lobbying and that of others--to no avail. I'm talking a $1,000 stipend. Does not go very far when insurance quits paying for your child's necessary intervention services and you decide--as did Grace's father and I did--to mortgage the house a couple of times so that our child could learn to communicate....

There was my friend who said she no longer filled out the countless surveys and research studies sent to her by mail and online. As a young mother, I was aghast, not understanding why she didn't want to help herself and others. Ditto for the mothers seemingly unwilling to try a particular dietary regimen or supplement formula. How could they be so nonchalant? How could they choose such ignorance?

So, here I am. Humbled. Now I get it. Once upon a time I judged these folks who were further along the journey. I judged them because I did not yet know what they knew. I judged them via a lack of compassion for the years that they had toiled and the many therapies they had seen not work; for the fact that their wallets had been flattened; their bodies, grown older and less energetically resilient. How to them research surveys and questionnaires felt like a demand on their time and they needed help right then in the present moment!

My judgment came out of Fear, as well. As humans, we tend to fear those things we do not know or understand....I also feared their anger.

And then here I am, knowing now that I have reached this juncture in the journey, that what they needed is what I now need: Compassion and Understanding.

I now understand the tendency to be jaded on this leg of the journey. And, somewhere along the way, very early, I knew that I could not do it all, try it all, be it all and still remain Whole. I chose Wholeness. To honor and claim a sense of self and my Life. I have a daughter with autism. But it is not all of my Life and it is not all of who I am. So sometimes, I have made choices that benefit the Whole of us. In preserving Me. And in doing so, I preserved me for Her. And, for me, that is Compassion. The Compassion I needed for these other mothers and fathers and Compassion that I needed for me.

Jaded? Yeah, maybe a little. But maybe a bit wiser for the journey, too....

Passages of Time

 

"The days are long, but the years are short." --Gretchen Rubin, The Happiness Project

 

January 11, 2012...the date entered at the beginning of the morning's journal entry. It caused me pause....As the seasons come around...as the seasons arrive...yet another one is gone...another one is new. I am, once again, struck by the passage of time, as I tend to be when the seasons change--a key marker for the passage of time in my life. Maybe for others, too? It's as if I have a flashback, a quick deja vu. I realize: Oh. My. Another spring?! Another summer?! Another fall?! Another...winter?! Another year has gone by. Here I am again. Anew. A beginning. A chance to begin again. It's humbling in a way. Another year lived. Another sped by. And, here....I am. Now....[And a month has passed since I penned this in my journal.]

Photos, Leisa A. Hammett, copyrighted. I love the austerity of winter, especially as illustrated by bare tree limbs and expansive skies. GrateFULL.

Telling the Truth About Deen's Sugar-Coated Lie

The hoo-la over the diagnosis of the Queen of Fat & Sugar, Culinary Marketing Guru, Paula Deen, with Type-2 diabetes has simmered down a bit in the last week. I guess. At risk of sounding self-righteous: I really don't know because I rarely flick on the boob tube and best I knew, the controversy was never reported on my only news source, NPR. It was the blogosphere that tipped me off to the mean and nasty fest that was broiling over Deen's diagnosis. Talented blogger, special needs dad Rob Rummel-Hudson (Schuyler's Monster: A Father's Journey with His Wordless Daughter) posted on Facebook that making the Savannah-based Diva the butt of jokes was in poor taste. But via local Nashville fitness blogger Dyan of Don't Diet, Live It! that I learned the distasteful back story....

Dis. A. Point. Ing. Very.

From the headlines I expected a reformation. A new movement. I imagined the lives of foodie followers led down the table runner to salvation with Deen seated at the head teaching new math with a division of loaves and fishes and reversing her condition. (It is done. It is possible. I've witnessed it multiple times.) A reformed sugarholic for nearly 25  years now, I was excited, enthusiastic, as I clicked the news link, anxious to savor the details. Maybe this will be a wake up call for America's choice-ridden slide into obesity, I fancied. But. No. The scoop is Deen has known for three years about her diagnosis and sidles up to the public now with the endorsement of Big Pharma--Novo Nordisk-- a company that manufactures injectable diabetes meds. Her two sons, who do not have the diagnosis flank her as company spokespeople....Dialing up the heat of insult, Deen states in all seriousness:

She does not plan to limit her dietary excesses except her propensity for sugar-shocked, Southern tea. Writes "Coach Dyan" who watched Deen perform in a media circus parade, including The Today show: "She does not plan to change her lifestyle or cooking style[....]She said that she, like all other baby boomers, must face the reality of developing diabetes, heart disease, and high cholesterol."

There. Someone said it. Deen vocalized the sentiment of too many Americans. Descending into old, decrepit age, chock full of prescription meds and frequent consultations with allopathic medical doctors is just. The. Way. It. Is. Disease Rules.

Not.

Why am I passionate about this? Am I trying to pick at Paula? No. But I will speak the truth of my experience here. This mentality, as spoken aloud and lived by Deen, is a very real, negative reality in our culture today. But, I have chosen and live and believe in an alternative reality where Choosing Health Wins. As a young post-college adult, I began eating poorly, indulging in fat, excess sugar and fake foods. By my mid-20's, I developed a host of annoying gastric and transfered conditions. My trips to doctors became routine. By the end of that decade I was diagnosed with heavy metal poisoning, chronic intestinal yeast, chemical sensitivities and chronic fatigue syndrome. Eventually I found the ways of Western medicine and synthetic pharmaceuticals made me sicker. I quit listening to standard medicine and went the way of the quack, as our culture considered natural and alternative and diet-based medicine back then. Now? Science has proven those weird ideas...that too many in our culture still consider foreign. In one year I cured my chronic fatigue syndrome and heavy metal poisoning with the help of innovative, open-minded medical doctors in Atlanta, where I was then living. By first changing the content of what I ate, I immediately saw results in my weight, hair, skin and nails. I ate then and now a whole foods-based diet. Real. Food. Fruits. Vegetables. Whole grains. Some dairy and some quality meats. Organic as much as possible and lots of pure water. I have my dark chocolate and I drink wine on occasion. And if I let off the lid my sugar tooth will still rule. So, yes, those who know me have seen me big at the party buffet. The contents of my pantry? As pristine as a health food store.

My journey to whole food led me not only to whole health but to yoga and then to environmentalism because I saw how I ate affected how I treated the earth and in turn the earth's ability to sustain humankind. I learned as my mind cleared and my body cleaned itself from the inside out, that it is difficult to be fully conscious when I crammed fake stuff that my body could not process. And that clarity, slowly over the next couple of decades led me to a wider more inclusive spiritual path. In my experience, one led to the other, all so beautifully connected. I am so grateful for the journey that started with getting sick from a contemporary American diet and has served by body, mind and spirit so well the two ensuing decades.

We do have a choice about our health. And making a choice for optimal health is particularly important if you, like me, are a special needs parent. How can I meet the lifetime demands of my differently abled daughter if I am not preparing my body to sustain the long journey ahead? I do this--I eat pure the majority of time and I excercise regularly first for me and my quality of my Life. And then I do it for Her and any other loved one that may be in my life at a given time. And then, I do it for Us. What our culture is failing to realize is that WE ALL pay when some of us choose the path of disease. All of our costs go up. Preventative medicine via preventive diet, the bountiful foods of Mother Earth, are mighty cheap in comparison.

My Truth: Eat Well. Eat Real. Eat Whole. And do not accept that doctors, disease and decrepitness are the future. You bet the hell I am not. Make that I'm choosing the heaven of living well. Diss Dean and preventable disease and follow the path toward health. Quality lies there.

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What Deen's not taking into consideration with her refusal to change her diet and simply take medication: According to Mayo Clinic those with Type 2 diabetes may feel fine at first in the early stages but complications include: heart and blood vessel disease; nerve, kidney, eye, foot damage; skin and mouth conditions, osteoporosis and Alzheimer's.

Monday Morning Addendum: below, I've added three comments. The longest one shares two aspects of clarification, including more of my recent journey here for greatest authenticity. Thank all you who've visited here already this morning!

I'm Not Sorry....

It'd been nearly 10 years since I met up with my friend from the small, informal playgroup in which we were both members when our children were babes. Long ago she'd moved to Western North Carolina. When I vacationed in Asheville last summer, we shared a meal downtown. Time had passed, gray peeked through our locks and lines had crept from the corners of our eyes. Our children were grown now, one of hers had jumped from the nest and the other was perched on the edge. A far cry from the diaper swaddled, round-bellied children who lolled about on the floor as their female parents dissected our roles as mothers, wives, women, politics, religion...no topics were left un-discussed by this special, treasured, diverse group who met twice a month in each others' living rooms.

I told my old friend the news of my marriage ending and she began a refrain: "That SUCKS! That SUCKS! That. Just. SUCKS!" She repeated it several times during the download of current events portion of our catchup. I winced each time she said it. I knew it came from a place of love and compassion. She grieved for me, her friend. She knew how I'd left one marriage, bundled my hopes and then entered another almost a decade later. It wasn't supposed to turn out to be this way....Or was it?

After we finished our lunches and hugged each other goodbye I got in touch with the discomfort her words summoned within me. It was my Life. And it didn't and it doesn't suck. Was I disappointed? Hell, yes! I'd lost something that I'd expected. Something Big. But, my Life, despite "the current condition" didn't and doesn't suck. The experience and the Gift of Life is just too precious to let our conditions, many of which we create, mar our perspective--the total picture of The Goodness. The Joy. The Hope. And, The Blessings of Living. They exist, in Real Time amid what we label as heartache, frustrations and our loss of what we expected....

Journaling yesterday morning, I tried to parse out these feelings once again and decided to come here, vulnerable, open, and share them with you. It was here and on the social media venue of Facebook, where "The Journey with Grace" is also posted, that many readers were extremely kind, generous and gracious,  expressing in the comments on both online sites that they were "sorry" when I humbly and authentically shared the news of Divorce 2.0. Again, I knew, I know, the words, the sentiments of "sorry," were and are a sincere, heart-felt attempt from dear, compassionate people grasping for intangible words to communicate that they wished things had turned out differently for me.

But...Sorry? No, I am not. I am not because I know and I see the Great Divine Scheme in how Life works. This doesn't don me with some magical power that others do not have. There are others who also see their lives this way. It is in the teachings of the ancients and the great teachers of the 19th century, which formed  New Thought. But our culture conditions us otherwise. To Blame. To Pity. To proclaim "Woe is Me." Have I had my moments of sorry or woe-ing me? Oh. Yeah. I've hosted a number of pity parties complete with a band. (Grief is Good. It is Real. It is Normal. It is Necessary.) But then I snapped out of it. I took the handlebars and not the sidecar seat because I know that I am the author of my Life. It, this Life,  does not happen to me or others at random. I am not at the mercy and control of a Sky God who wishes me harm and unhappiness. I am a co-creator in this Life of mine. And when my choices are "less than optimal," as I choose to call them, I have the opportunity to mine the Gold in them. And there is Gold. There is Gold in all of Life. I've found Gold in Autism. I have found Gold in Job Loss. I have found Gold in Grief. And I have found Gold in Divorce. (I even believe there is Gold in cancer. Surely you've heard the stories of the jewels found?) I know with all of my heart that I could not have reached this destination of Now and gained the awareness of past influences on my choices without the mining, without plunging to the depths that I have in my Life. And, that I would not reach the Now of tomorrows had I of not gone down deep and learned what I needed to learn. Now the smart thing is to make sure I pave a path with that Gold that directs me to wiser choices that bring me less pain going forward. But it takes a lot more mining.

I've got perpetual helmet hair these days because of all this mining. But, I've no regret for the hard work of shoveling before me.

Sorry? No. GrateFULLness.

Photo: Leisa A. Hammett, my new patio garden. "Begin Again" stone from my all-time favorite catalog, Isabella.

Grace

 

grace n

A favor rendered. 

A[n...] immunity or exemption; a reprieve. 

Divine love and protection bestowed freely [...].

The state of being protected [...].

Suddenly....Life as I'd known it somersaulted up into the air, spinning. Spinning. Landing me. Abruptly. Crashing me down upon my ear. I was no longer a mother choosing to be at home raising my young child. Instead, I found myself creeping along the interstate amid frantic a.m. commutes to Vanderbilt for early intervention. My daughter had just been diagnosed with autism.

Quickly, I checked myself back into therapy. Old baggage, once stowed, jammed into recesses, had suddenly reappeared demanding me to unpack its' contents so I could travel the arduous journey ahead. My therapist then, told me at least twice, if not more, that someday I'd realize why I'd chosen to name my daughter "Grace." She said this so confidently. So compassionately. Smiling knowingly at me each time she told me this. Even after we parted ways, upon meeting up with her a time or two, even years later, she'd say the same thing. The name "Grace" had been chosen more, she implied, than the fact that one of my college best friends had named her oldest daughter "Olivia Grace," and I liked the middle name so much I copycatted. It was more than the fact that I was enamoured with the old fashioned name of old women from my childhood. More than the fact that Susan Dey's character on L.A. Law was affectionately called "Gracie" by her handsome lover. More than the fact that it was the only name my Grace's father and I could agree upon. More, even, than that grace was the single most defining word for what I believed was the essence of God Divine.

Fifteen. That many years later, battle scars inflicted and healed, not one divorce but two laying in the battlefield of my soul. Both parents now departed....At last. I knew. I got it. Grace....I'd named my daughter Grace because grace...was what I needed for myself....

Mercy. Compassion. And...Grace. May I continually drink them deeply. May I own and embrace them fully for myself. May I show them to you and all those who may cross my path. (I'm learning. There's a curve.) I now realize it truly starts with me--with each one of ourselves...manifesting within first and then pouring into the external. May you, too, find these things for yourself and for our world. Just think what could happen....

I am grateful for this grace.

Namaste.

Divorce 2.0

...This is the blog post that once upon a time I dreaded writing. Back last early June when I moved out of the house I shared with Husband 2.0, I dreaded the thought of coming here and posting this very personal and once very painful news. And then, over the months as I began the process of actively healing, the time that I shared it here could not come soon enough. Not all of the dread of sharing this very intimate bit of news here has dissipated. It's just that Life has gone on in many respects and I've been eager to be authentic here with you, my readers. But paperwork and circumstances beyond my control caused a wait of at least five months before my second divorce was final.

Now I'm not proud to say I've been divorced twice. Oh. No. Nor to share it here. I am living testimony of the culture of today. You know, the voyeuristic, tell-all, tweet it, post it on Facebook, blog about it culture. I've engaged in it readily because this is part of my Art. Without regret. Writing is how I express myself. And to be a writer in the thick of contemporary culture, well, online media is where it's at. I shared here about "The Boyfriend" of three years, who became "The Fiance" and then whom I wedded, making him "Husband 2.0." So, in the spirit of authenticity and of closing this painful lesson-chocked chapter of my Life, I'm sharing this news with you--as soon as I could do so officially. Yes, there's been a hell of a lot of inferences here to divorce and something deep and kinda dark going on in my Life since early May. (And then the day after we went to court to stand before the judge, uncontested, I made a passing reference. January 14 marked 90 days, when in the state of Tennessee, a divorce claim, once filed is official, if uncontested.

The essence of my lifestory to this point, the one I aim to share here and in my books is that it is not what happens to you, to us, to me, but how you, we, I, choose to react to it. Hey, Life Happens. Substitute the second word in that sentence if you like. But even then, perception is up to the individual person living it.

I won't write any gory details here. In my moments of negative fantasies--which usually seem to happen in the shower--I'd post shitty stuff on Facebook. But that is not who I am. And that would not serve anyone--me, Husband 2.0, or you--the reader. I know that I get back what I put out. And I want positivity in my Life. And while this divorce is completely different than the one from Grace's father--The Wuzband versus Husband 2.0...hey gotta have some fun with it all, eh?--overall it has been conducted peaceably. And, I still maintain that is so the way to go if at all possible and I believe it is possible more often than not.

If you've really grasped the essence of what I write about here, what threads through my posts about Life and disAbility again and again, you know that I value a sense of personal Spirituality. That I believe Life is Good. Maybe I've not been so clear that I also believe that there are no mistakes. Okay, I'll concede... maybe...sometimes..."less than optimal choices." But there's that Choice word. And then there's the Perfect word. Something I write about a lot in regards to my daughter with autism. What if it's all Good? What if it's all Divinely Perfect? Perfectly Imperfect? I do believe it is....

The last year-plus was one hell of year.  I turned 50. I remarried. I turned 51, I got divorced again. And in the process, a very integral part of this picture, which I have written about frankly, my last remaining parent died. As I wrote here and here, I could not see some of the patterns that I had unconsciously created in my Life until my father died. His death was a HUGE wake up call. And, I believe that Life gives us those calls and they get louder and LOUDER until we really, really hear them. Until we "come to" and listen.

I believe that sometimes painful things in our Life have to come about to propel us on to our Greatest Good. I'm propelling. Very much so. And I look forward to sharing with you where I am going.  Stay Tuned. I'm wincing now and then, but I'm excited about my New Life ahead. 2012, bring 'er on!

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As of midnight Sunday, I have eliminated the "Journey with Grace" blog category "Marriage 2.0." This is a personal decision I've reached after much thought. None of the posts in that category will disappear from this blog as they were placed in one or more categories upon their creation. 

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"Disappointment to a noble soul is what cold water is to burning metal; it strengthens, tempers, intensifies, but never destroys it."--from Eliza Tabor

The Epidemic of Comparison

"Please. Let's not do this to each other." In an Oprah Magazine article by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love, those are the words said by one mother to another when one mother watches the other organize a scavenger hunt and claims, "I'll never be as good of a mother as you."

Yes, please. Let's not do this, Gilbert follows....And I say, comparison--comparing ourselves to one another particularly as women, today, is Epidemic. Whether it is our mothering, our careers, our special needs parenting...how well we do anything we do. It can be so easy to find someone who does it...Better. Or...that we judge "better."

When I used to scrapbook (as I did for 10 years, amassing about 60 gorgeous, artistically created scrapbooks) one of my Creative Memories scrapbook consultants would assure us scrapbookers that we each have our own life demands and priorities and that comparing how well someone else scrapbooked or how much they got done or how creative or beautiful their pages...it was pointless and unfair to ourselves to compare our accomplishments to anothers'. (You, see, even though I created beautiful albums aplenty, I still compared myself against those whom I judged as doing it "better." The problem was not "them" it was my attitude and how I viewed ME.)

My scrapbooking group leader was so right. In the parenting arena, some parents have more help. Some of have partners. Some of have more physical and emotional energy. To some being a mother comes more naturally. The deal, I think, is not to pick out what we each think we do less well than another, comparing our perceived "lack" to another's perceived abundance--but, rather, to remember, to know and to celebrate and hold dear that which we do best.

It's not about being being as Good As, but Good Enough. We don't have to be "Perfect" in the World's standards. Those ideals are just that and they are not fair. And neither is comparing. To me, the aim is to go within and know one's own strengths. And comparing? Fuhget about it. Here's to a New Year of Knowing what we each do best and bringing that and our Confidence to the Buffet of Life!

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I have written about the dangers of comparison twice on "The Journey with Grace": "The Never-neverland of Comparison"