So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Adieu!

When I sat down to write a closing post, this title popped into my head, which is rather funny because it quickly occurred to me that I also started my very first blog post with a line from the same movie! This is how my brain works - a song lyric for every occasion (which is technically an example of echolalia, one of my quirks that could certainly be seen as an autistic trait!). So here we are, full circle back to The Sound of Music. Musicals really do speak to my soul.

After over a year of sharing my story here, I've decided to let my energy flow in other directions. The reasons for finishing my work on this blog are many, ranging from the very practical (for example, my premium subscription to Wix is about to expire and the cost to renew it ($376.71!) currently outweighs the benefits), to the very spiritual (for example, I have come to a point in my healing where thoughts and words are no longer the most helpful way to process my trauma, instead I am drawn to somatic experiences like breathwork, meditation, and kundalini yoga). And then there is the fact that what I originally envisioned this blog to be, a place to share documentation of our low demand life without school, never fully materialized. Documentation is still the main way I track learning in our home, and I do believe that sharing examples of unschooling increases awareness of the benefits of self-directed education, but the external validation I once needed in order to prove (to whom?!) that learning happens without school no longer has the same pull; I know my children are learning, and that is enough. Also, I've always been aware of protecting my children's privacy online, but I have come to believe even more strongly over the last year that children are not content (I especially enjoy learning about this topic from Fran Liberatore on her Substack and Instagram). It's incredibly difficult to disentangle my story from my children's because motherhood was the catalyst for my breakdown, and subsequent growth. I don't know how to honour their right to privacy and also share our learning on this platform. So, for now, it makes sense simply to stop. And, last but not least, our family is finally finding a new equilibrium in the wake of our spectacular burnout. I am finding a new equilibrium in the wake of my spectacular burnout. Burnout, mental breakdown, crisis, a dark night of the soul, a trauma cave, the pit, whatever you want to call the lowest of the low, I have been there. And now, after years of therapy, medication, support groups, childcare, household help, glimmers, self-care, lowered demands, and a complete change in our family's lifestyle, I am not there anymore. Our daily rollercoaster continues, and it always will, but, after years of inner work, I have made an important mindset shift, very well summed up by this graphic:

I am not "back to my old self," that person doesn't exist anymore, but I like getting to know the person in her place. 

I have learned so much from leaders in the PDA parenting space (leaders like Amanda Diekman, Casey Ehrlich, and Kristy Forbes, among many others) who are mothers walking this path everyday, sharing their knowledge and hard-earned wisdom with others. I have learned from the communities of parents that come together to support each other (the deepest work has been done with my amazing Mastermind group over the last six months).  I know that a healthy nervous system is flexible, that becoming dysregulated is a part of the cycle of being human, not something to be ashamed of. I can recognize and name my feelings, not all the time, not perfectly, but I am learning. I know what it feels like in my body when I perceive safety, and I know what it feels like when I don't; both states are inevitable and morally neutral. All feelings are truly ok. I understand that my capacity, and my children's, fluctuates depending on our nervous system states. Whatever we are capable of in that moment is us doing our best, and that is enough. We are enough. I am enough.

Writing and sharing here has been incredibly therapeutic; I felt less isolated and more validated knowing that others knew my story, and processing through these words has contributed to my self-growth substantially. Having a space to share my reflections has been wonderful, but I don't think I need this outlet anymore. And that's ok.

What began four and half years ago as a quest to figure out the baffling behaviour of my oldest child turned into a journey of self-discovery that was both highly unexpected, and highly necessary.

I've come to think of E as a beacon of inner knowing, sent by the universe to teach me how to listen to my inner truth. E's externalized threat response, "Protector X" as he has named it, understands his needs acutely and will fight tooth and nail (literally - I often have the bite and scratch marks to prove it!) to get them met. My threat response, my "Dark Angel" as I call her, is internalized with an inclination to fawn in order to allow me to feel safe. E's default fight response and my default fawn response are two presentations of the same biological response, two sides of the same coin. We both have a sensitive threat response, it just manifests in very different ways. With this understanding, I can have compassion for both of us (and all humans, really, when it comes down to it) in our inevitable dysregulation. And that is how I know I can be ok with whatever is.

So, if E and I are actually so similar, am I PDA? Am I autistic? I think the answer is probably yes. As I have come to understand over the last few years, the traditional view of autism as a social-communication disorder is narrow and outdated; it's more helpful to think of autism as a different way of sensing and perceiving the world. Where women fit on the spectrum, especially late-identified internalizing PDAers like myself, who also have traits of ADHD, is vastly misunderstood and under researched. We do know that neurodivergence is genetic. And, anecdotally, many women discover their own neurodivergence only after becoming mothers to children with diagnoses, not only noticing similarities between themselves and their offspring and connecting the dots, but also because the challenges of mothering in an oppressive society where they are judged and under supported means they are existing outside of their window of tolerance for perhaps the first time in their lives; they are unable to access the skills and coping strategies that worked throughout their lives, and therefore struggle severely. All of this rings true for me. I am still exploring what this newfound awareness of my neurobiology means and exactly where the knowledge will take me, but it certainly helps me reframe my own challenges in a more compassionate light.

So, thank you for being here to read my story. It means so much to me, truly, and I hope you have learned something about neurodiversity along the way. This site will continue to exist via Wix, though not at my own personal domain name anymore, but I don't plan on posting regularly.

I'm going to leave you with a song that a friend shared with me recently. May you all find your voice.

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