There are times when I close my eyes, take a deep breathe, say a prayer, open my eyes and smile.
I read an article once that said that if you smile while unhappy, you can trick your brain into thinking that you are happy. Why the hell not? It's worth a shot.
My work gives me a true sense of joy. I love it. It's therapeutic and logical. I can watch my numbers sing and I lose myself for hours in market trends. I call this my nerd-gasm. It doesn't matter how my day started or ended; I can walk through a bookstore and watch people pick up a book, disregard it and buy another. I try to see a pattern in their choices. My numbers usually support my observations. I feel so satisfied with giving the consumer a great reading experience. I'm proud of what I do.
I'm good at what I do.
I throw myself whole-heartedly into my work during the day. I can never explain it to co-workers. I doubt that they would understand the importance of work for a special needs parent. A job for some people is just a means to an end but for me, it can be my salvation.
There are days that are so difficult.
"Bugabuga! Bugabuga! I need you to come here now! You have to go to school!"
"Ahhh! I don't want to go to school! I'm tired!"
I walk her over to our spot so that I can start dressing her. She doesn't have the balance to put her clothes on herself. When she's tired, she can barely stand and I hold on to her body weight in one hand while trying to put on her diaper with the other hand. She's not trained yet. I try not to think about it anymore. I have to hope that she will get it soon. I have to hope...
We struggle through the morning ritual. I'm slowly combing her hair. She's crying by this time. I feel a huge lump in my throat. I'll never understand why things are so hard for her; I'll never stop wishing that it was easier.
"Mommy! You're hurting me!"
She swings around and punches and pinches my arm. I feel the skin bruise and I feel so, so sad. I close my eyes. I must remain calm. I open my eyes and try to reach her. I try to explain the pain, I'm not sure that she feels pain like I do. She doesn't care either way. She's stimming now.
I grab her hands to stop her. I used to think it was so cute when she put her hands to her face. Her skin feels funny, I look down and see that she is getting a callus on one of her knuckles from biting her hand. I want to cry. Her beautiful little hands are getting affected. She struggles with me. I win. She's ready for school.
She tells me that she doesn't want to be my family anymore. I tell her that I love her anyway. She tears at my heart.
We walk to school and I hug her as she pulls away.
"I love you, Mommy! Have a wonderful day!"
I watch until she is through the doors and out of sight. I roll my shoulders to release the tension. I check my work email and immerse myself for a few minutes-just enough time to regain my composure.
I travel to work shaking off the rough start. I walk into the building and smile.
It's time to lose myself.
