she's a runner she's a track star

Oh hey friends.

Last week, I finally hit breaking point. It’s been three months of nearly endless toddler sensory meltdowns and we haven’t been able to fully get it under “control”— whatever that might mean. We’re also in the middle of making IEP¹ amendments, autism evaluations, and all that’s involved in that. It’s been a lot.

During a meltdown last week, the girls just kept triggering each other and it was this non stop back and forth and I just lost it. I cried for the rest of the day and allowed myself to feel the grief of what we’re going through.

I feel stuck and sad. We can’t travel. We can’t go to the store with them, we can’t go to playgrounds, we can’t even have a movie night at home because of how much they’ve been melting down at night. Nothing has changed as far as routine, eating, or anything like that, it’s just their poor little bodies. They can’t regulate themselves and the older they get, the harder it becomes.

We’re trying to get them into therapies and programs before school starts in the fall, but all of that depends on evaluation results and insurance and finding a place that will take them both and it’s complex and I’m tired.

The good news is that we have a ton of love and support around us. Zach’s mom and stepdad are over almost every week and they’re always dropping things off for us, taking the older kids out of the house for a little bit, and being supportive of our stage of life in every way that they can. If in-laws can be scored, mine are a 10/10. We have friends that are always willing to come over and help in any way I’ll let them. Friends that take the older kids on fun adventures. Friends that drop their teenage daughter off to give me an extra set of hands. Friends who are Special Education teachers who are acting as education advocates for us and as we navigate the IEP process. Friends who send meals, gift cards, coffee, and flowers. Friends who have offered to pay for a nanny or to cover any occupational therapy costs that insurance won’t cover. Friends that check in emotionally to see how we’re doing. Jobs that offer flexibility, empathy, and understanding for our current situation.

I cannot overstate how privileged and loved our family is.

and it’s still brutal.

There are some burdens that can’t be completely lifted off your shoulders, even when you have an entire village of arms. Not that Chloe and Lydia are burdens! They are not. The burden is only in the emotional and mental weight that comes from loving them so much and not knowing how to help them. I want life to be easier for them. I want my older kids to have the attention that they need and deserve. I want our family to move as a unit again, instead of all of these disjointed, chaotic pieces.

And it will. But right now it’s hard. And I’m tired.

I’ve been channeling my own disregulation into physical activity, which is new for me. I tend to go inward and crawl in bed when things are hard like they are right now. Depression is a warm bed and it’s a cup I’m familiar with. Sometimes sadness can be comforting, but it’s a straight shot into darkness for me. When I get in bed with depression, I don’t want to get out. Literally and metaphorically. And sometimes I don’t realize how much I’ve sunk into the dark until someone texts me, “Are you ok?” and I think to myself, no, I want to die today.

It’s as scary as it sounds.

So I’m trying to build new habits and so far, it’s working. I’ve been running. A mile a day, nothing too ambitious, but every time I run I get better and better. I can feel my endurance building. I’m getting faster. I’m going further and further without needing a break. My legs aren’t hurting or itching like they did the first few weeks. When I’m sweating and my heart is beating out of my chest and I’m pushing myself to run half a song longer than I did the last time, the darkness feels further and further away. It’s not as tempting to crawl in bed.

The more I move my body and the stronger I feel physically, the more I feel capable of getting through this. I can do this. If I can birth five kids, survive preeclampsia and an emergency c-section, if I can start running for the first time in my life at 37 years old after a lifetime of avoiding cardio because “anxiety is my cardio” … then I can do this. I am doing this. And I’m gonna to keep doing this.

Or so help me, baby Jesus …

I’m tired of waiting for the fog to lift and the skies to clear. I’m just gonna move through the fog and it will be good.

So we hope, anyway.

1. IEPs - Individualized Education Plans - are specialized plans for children with special needs so they can get the support and services they need in school.