what women need to know about lisa gibson and post-partum depression.

This past week, news of two young children dying in their Winnipeg home and the subsequent disappearance of their mother, Lisa Gibson, left many wondering what terrible thing had happened to lead to such a sad end to two innocent lives.

Even more of a mystery -- what happened to their mother?

...Read more on iVillage.ca

iVillage Canada Special Needs Parenting Google Hangout.

As part of the Special Needs Parenting Panel on iVillage Canada, I was asked to join Ijeoma Ross and Lisa Thornbury to discuss the challenges and joys of raising a child with special needs. From the practical (juggling medication and therapy schedules) to the emotional (making time for everyone else), we discussed what it's like to live with our special kids (and had a few laughs).

in other news, i despise winter.

I hate winter. Really, I look forward to a time in my life when I can up and leave Canada from December to March. This particular winter has been a doozy, with me getting a nasty chest infection, followed by spending January in bed due to C. difficile. Yeah, gross. But, in between all that nastiness, some good stuff happened.

My friend Alana got married, and I was her maid-of-honour:

My mom came for Christmas, and she and my little brother made a kick-ass Christmas dinner.

We got a new couch. The kids like it.

Chester, Max's Autism Service Dog, settled right in.

We participated in a documentary about working dogs that will be airing next month.

Scott and I got away for a night without the kids for the first time in four years. We had fun.

Cammie and I went on a visit to visit Jennifer and baby Milo in Ottawa.
So long Winter. You won't be missed.

mental health monday: saturday in the park with cam.

This past weekend, Cam and I went out to Kitchener to visit my dear friend Alana. Besides wanting to check out her new crib down by the lake, I was also going for my first ukulele lesson. Fun, right? It's hard to be sad while strumming the ukulele (more on that later). I dare say, if you aren't smiling, you're doing it wrong. After my lesson, we had lunch at the Boathouse and then took Cam to the water park so I could test out the new polarizing filter I got for my Nikon D3100 ages ago and hadn't even taken it out of it's case yet (shame, shame). Here are the unedited results. I hope they make you smile as much as I did! The tune playing in the background is Emily Remler playing "Strollin'" by Horace Silver.

colouring for adults (or really big kids).

I've written about my love of colouring before. It really is one of my favourite things to do. It feeds my need to create, helps me relax, and when I'm feeling intense emotions, I find that colouring brings me back to centre (well, maybe a little to the left). When I start, I find my pencil stroke is heavy, the colours come out bright and solid. The imprint on my finger where I hold the pencil gets bright pink from the pressure of the wood against my skin, and my hand starts to cramp. I shake it out and make a conscious effort to loosen my grip and fill in the colour with a lighter, more even pressure.

I prefer whimsical drawings, with a fair amount of space to allow for shading. This first page is out of the American Girl: Design My Me "Tropical". They have another book I love just as much with the same title called "Wings". The collector in me is always searching for new colouring books. I have found the best colouring books are on amazon.ca (price wise and selection). The majority of colouring books with crisp, high quality, white paper available in bookstores are activity/sticker books, and more kid oriented.

I liked this fashion colouring book so much, I ordered a copy for my friend Tracy's daughter, Allie, who is a budding fashion designer. It's fun to colour in designs and then search for them online to see what they really look like. The drawings have a lot of white space which allows for more creativity and even additional drawing.

This Fancy Nancy "Girl On the Go" colouring book is for days when I am feeling like more detailed colouring. These drawings take more time because there are so many small details. I haven't done much colouring in it. I guess that shows where my head is at. But the drawings are super cute and a lot of fun.

The colouring book that has surprised me the most is "Islands". I ordered it on a whim and while the poetry that accompanies the drawings doesn't really do it for me, the hand-drawn abstract drawings, like "Crescent Moon" are fun and free and not very demanding from a brain power perspective. I have volume 2 waiting in the wings for when I complete it. That's also something I do... I complete colouring books. But I pick the pages I want to colour as the mood strikes (not front to back, or back to front like I read magazines). 

After exploring a bunch of different brands of coloured pencils, I have settled on a few favourites. Note, I like to support my local art supply store for my actual materials. Prismacolor is a terrific pencil, but it is temperamental and the leads break more than other brands. Also, they are pricey, so watch for them on sale. I have a small box of the Prismacolor Verithin, which have harder leads and are good for filling in small, detailed areas. Koh I Noor Woodless pencils are terrific for colouring large spaces and very smooth. The Koh I Noor Polycolor pencils are also excellent - fewer lead breakages, but not as luxurious as the Prismacolor. The one brand I haven't tried that has been recommended to me is Faber-Castell. I may pick up a few from the open stock at the art store next time I'm there just to see how they compare.

If you're interested in checking out more of my colouring, I have created a flickr album. Of course, these are just a sample - I have many more colouring books that I would like to feature (including my new Gangsta Rap colouring book). Yes, I am a 12-year-old boy on the inside.

we live on a mountain.

I always thought I would travel the world, experience different cultures, dip my toes in every ocean. So far in my 37 years on this earth, that hasn't happened. Many of my friends have led far more adventurous lives. Touring Australia and New Zealand for a year, moving to Japan, honeymooning in Paris, enjoying extensive family trips every summer - I'd be lying if I said I'm not envious. But something I have learned through my very limited travel, is that "Wherever you go, there you are" (Imitation of Christ by Thomas à Kempis). What this has come to mean to me is that no matter where you are, be it in Iceland or Toronto, you are the same person with the same joys and sorrows. You may find inspiration staring across vast glaciers, but the most important journey we must all take, is within ourselves.

There are days when I feel very much at peace with my life. I have a family in the suburbs. I have a son with autism who has changed the way I view most things in this world. I am mostly happy to take things at a medium pace. My brain runs away on me often and when I chase after it, on whatever tangent it has decided to take, I feel as though I am being swept away with the tidal wave of blood pumping through my veins too fast. So I go along for the ride, to see where I will travel on this particular afternoon. Will it be to explore the patterns of my life that I keep repeating, over and over? Or maybe I'll rush turbo speed into the future, mapping out all of the possibilities and what ifs. There is always the possibility of sinking down to the murky depths of the past, an endless corridor of recollections. And I can do all of this without leaving my home.

Nobody ever asks me about these "trips". As they regale me with tales of their travels and share photos of their loved ones in front of well known monuments, I secretly think of the journey I have taken in recent weeks. And I send light and love to my friends, light and love to the universe, and hope that some of it comes back to me before my next great adventure from my fingertips to my toes.

tmi tuesday: don't snort your wellbutrin up your nose.

Wednesday Burrito Lunch Date

After two visits with a psychiatrist, he was able to determine that I am not bipolar, and I am not schizophrenic. In fact, he found me to be a bit of a conundrum. I don't have ADD or ADHD, and yet I am still extremely depressed. I don't fit into a pretty little diagnosis which would mean a clear cut path on what medications I should be taking.

The conclusion he came to, is I have a lot of stress, a harder life than most, and I have a legitimate reason to feel sad. Medications are helping to keep my head above water and manage my anxiety. And I will probably always need them to manage. But I don't need more medication to help me feel better. I need therapy.

So, after agreeing to commit to attending weekly therapy, he filled out my prescriptions and told me that after this session, I didn't really need to see him anymore. One of my prescriptions is Wellbutrin, and he reminded me not to crush it and snort it up my nose. Say what? I guess his patients at the prison take their meds in a different way than me. I like to wash mine down with a nice pinot gris. I'm sure if he reads my blog he'll be horrified by my candour, but as I told him, I write as part of my therapy and also to help break the stigma that mental health is a dirty little secret to be ashamed of. Every time I write about my journey with depression, I receive many emails from people who are also struggling. So, word to the wise, don't crush up your Wellbutrin and snort it up your nose. But if you do, email me and let me know what happens as I am a little curious!

max is six!

Max turned six years old today. I am not sure I believe it. I remember the day he was born like it was yesterday, yet the last six years feels like it has lasted twenty. How can this be? I guess we've been through a lot. Max decided to take the day off today. I got the dreaded call from school at 9:45am that he was not feeling well. We spent the day chilling out at home. Well, he chilled and I stressed out wondering what was going on. Appendix? Urinary tract infection? Ear infection? Birthday blues? Since it was raining slush, we played it low key and decided to reschedule the birthday partying for another day. Max is still working on the whole "I'm six" business anyway, so it's all good.

If six has come in like a lamb, then credit that to five going out like a lion. This past month Max fell in the playground and knocked two of his top teeth loose (the Thursday before Easter long weekend no less). Luckily, our family dentist squeezed him in and we were able to get him into a dental surgeon that afternoon. The problem was that Max had eaten that morning, so he couldn't be given any form of anesthesia. The teeth were loose though, so if he monkeyed around with them he could swallow them and choke. They had to come out, so out they came, without any freezing. I am no fan of dentists, so it was zero fun wrapping myself around Max while the surgeon pulled the loose teeth out. I am only now getting used to Max's less toothy grin and I'm 100% certain Max recovered before I did. The only real positive about the situation was that we were blessed with truly wonderful medical professionals who showed incredible humanity in helping Max. The oral surgeon, Dr. Pye, even called the next morning to check and see how Max was doing. Proof there are angels everywhere.

Max, I could not be more proud of you. This past year you have continued your rock star success and inspired more people than I suspect either of us will ever know. You love with your whole heart, and you are loved in return by everyone who is blessed enough to spend time with you. I dare say you have the whole world in your hands. I can't wait to see what this next year brings. Thank you for being my son.

dirty little secrets.

After my last post, a few people expressed concern about the fact that I divulged that I suffer from depression and I am seeking medical treatment for it, in such a public forum. Will future employers google me and find out and not want to hire me? Maybe. Would I want to work for an employer that found my willingness to be open and candid as a sign of weakness? Not on your life. Not talking about depression gives it power. Being ashamed of something that is not my fault is exhausting.

One of my favourite women in the world is research professor Brené Brown, who I had the pleasure of meeting in Nashville last year. On the hard days, I remember her words "Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light". I have a lot of light, I just have to let it out. It's hard work, diving into the ugly stuff. But that hard work, it won't last forever. The potential of what's to come makes it worth it.

And I finally did get to meet with the doctor to discuss my medication (thankfully in the outpatient clinic and not in the psych ward). Our first step? Reduce my meds and a referral to a therapist. I'll see him again in a few weeks to see how I'm doing from a medication standpoint. I can't be ashamed of being depressed any longer. I can only be proud that I'm standing up and taking it on in a way that empowers me and others.

sunny day, sweepin’ the clouds away.

Have you ever witnessed something so raw, so base, that you realized that everything you thought about what "the bottom" looked like was not only wrong, but truly ignorant? Friday found me in the mental health ward of my local hospital. Not because I was being checked in (like I have often joked about and made light of), but because I was trying to figure out where the psychiatrist I was supposed to have an appointment with was hiding. Turns out my appointment time had been changed and nobody had told me. As I felt myself start to get irritated with the nurses sitting behind the safety glass, I looked behind me and saw a woman dressed only in a hospital gown.

She said nothing, her eyes were vacant. I smiled at her, not knowing what else to do, and she tilted her head slightly and shifted from one foot to the other. She was a wisp of a thing, and I could taste her sadness. Before long a nurse arrived and handed her two small plastic cups and told her one was shampoo and the other was body wash. The woman accepted the cups in a way that told me this was not the first time her toiletries had been doled out in suicide safe receptacles. She turned and disappeared through a pair of doors, and my heart hurt for her. Without thinking I sent out a prayer to her that she would get better and get her life back.

The reason I was there that day was merely to discuss my medication and a get a second opinion for my doctor. I've been feeling "not myself" (it's been a while, I'm not sure I'd recognize her if I saw her) for a long time. I'm not thinking of doing anything radical like harming myself, but I have days where I struggle to function. If it weren't for my kids, I would probably have become a hermit by now. Most of the time I'm exhausted, I have a lot of trouble focussing, my motivation is out the window and get extremely anxious about things that I can't control. I manage to cover these fun symptoms up when duty calls, but after the fact, I'm so tired from pretending, it takes longer than it should to pull myself together to do it again.

I'm writing this, not for you to think "Wow, Kat's a nut job" or "How unprofessional of her to smear her public persona with this type of information". I am writing this because for far too long, when asked "How are you?", I have answered "Great". And I'll probably continue answering "Great" because that's what people want to hear. But at least in one place, I have started to say what is really on my mind. That I'm not so depressed that I need to be checked into a hospital, but I do need to keep a close eye on it and be truly honest about how hard I struggle.

By the way, when I finally tracked down my doctor, he apologized for the mix-up and I responded "If this is the worst thing that happens to me today, than I'm doing okay". He gave me a funny look, and didn't respond. Go figure. I guess he isn't phased by seeing what I saw. I think I'll stop joking about checking myself into the hospital.

a chain of flowers.

My mom and dad are in town for a quick visit from the west coast this week. Since she is the one who nurtured my love for the arts, I really wanted her to come to my weekly painting class. It's rare for us to get time where it's just the two of us, so getting a couple of hours with her was a special treat. There was something soothing about getting to sit with my mom, create, have quiet conversation, laugh at the terrible muzak being piped through the store, and share in the learning experience. As you can see, we have very similar styles. And neither of us completed our paintings (all that quiet conversation, I suppose). I only wish she lived closer so we could go together every week.

mental health monday: when were you happiest?

Recovering from this pneumonia is a trip. I was going to say it's a son of a bitch, but in light of the photo of myself and Max right after he was born, that would probably be inappropriate. I am moving slooooow, which makes me completely inefficient and gives me way too much time to think about things I typically avoid thinking about by keeping myself on the move. There is a certain heaviness to me that I find terribly unappealing. I feel like I'm looking all around me for things to make me happy, and coming up short. I've been told that pneumonia is something that takes a while to bounce back from and to be patient and not take myself too seriously. I suck at being patient, and tend to take things way too seriously, so this, compounded with a 10 day cycle of gut-rotting antibiotics have been especially delightful.

One of Cammie's favourite things to do is look at pictures (preferably of herself). She doesn't get that from me. We stumbled upon this picture, and it struck me that I was so happy at this moment. Like, nothing else mattered, to heck with imperfect relationships and the toilet that doesn't quite flush right and the crazy amount of money I am owed and owe others. At this moment, I am holding my first baby, and he is perfect. I am a wee bit stoned and very tired, and oh my god, look at these little fingers! It was a perfect moment, and a tough one to top. Since I am currently struggling with getting better, with the black dog of depression nipping at my heels to boot, these are the things I am doing my best to focus on. Also, when Max tried to open the locked bathroom door yesterday he announced "the bathroom is occupied" (which made me smile). I suppose some moments aren't perfect, just humorous.

embrace the journey, forget about the destination.

Results are very important to me. In fact, perfection is preferred, and planned for. Even the things I do to "relax" are about creating a final product that will be pleasing. Cooking a meal that will taste good to everyone. Working out so I can look like the folks in the P90X dvds (a girl can wish). Taking a photo that will accurately capture how beautiful my children are. No matter what, I'm always scoring myself and internally telling myself how I can improve next time.

What if I didn't care about the results at all? If I had nothing invested, except the time it took to sit and breathe? Risky, for me anyway.  I don't have a lot of extra time on my hands. When I find a spare moment to drink a cup of coffee, I find myself gazing up at the kitchen ceiling and reminding myself that come summer, I need to put a fresh coat of paint on it. It's been a long time since I did something just for the experience, where I didn't care if I was good at it or bad or what anyone thought.

I started thinking about what I would enjoy doing that would be something where I could truly embrace the journey without a care in the world of where I was headed. Wandering through Michael's, I overheard an announcement about a painting class. Perfect. I know nothing about painting. I don't need to be a good painter. It doesn't matter if my seascape looks like a murky bog or my fruit bowl is mistaken for a toaster oven. Why the hell not?

The first class was an interesting experience. Sitting at a table, in the middle of Michael's with my lovely instructor, I learned about how to hold a brush, blend paints on the canvas, and when to use what stroke. It was fun. For two hours, I was able to let go and just "be" (and was serenaded by a local adult contemporary radio station to boot).

I painted a tree, which for me, was fitting. It looks like a tree (or maybe a hat). Who cares? Certainly not me.

tearing down christmas.

I find solace in taking down all of my Christmas decorations after the new year. I breathe a sigh of relief with every breakable ornament I wrap up, sorting through stockings, folding the poinsettia table cloth and snow man napkins, and figuring out how to get the nutcracker back into his box. If there were any champagne left in the house, I would have finished it off, as if to celebrate making it through another Christmas.

For the most part, I love the holiday season. And it's way better with kids. This year we saw (most of) a Christmas movie in the theatre, made gingerbread cookies (and ate them before we ever got around to icing them), and listened to Christmas music every time we got in the car. There were several days where we didn't get out of our pyjamas, and we finally managed to dial back our spending.

Of course, the things that stress me out every Christmas still stressed me out. Well, maybe they stressed me out a little less, but that may have been general apathy, who knows? I'm hoping it's growth and perspective that have taught me that if I don't get it all done the world won't end and if someone does or doesn't call me, I shouldn't take it personally because it has more to do with them and their "stuff" than me.

One thing I did this year that I haven't done (ever) is finally repair the box of broken ornaments I hold on to because I just can't bear the idea of throwing them away. It was just me, my krazy glue, and a dozen decorations that had seen better days. I successfully fixed all but two (which went back into the box for next year). The rest of them, they weren't perfect, but they will live to see another Christmas.

the big kahuna of depression.

As I reflect back on what was 2011 consider what I will strive for in 2012, the elephant in the room is "depression". Unfortunately, it played a dominant role in 2011 and put a damper on some incredible experiences and opportunities. It made me doubt myself and hate myself and held on with all its might no matter what I tried to do to shake it. Thankfully, my doctor, family and friends are a patient and supportive bunch and they stuck by me while I worked through this "big kahuna of depression".

The fun thing about meds is that you don't just magically start taking a new one and stop taking an old one and KAPOW everything is all better. You have to wean yourself off the old med, then ramp up on the new med, and then wait about two months for the new med to get into your system fully to see if it works. And if it doesn't work, then you are back to square one. I should also mention that the side effects of stopping/starting new meds are a real treat - tummy issues, weight gain, sleeplessness and exhaustion. Super fun, I know. And before you start telling me I should just eat right and exercise, let me invite you to go have sex with yourself. If it were that easy, I'd be Tony Horton's girlfriend.

I am hesitant to say this, but I think I may finally be on the right combination of meds, and I have made some personal decisions that are helping me feel more optimistic. Helping myself feel better is not just about taking medication, it is about working on how I communicate, not avoiding conflict, and reaching out when I need a hand. By no means do I think I have depression licked, not by a long shot. But I seem to have finally reached a point where I have my meds right and feel strong enough to deal with some of the emotional garbage that has been cluttering my happiness. Here's to 2012.

batgirl to the rescue.

One of the things I really looked forward to before I had kids was getting to celebrate the holidays with them. Because my first child has autism, "celebrating" has always been somewhat augmented to meet Max's needs. We still celebrated, but Max didn't get excited about Christmas or Halloween or the Easter Bunny. He still received gifts, was dressed up in costumes and had a chocolate bunny to munch on, but it really felt like we were going through the motions and doing it for the sake of doing it. I'm glad we celebrated and helped Max experience it in his own way, but I had no idea how excited kids could/should/would get over simple things like carving a pumpkin.

Now that Cameron is 3.5 years old, she gets really excited about holidays. In early September she informed me that she was going to be Batgirl and Max would be her "side kicker" Robin for Halloween. I waited a few weeks and asked her again to make sure she hadn't changed her mind, and she stuck to her guns. I went ahead and ordered the costumes. October rolled around, and suddenly every grocery store in our area was exploding with pumpkins. Cameron wanted to know when we would get our pumpkin and how would we carve it and do we put candy in the pumpkin? She could hardly contain herself. The day before Halloween I finally bought a pumpkin and Cam and I set to work on carving it.

I thought she would be willing to reach into the pumpkin and pull out the guts for me, but she wanted no part of it. She was more of a cheering section than anything else. And after months of feeling so depressed I could barely haul myself out of bed, I felt a glimmer of joy. When I finished carving the pumpkin, we tested it out with a candle and she was SO HAPPY. It was contagious. I found myself looking forward to taking her out trick or treating, to witnessing her pure joy in something as simple as an amazing Halloween display, and getting candy just for knocking on a door and saying "trick or treat" (actually, that is kind of cool). On the big day, Max was sick, so her side kicker Robin would have to live to see another day. Regardless, I think I had almost as much fun as Cam did. The day after, I tried to hold onto some of that joy, grasping at anything that could propel me forward. Depression is an uphill battle, with the weather and my body conspiring against me. But I find myself feeling like I can muster up enough energy to at least try, which is more than I can say for how I was functioning last month. So, thank you Batgirl, for saving the day. Let's do it again at Christmas.

kids have no respect for depression.

I was reading Allie Brosh's blog, "Hyperbole and a Half" today and surprise, surprise -- she also suffers from depression. I identified with everything she said. I remember how before I had kids, I too could sink into months and months of never-ending sadness. Before kids, I could just say "Screw it" and indulge in all the depression my little heart desired. But now that I have kids, I don't get to let myself hit rock bottom anymore. See, my kids, they have no damn respect for depression. Ingrates. With these little tikes depending on me, I don't get to wallow and I don't get to stay in bed all day. I think the only thing they might tolerate is if I didn't bathe, but even I have a two day limit before I fold and take a shower. Today, instead of laying on the couch and buying them $50 worth of iPad apps to keep them quiet while I watched all of the episodes of Criminal Minds I have recorded, I decided to shed my Zombie Mommy costume and take them to the park. I even brought my camera to document it (you know, proof). They had a good time. I got some fresh air (a good thing, no?). We all got worn out. Good thing some of my photos turned out.

letting go of the shame of depression.

Most people I know are uncomfortable talking about depression (theirs or mine). With all of the teen suicides in the news as of late, I think that we need to get over ourselves and talk about the hard stuff. While bullying may have been the catalyst of what brought these teens to the breaking point, it was depression that actually caused them to take their own lives.

Admitting to being sad about something is one thing. But truly copping to suffering from depression is like laying every personal weakness out on a table for all to see and letting people stand and judge you. It’s even worse when you are someone who people think is really together, tough, and able to handle whatever comes her way. Once they get over the shock that you are depressed, people often feel duped. If they had the guts to say it out loud, they’d say “So, all of this time, you’ve been pretending to be happy, but you’re just a big liar”. And to that I would answer, it’s actually a little of a) and a little of b). I pretend to be happy in an attempt to make you more comfortable and to trick myself into not being depressed. It sort of works, up to a point.

Depression is an ugly disease. And because it is so misunderstood, those who suffer from it often feel tremendous shame. Depression makes me lazy and selfish, throws a grey blanket over my universe and warps everything good in my life into something I don’t deserve. That’s why it’s so important to talk about depression. If we would all just talk about it, let go of our shame, the tolerance and acceptance would be more effective than all of the medication in the world. Which is not to say we don’t need medication, but you catch my drift.

There are days when all I can think about is how badly I want to get back into bed and sleep. Not because I’m physically tired, but because the world is just too overwhelming. I typically try to hide this from those I don’t know well, but I have started being candid with the people I am closest with. Even though there is nothing they can do to “fix” me, at least they know that I’m struggling. They can give me a hug, squeeze my hand, or even just say, “I’m sorry you are feeling so sad. Let me know what I can do to help”. It’s also important to let people in on how you’re feeling because it’s easy for others to take you being down or sad personally, as if they have somehow caused it. By letting them know you are going through a rough patch, they can help you turn your day around, instead of worrying that they have done something to cause your sadness.

I say all of this not to make you feel sorry for me, but to help those who also suffer from depression. Reach out to those around you. Go to your doctor and ask for help. Talk to a professional. Feeling sad all of the time is not normal. You don’t have to live each day wishing for it to “just be over already”. Life is too short to spend it feeling bad. Let go of the shame.

ten minutes.

If you had to select ten minutes as the most important and influential slice of your life, what would it be? This question was posed to me by Jeff Pulver at lunch on Saturday, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

I can’t narrow it down to a single ten minutes slice. It’s more like two separate five minute slices. The first would be the initial time I sat down to write a blog about my son Max, and his impending diagnosis of autism. It was a topic I had never broached in a public forum before. Writing about it would have made it real, far before I was ready to accept that my child had autism. I pushed it down for a long time, until denying what was happening became more work than acknowledging my fears of the unknown and accepting that everything was not okay.

My reason for writing about my son being diagnosed with autism wasn’t noble. It was simply my need to express the feelings that were churning inside me that I couldn’t say out loud for fear of breaking down. It was cheap therapy. It was a way to reach out for support without asking for it directly. When I look back at those initial posts, I feel the rough edges, the rawness of it all. Trying to be strong, figure out what the hell I was supposed to do, and overwhelmed by what the future held. And there was always the underlying, unspoken fear of my depression creeping in and swallowing me whole.

People I’ve never met have told me they think I’m inspiring for sharing our journey so candidly. They have no idea that I’m not inspiring in the least. I’m just a mother trying not to drown, doing the best I can to survive. If reading my posts helps even one person, that’s a bonus. It certainly wasn’t what I sought out to do when I started.

The second five minute period came 2.5 years later when I got laid off from my job. Laid off/canned/fired? Who even knows – I certainly don’t care. I had known that it was time to make a career change for a long time. My family needed someone who could catch all the fly balls that get pitched at us on a daily basis. I needed to be that person. I wanted to be that person. But I also needed to make a living and feed my creative spirit. I couldn’t do this from a 9 to 5 desk job. Trying to was killing me.

I remember walking out to my car after I got the old heave ho, feeling like the weight of the world had been lifted off me. The universe was giving me yet another opportunity to learn, and this time I knew I would embrace it instead of turning a blind eye. Within a week I had an opportunity lined up that would allow me to work from home with flexible hours. Within a month I was also getting steady freelance writing work. It all fell into place very easily. I have never felt more fulfilled professionally. And now I don’t cringe when my son’s school phone number appears on my call display.

Without the first five minutes, there would be no second five minutes. It was my life being turned on its head, and deciding to find a way to make it all work – even make sense – that forced me to be honest and make changes. I know that if Max did not have autism, had I not been forced into the world of special needs parenting, that I would still be doing the same unfulfilling job today. I would have been unsatisfied and terribly unhappy. Certainly there would be less stress, but I would have no perspective about what truly matters. I would be a smaller person than I am today.

This brings me to an interesting crossroad. I know I can’t change Max. Fundamentally, he is an individual who has autism. I wish he didn’t have autism, I really do. But I am grateful to him for teaching me about what matters. I am grateful to him for showing me how strong I am. Most of all, I am grateful that because of Max, I discovered that being happy is a choice. I choose to live a full and happy life, whatever that looks like. If I never have an empty nest, if I am always broke, none of that matters. Every morning I am greeted by my children and reminded that I am incredibly blessed to have been afforded challenges that have taught me how to truly live. Not bad for ten minutes.

a moment with max.

Max in October 2008

He looked skyward, turned his palms face up, and stated "It's raining". 

Such a simple observation, but an observation nonetheless. And it happened today, at 12:20pm in our driveway. We've been on this autism journey with Max for over 4 years now. First seeking out a diagnosis, and then a relentless course of treatment that continues to this day.

It's little peeks into Max's personality such as this that keep me going. Hearing from his therapists that he is blossoming in his social groups, seeing him giggle with his sister as she tickles him awake from a nap, and witnessing beautiful moments when he is fully aware and connected to his surroundings make my heart swell.

He has helped me in more ways than I have helped him. Without Max, I would have never found my true voice as a writer. In fact, I am beginning to think that my early pursuit of music was to give me the tools to understand how to best reach my unborn son. And most of all, he is a daily reminder of what truly matters in life -- it is about the journey and not the destination. Who even knows what the destination is anyway?