Table For One Please

The jazz elevator music plays over the chatter and clanking of plates and utensils. I sit alone, blissfully so, by the window with water in reach and hands on the keyboard. Today, I write. Today, I recover. Today, I take a step back into myself from a morning spent with an “emotionally fragile” cognitively delayed uncommunicative eight-year-old that if it weren’t for a confirmed blood test I would be convinced is experiencing a hormonal shift.
A little shaky and flustered with PTSD, I sit wondering if my child is bi-polar and how I will handle these outbursts when she is twenty-something years old and weighs over hundred pounds with still the mind of a toddler. The alternative is that she won’t live that long and it is there I stop thinking of everything altogether. There are a thousand hours in the future to worry, and I’m much too optimistic to get stuck in a place of negativity.

I am a warrior.


The secret of warriors though is that we do struggle. Bad things do happen to us too, but we press on— often to the resentment of others.
After dropping off the girls at school, I loaded up my youngest along with his nap mat, backpack and lunch tote into the jogging stroller and we ran to preschool.
I needed the run.
Scheduled for a routine group class at Orange Theory, I instead needed the peace, the open-air. I needed to pound out the stress, to escape my head, to feel the deep gratitude for life that running gives me.
I’m always in workout gear at school drop off and then showered, possibly on trend (in my head at least) and likely in heels at pick-up. With a daily workout schedule, the workout gear is necessary and the shower, nice clothes and even heels has no rhyme or reason other than it’s me. I wake early, I accomplish, and I armor myself— for a run or afterwards for the day.
Why? Because I am a special needs mom. Because I am a warrior.
I don’t have a future without a child, unless the worst happens but see paragraph two that we don’t talk about that. I can’t fantasize about “the day my children leave for college”. I am not allowed to table anything in my life— a workout, dressing in heels for no reason, stealing alone time (even now, stealing time to be a “table for one”).
Now is my time . It’s a gift, and at times possibly a social curse too in that sweeping judgements are easily made as I place that target on my back.

Looking in the mirror, I see a Lululemon stay-at-home mom heading to a workout. I know my 50 pound weight loss, the work it takes, but strangers don’t. To them as I head out after preschool drop off without children, I am “just” that mom--whatever that even really means.
I can’t wear a t-shirt that says, “I used to be fat”, “I push a wheelchair in my spare time”, “I have to workout to literally be strong enough to care for someone.” "Have you read my book? I think the heels are appropriate."
Likewise, when I’m dressed in my heels, showered, hair done with makeup I see the looks I get from other mothers.
No thought-bubble above my head could explain the reasons, the desire, the time it takes— the time that I make for myself because NOW is my time. Not in 15 years, not when the kids are out of diapers, off to school...
And although I can’t wear a t-shirt or have a speech bubble above my head, what I do experience is the shift when I’m pushing the wheelchair.
The looks and snarky comments I normally receive suddenly disappear and are replaced with—pity and awkwardness, at least I internalize it as such. In reality, most people are probably still processing how the ‘Lululemon mom’ or ‘dressed in heels mom’ of yesterday has a profoundly disabled child today. And if they aren’t processing, they are feeling uncomfortable, maybe a little curious or just perplexed how I can push a wheelchair wearing heels.
The shift in how I’m perceived is interesting, frustrating and enlightening. It is interesting in the fact, that unlike many, I have a direct comparison of how the world sees me from day-to-day (‘wheelchair pushing Lululemon mom’ vs ‘fit stay-at-home mom of privilege).It is frustrating for obvious reasons, but I think the statement of “I’m the same person” sums it up.
"Enlightened" is my takeaway because how often must I make the same judgments about people?
I am pushed to do more in life because my life isn’t easy, and the unknown warriors that cross my path daily are one-in-the-same. They are successful. Optimistic. Achieving. They are most likely the ones who wake early (or go to bed late) to have their house (figuratively and literally) in order before they start the day. They might be fit, or on the path there because they love the challenge, the infusion of life and the celebration of health. Maybe they rock heels “just because” or because their private life is full of past and current afflictions and well, heels make every day better— so does a shower, lipstick, taking and I do mean “taking” some me-time to look and in return feel our best.
As my state of nerves returns to normal “pre-psychotic meltdown” levels of Avery’s breakdown this morning, I’m reminded of so much. While our challenges are ongoing, they are fluid and while today might feel overwhelming I am a warrior, a warrior grateful for today because our tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. I am encouraged to rock my workouts, my ‘Lululemon fit mom look’ and my heels every damn day if I so desire, because I am a warrior.
In continuation from my last blog, find your fellow warriors. Trust me, your fellow warriors will always understand, never make you feel less than for being you— and they will rock the day right along with you!