Today I was supposed to take my eldest to a day of learning to bake with my new co-worker. We set it up a couple weeks back. He was so excited. I picked him up last Saturday from his Dad’s and he was so looking forward to baking. He spent the entire week trying to fix his sleep schedule.
My eldest, he’s more comfortable in the quiet of the night. He always has been. He has never been a “good sleeper”. When he was just born he wouldn’t sleep unless he was lying on my chest, my heart beat the rhythm that calmed him, that reminded him of the womb.
I loved him so much. I love him so much. He came out looking like a tiny little witch. Head full of dark hair. Spooky bright blue eyes. Long wrinkly fingers. I called him my little witch. So I guess my eldest is one of my favourite witches, which I didn’t know until I started writing this. I was just going to talk about my week. My morning. My day.
This past Sunday I sent a message quitting one of the favourite places I’ve ever worked. I had the best bosses. Magical co-workers. Incredible customers. But I had a meltdown there, over salt & pepper shakers. And I thought. I’ve done it. I’ve ruined that place. I can’t go back.
But yesterday I received the kindest message from one of the owners of the shop.
She told me a customer had come to tip me on Monday, and I wasn’t there. That people are always saying nice things about my presence there. That my co-workers like me. That the owners appreciate me. That I belong there. But she also said that she understood feeling overwhelmed. That no matter the decision I made, I would still be welcome there in any capacity.
My whole life I’ve been a neurodivergent human, with chronic illness and an oppositional nature. But I learned early to be kind. I made kindness and curiosity about the world and humans one of my core tenets.
My mother would quote the poem to me.
And I don’t identify as a girl. I’m a non-binary person. I also have been. But part of me…is that girl my mother described. What she was describing was the battle between me and my meltdowns. My parents would take me to places on little sleep, because I, like my eldest, never slept at night. They would make me the flower girl at people’s weddings, a job full of demands, because I was a cute little red headed girl with ringlets. I would look good in pictures and a white dress.
But, I hated having my picture taken. It made me feel…like I was being set afire, shocked, and my body wanted to get away, and I would run. I’d be called dramatic. The demands of being photographed made me meltdown. And when I was a child, I had no choice. So I screamed, I ran, I put on my winter coat and I zipped it up, and I got called impossible, horrible, selfish. I was two. I was three. I was four.
I’m the reason they call those years terrible. Because I am autistic. And no one knew.
But when I was good…I was really really good.
No wonder I have trauma around being told what to do.
So…with my children. When I recognized the things in them that were the things in me as a child…
I didn’t call them horrid.
I gave them coping mechanisms for dealing with a world that wasn’t made for them. A world full of demands. A world that wanted them to sleep at night and be awake during the day.
Instead of time outs I taught them self regulation, and taking time alone. I didn’t punish them for their meltdowns, and I kept them out of public when they had their witching hours. I only took them out when they were “good”. And when they were overwhelmed we would dance together, we would scream, and play the piano loudly. Or we would sit reading and looking at books in silence.
And when I told them to look me in the eyes, like my parents did when I would get in trouble. “Look at me!” they would say and then reprimand me.
Instead of that. I would say “look at me”, and when they did, I would say into their gentle little eyes, “I love you.” EVERY TIME.
And when they got older, I’d say “look at me” and they would respond, “I love you too.”
And so this morning. I told my eldest it was ok. We didn’t have to go to bake. Because he’d been up since midnight.
And I sent a text to my co-worker. And she understood. And she was kind.
And we rescheduled. And there was no shame or guilt or anger.
Only love.
And on Monday I’m going back to work at my favourite place. Because I do belong there.
I am my favourite witch. I am surrounded by my favourite witches. Who use their magic for good.
Heart,
Wake
Thank you for sharing your deeply personal story and struggles. It is amazing how much insight and grace you have. I wish I knew more witches like you when I was raising my little guy. I needed support and understanding, and I only got criticism and dirtly looks. I see now it takes love...just love to raise beautiful humans. Maybe a touch of patience.
I appreciate you with all your delightful eccentricities. I love who you are, enough and wonderful.❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️