Thank you for sharing. I experience many of these things as well. It used to be no one talked about or even recognized any of these traits in women. We are just now learning and understanding more about ourselves. Take care!!
I'm guessing that many of us in the library world are similarly wired, and that's why library folks felt so much like my people. You take care, too, and thanks for letting me know that you're here.
I love the puzzle in this. Do you think a puzzle knows the places it has been sliced or just considers itself one big picture?
I am struck by the way you describe seeing the puzzle pieces and others seeing you. And then the discovery of how things feel for you that fit together like those last pieces of puzzle that finally made sense in context. Seeing ourselves in greater context really is the work of a lifetime, isn’t it?
Safe travels! Thanks for this— a profound and welcome gift in the midst of the mayhem. Xoxo
You ask the best questions, Emily. I am going to ponder both of yours as I work on part II. I'm thinking we are all puzzles--one big picture made up of so many pieces.
Thank you for receiving and responding to my words, always a profound and welcome gift, too. Whether in mayhem or calm. (Who am I kidding? What even is calm any more?)
So happy to see them in my inbox. And calm right now seems to be an elusive internal island I stumble on occasionally, and only when I stop looking for it. Have a great visit. Can’t wait for more of this conversation!
I've become a little too invested in your puzzle question, Emily! So many possibilities to consider. lol I love how you've synthesized what Rita did here.
Whatever I am, I manifest very differenty: adaptation before everything. I intuitively absorb the "rules" and follow them. That costs me the knowledge of my own values and desires. And your piece helped me to see the compounding effect of *met* expectations for me. Thank you.
Thank you for telling me about your experience. Part two is going to address that compounding effect. I met expectations for a long time, too. Until I couldn’t any more.
I’m gonna bring you a Liberty Puzzle—handmade in Colorado. They are so cool.
I love the structure of this. That point where it goes back to puzzles. “This essay will not become a 1,000 piece puzzle, but it could.” I love your writing, Rita.
I have that food thing! Just happened on Tuesday. I so get the, “yeah, but it’s lower case,” thing.
Enjoy your daughter & travels!
Later in the morning, after making the bed:
I was thinking while I was making the bed, "I wonder what puzzle I'd bring to Rita," and then I was thinking about the refusal to capitalize things (trauma v. Trauma, writer v. Writer, artist v. Artist, etc...), and then I thought about accumulations, and then I thought, "microagressions, there's a reason people talk about microagressions, and their impact, because the impact is from accumulations," and of course, so too the impact of capitalism comes from accumulation, in the way that private wealth does, or in the way paychecks do not. In this way, everything that is lower case becomes upper case eventually. If I write enough, for example, I will become a writer whether I call myself a writer or a Writer, and the accumulated words will be proof enough. Which is, in the end, what a puzzle does, or is.
I love the implication that I get to see you to get that puzzle! And thank you for letting me know you see the structure and that it works for you. Apparently, that food thing can come from issues with interoception--being aware of internal states of being. I think that comes up for me most when I am deep into something and focused only on it. I am working on the food thing because I know it's linked to my migraines!
And your thoughts on lower case/accumulation...you're onto something important. It's making me think about a piece of writing I read this week from another writing friend, Elizabeth Beggins, on the idea of sacrifice. She explores what we recognize as sacrifice and what we don't. (https://www.elizabethbeggins.com/p/what-are-we-willing-to-admit) We tend to recognize the extreme kind, but not the quieter, long-term ones that just become part of a life. You are so right: everything that is lower case does become upper case eventually. And now I'm thinking about why/how things are so often not seen/identified in women, and how that is connected to lower case ways of experiencing all kinds of things.
Yes, yes, yes! For me, it was the book Unmasking Autism, which I read "to better understand my child." When I told my therapist that it had made me cry, which was strange because "I'm obviously not autistic," she said, "What makes you think you're not autistic?"
I love the way the form of this essay mirrors how this realization comes together: in pieces, over time, as we review these apparently disconnected moments from our personal history and/or "quirks" about ourselves that don't mean anything, really, in isolation. Until you lay them out side by side, and start to see the pattern.
Yes, to all that you've said! I first read a book 20 years ago (Not Even Wrong, by Paul Collins) that was my first hint that my brother and I had important commonalities. It made me cry, too--and still, I didn't see the full picture. Maybe because I had a lot of experiences with therapists who didn't see it, or because none of the pieces seemed big enough. I'm so glad you had a therapist who seemed to see you and could help you see yourself. You are so right that it can take time to put all of our pieces together.
Rita, you've put into (lovely) words how I experience puzzles, and now I want to get back to the one I've left unfinished at the cottage. Sometimes my eyeglasses get in the way (because they're dirty? Not quite the right prescription?), and I have to peer closely with my glasses on my head, searching for that little spot of colour.
I too have noise, smell, and light sensitivities. Sometimes the light sensitivity clashes with puzzling –– I'll resist, as long as possible, turning the lights up to see the pieces well enough at night. And I smell things no one else seems to notice, it can be quite unpleasant and annoying. The food thing, desk organization system, my dad calling me Spacey Tracey, crowd avoidance, the fingers –– who needs manicures when you can push your own cuticles back? I relate to so much of what you wrote here Rita, and like Emily and Monica, I love the puzzle structure and how you've puzzled pieces, words, and life. xoxo
I can so relate to the light sensitivity clashing with puzzling! I hate overhead lights, and I like dim lights at night. Not compatible with seeing the details of puzzle pieces at all. 🙂 And smells--can hardly stand to be around perfume, and I buy unscented everything. We should go on a writing retreat together; sounds like we would be so compatible in our sensory needs! I'd love to do a puzzle at your cottage with you.
When we travel, I ask for air fresheners to be removed from the premises and I bring my own unscented soap and shampoo bars. We probably would be good travel companions! You’re welcome to visit anytime! Writing retreat in Canadian cottage country?
Rita,,I just love your writing...how you braid your puzzles pieces in with the discovery/awareness of pieces of yourself. This essay is illuminating to me, and now I'm down a rabbit hole of myself (I clicked on the article "Unmasking Autism and ADHD.) Ive been diagnosed with ADHD, also, I wondered for quite a long time ago that I might be on the autism spectrum, but I was married to a man on the spectrum for 32 years—bound through marriage yet alone. I've been assured, over the years, that I am not on the spectrum, but some things, like the light and sound sentivities, overwhelmed with socializing, and particularly the article describing the war between ADHD and autism resonate with me. Masking is one of my superpowers.
Trisha, thank you so much for seeing the writing as well as the content. It's so great to be read by writers ❤️ I have learned so much in recent weeks through Bridgette Hamstead's substack, and I feel like the autism/ADHD connection is the puzzle piece that's been missing all my life. AuDHD is not in the current DSM, and I think understanding of it is new/emerging. Masking was one of my superpowers, too--or so I thought. Though I didn't recognize what I was doing as masking. Now I'm trying to learn how to unmask. A big project! Glad to know you're down in that rabbit hole with me.
So many swirling thoughts, Rita, and so much that has hit home. I have always wondered what the heck was wrong with me, but until my early 50s I didn't have the words or the knowledge to make sense of what I was feeling or to explain what I was doing. For what it's worth, I know what it is to be on the receiving end of casual cruelty (the pronouncement made by that school counsellor; the utter lack of empathy displayed by your second husband; your dad's thoughtless words)—I see you, and my heart goes out to you. I'm glad you have a healthy means of self-regulation to help you during especially fraught or low moments, and as always I marvel at the ability you have to weave together the literal and the figurative and to craft such beautiful essays.
Wishing you a wonderful visit with your daughter, Rita.
I just want to say that nothing is wrong with you, Marian. The most affirming thing I'm getting from reading Hamstead's writing, especially, is an understanding that my differences are not pathology. They are just differences. They are seen as pathology because the world is organized around those with a different neurology. It is the world that is wrong, not us. Not you. I've long believed that in theory, but it's hitting differently now. I'm finally beginning to internalize it. I think the anxiety and depression so many of us struggle with is a rational response to the world we live in and how we experience it. Thank you for always seeing me and my writing, Marian. For journeying through this life with me, through our words, no matter all the miles that separate us. (The visit is wonderful, thank you. I know you know.)
This is beautiful writing, Rita. The structure is exquisite. My heart was with you the whole way. You pulled me into the rabbit hole, looking for the missing piece I suspected all along was going to be there. That's pretty masterful. What a journey. As a long-time high school teacher, I completely relate to the experience of becoming a problem to a new admin, before you have even met them. I thought it was a particular thing of school culture, but now, of course, I see it must be everywhere. When the pandemic hit, and we all had to move online overnight, I left my school of 18 years for an easier environment. It was a good decision, I bet yours was too. It's so easy to forget how difficult that was.
Thank you, Susan, for letting me see how you see the writing. That means so much to me. And how I would love to sit and have a long conversation about schools and what Covid helped us see. Yes, the pandemic broke me, but not in the ways most people would think. It was seeing how impossible things had been before Covid that made the idea of going back to that way of working/being feel impossible. The decision is a mixed thing for me. So good in some ways, but financially not great. It can be hard to know how to best take care of ourselves. I'm still figuring that one out. I'm so glad that you were able to leave and get to a place that's better for you.
rita, first, beautifully written and moving. Painful, but hopeful. I love the puzzle as metaphor the way you use it, the way you WORk it, the puzzle and your life. Thank you for sharing and your courage in doing that.
First, I want to say I see you. I see all the little pieces and how they don’t fit until they do. How soothing it is to sort things into the right place. How I used to explain that accounting and library science were so much the same thing - sorting information and stories into the right places so that people could make sense of it and how I see you doing that. And how much I love you how you give us the puzzle, the pieces, and the ability to start putting it all together to see you more clearly.
It is always a gift to be seen by you, Kate. It is so soothing and satisfying to sort things into stories that make sense! I love the way you look at accounting and its connection to library work, and you are helping me see/understand why that is an area in which my mom has always excelled. I think of myself as being bad with numbers and the kind of exacting work that accounting is (balancing budgets was one of the most challenging parts of my library job), but I loved analyzing data to see the stories it could tell.
(And my visit with Grace is wonderful. I love seeing the life she's making.)
My future daughter-in-law has diagnoses I don’t understand, but similar, I think. She also has various strategies for remembering things, and her car is always stocked with emergency supplies and such like. I was just thinking this morning about how one tiny thing she once said has restructured my thinking about, oh, everything. She’s wasn’t naturally highly organized and has challenges, but she’d developed strategies, she said, as a way to be kind to herself.
It’s hard for me to overstate what a quiet game-changer that was for me. Reframing things like buying separate toiletries to live in my swim bag, starting the dishwasher before bed, putting the studio heater on a timer, other chores… all these little habits are so much easier now that I’m not wasting energy beating myself up and thinking in terms of “I should be better / more organized” or remember to remember or whatever.
She also loves puzzles.
Enjoy your time with your daughter! Looking forward to the next installment. I hope you can be kind to yourself.
Hi Nicole! Your note has me thinking of a book that shifted so much about the way I view housework. It is KC Davis's How to Keep House While Drowning, and I think one of the things she writes about is looking at things you can do that are gifts for future you--like starting the dishwasher before bed. "How can I be good to tomorrow Rita?" is a question I've learned to ask. She also writes about how housework is morally neutral, which helps so much with killing that "I should be better" voice. (No, cleanliness is not next to Godliness. Nope, nope, nope.)
I've learned so much from my daughter about strategies for living with the brain I have. I used to think (and say) that she was gifted with extraordinary executive functioning skills. She's created Excel sheets that are works of art, and her digital calendar is a color-coded marvel. She juggles so many things and never drops a ball. One day she finally set me straight and said that she's not naturally good at it, and in fact she uses all those tools because she's not. She works at it. I so appreciate the ways in which things are different for the generations after ours (the things we know now that we didn't when I was young), and for how I get to learn from them. Sounds like you are getting to have some of that with your future daughter-in-law.
RITA. You had me at "I forgot to remember." Wow. As the child of a bi-polar mom, alcoholic dad, and sib to an autistic brother, I feel all of this. I've been so limited as far as cognitive things lately, I've done a lot of looking at my behavior and things that I might have considered quirky and whimsical now seem like a big soup of mental illness/neurodivergence/wtf. I will think about this piece until you write part 2, for sure. I have so much more to say, especially about the "trauma? what trauma?" situation. Thank you for writing this, I'm sure it wasn't breezy, but I got a lot out of it.
EILEEN. If your work ever brings you to Portland, you have got to let me know because we have so much to talk about. (Seriously. I live about 10 minutes from the airport, and PDX is one of the nicest ones in the country to spend time at, if time is tight.)
The soup is definitely something I want to think/write about. Yeah, the trauma. Yeah, the brain injury. Yeah, the wtf. Writing about this stuff isn't breezy, but it's been cathartic and healing. I'm glad it gave you something, and thank you for letting me know that. Sharing is always more difficult for me than the writing, and hearing that makes the sharing worth the discomfort.
I'm a big fan of PDX the airport and the city. We used to overnight by the Klackamas mall but now we are downtown (UPGRADE!) I work infrequently now but I will be on the lookout as I would love to get together. :)
Definitely an upgrade 🙂 The airport had a big remodel about a year ago, and all the businesses in it now are local--with a rule that they cannot charge any more at the airport than they do in other locations. I know I'm biased, but I really love it.
Oh, Rita -- I meant to comment the last time you posted, so I don't want to let this one get by. I love jigsaw puzzles, too, and not the difficult ones. I've told my daughters numerous times not to buy me those. I work them to relax, to vege-out, and not to be challenged -- I have plenty of that elsewhere, thank you. One of my daughters, a couple years ago announced that she's on the spectrum, quit driving, dropped out of our lives for a while, told me her therapist couldn't believe "your mother didn't catch this." (Does she not know how much scaffolding she needed, growing up?) Anyway, I'm just here, rooting for you, loving whatever you write. Keep being you. Please.
Bethany, I am so glad to see you here, whenever and however you can make it. I know how plentiful your challenges are right now. (We're dealing with some memory/cognitive issues in my family right now. I don't know-know how it is for you, but I know enough.)
I'm so sorry about the experiences with your daughter. One of the things I want to at least touch on in part 2 (or 3, maybe) is how much our understanding of neurodivergence has changed in our lifetimes. My children are younger than yours, and I didn't catch things that seem obvious now, in hindsight. Even with a diagnosis for one of the kids I helped raise. Even 15 years ago, there was much we didn't know that we do now. I'm rooting for you, too. And for your daughter. We're all doing the best we can with what we know now, with what we have now. Sometimes that's really not enough, but it's all we have. One of the big challenges of being a human, I think.
Thank you for sharing. I experience many of these things as well. It used to be no one talked about or even recognized any of these traits in women. We are just now learning and understanding more about ourselves. Take care!!
I'm guessing that many of us in the library world are similarly wired, and that's why library folks felt so much like my people. You take care, too, and thanks for letting me know that you're here.
I love the puzzle in this. Do you think a puzzle knows the places it has been sliced or just considers itself one big picture?
I am struck by the way you describe seeing the puzzle pieces and others seeing you. And then the discovery of how things feel for you that fit together like those last pieces of puzzle that finally made sense in context. Seeing ourselves in greater context really is the work of a lifetime, isn’t it?
Safe travels! Thanks for this— a profound and welcome gift in the midst of the mayhem. Xoxo
You ask the best questions, Emily. I am going to ponder both of yours as I work on part II. I'm thinking we are all puzzles--one big picture made up of so many pieces.
Thank you for receiving and responding to my words, always a profound and welcome gift, too. Whether in mayhem or calm. (Who am I kidding? What even is calm any more?)
So happy to see them in my inbox. And calm right now seems to be an elusive internal island I stumble on occasionally, and only when I stop looking for it. Have a great visit. Can’t wait for more of this conversation!
Agree on the importance of not looking for it.
What a great question! Puzzle consciousness.
💜
I've become a little too invested in your puzzle question, Emily! So many possibilities to consider. lol I love how you've synthesized what Rita did here.
The puzzle and experience of it is so rich here!!!
Whatever I am, I manifest very differenty: adaptation before everything. I intuitively absorb the "rules" and follow them. That costs me the knowledge of my own values and desires. And your piece helped me to see the compounding effect of *met* expectations for me. Thank you.
Thank you for telling me about your experience. Part two is going to address that compounding effect. I met expectations for a long time, too. Until I couldn’t any more.
I’m gonna bring you a Liberty Puzzle—handmade in Colorado. They are so cool.
I love the structure of this. That point where it goes back to puzzles. “This essay will not become a 1,000 piece puzzle, but it could.” I love your writing, Rita.
I have that food thing! Just happened on Tuesday. I so get the, “yeah, but it’s lower case,” thing.
Enjoy your daughter & travels!
Later in the morning, after making the bed:
I was thinking while I was making the bed, "I wonder what puzzle I'd bring to Rita," and then I was thinking about the refusal to capitalize things (trauma v. Trauma, writer v. Writer, artist v. Artist, etc...), and then I thought about accumulations, and then I thought, "microagressions, there's a reason people talk about microagressions, and their impact, because the impact is from accumulations," and of course, so too the impact of capitalism comes from accumulation, in the way that private wealth does, or in the way paychecks do not. In this way, everything that is lower case becomes upper case eventually. If I write enough, for example, I will become a writer whether I call myself a writer or a Writer, and the accumulated words will be proof enough. Which is, in the end, what a puzzle does, or is.
I love the implication that I get to see you to get that puzzle! And thank you for letting me know you see the structure and that it works for you. Apparently, that food thing can come from issues with interoception--being aware of internal states of being. I think that comes up for me most when I am deep into something and focused only on it. I am working on the food thing because I know it's linked to my migraines!
And your thoughts on lower case/accumulation...you're onto something important. It's making me think about a piece of writing I read this week from another writing friend, Elizabeth Beggins, on the idea of sacrifice. She explores what we recognize as sacrifice and what we don't. (https://www.elizabethbeggins.com/p/what-are-we-willing-to-admit) We tend to recognize the extreme kind, but not the quieter, long-term ones that just become part of a life. You are so right: everything that is lower case does become upper case eventually. And now I'm thinking about why/how things are so often not seen/identified in women, and how that is connected to lower case ways of experiencing all kinds of things.
You are, indeed, a Writer, my friend.
Yes, yes, yes! For me, it was the book Unmasking Autism, which I read "to better understand my child." When I told my therapist that it had made me cry, which was strange because "I'm obviously not autistic," she said, "What makes you think you're not autistic?"
I love the way the form of this essay mirrors how this realization comes together: in pieces, over time, as we review these apparently disconnected moments from our personal history and/or "quirks" about ourselves that don't mean anything, really, in isolation. Until you lay them out side by side, and start to see the pattern.
Yes, to all that you've said! I first read a book 20 years ago (Not Even Wrong, by Paul Collins) that was my first hint that my brother and I had important commonalities. It made me cry, too--and still, I didn't see the full picture. Maybe because I had a lot of experiences with therapists who didn't see it, or because none of the pieces seemed big enough. I'm so glad you had a therapist who seemed to see you and could help you see yourself. You are so right that it can take time to put all of our pieces together.
Rita, you've put into (lovely) words how I experience puzzles, and now I want to get back to the one I've left unfinished at the cottage. Sometimes my eyeglasses get in the way (because they're dirty? Not quite the right prescription?), and I have to peer closely with my glasses on my head, searching for that little spot of colour.
I too have noise, smell, and light sensitivities. Sometimes the light sensitivity clashes with puzzling –– I'll resist, as long as possible, turning the lights up to see the pieces well enough at night. And I smell things no one else seems to notice, it can be quite unpleasant and annoying. The food thing, desk organization system, my dad calling me Spacey Tracey, crowd avoidance, the fingers –– who needs manicures when you can push your own cuticles back? I relate to so much of what you wrote here Rita, and like Emily and Monica, I love the puzzle structure and how you've puzzled pieces, words, and life. xoxo
I can so relate to the light sensitivity clashing with puzzling! I hate overhead lights, and I like dim lights at night. Not compatible with seeing the details of puzzle pieces at all. 🙂 And smells--can hardly stand to be around perfume, and I buy unscented everything. We should go on a writing retreat together; sounds like we would be so compatible in our sensory needs! I'd love to do a puzzle at your cottage with you.
When we travel, I ask for air fresheners to be removed from the premises and I bring my own unscented soap and shampoo bars. We probably would be good travel companions! You’re welcome to visit anytime! Writing retreat in Canadian cottage country?
Rita,,I just love your writing...how you braid your puzzles pieces in with the discovery/awareness of pieces of yourself. This essay is illuminating to me, and now I'm down a rabbit hole of myself (I clicked on the article "Unmasking Autism and ADHD.) Ive been diagnosed with ADHD, also, I wondered for quite a long time ago that I might be on the autism spectrum, but I was married to a man on the spectrum for 32 years—bound through marriage yet alone. I've been assured, over the years, that I am not on the spectrum, but some things, like the light and sound sentivities, overwhelmed with socializing, and particularly the article describing the war between ADHD and autism resonate with me. Masking is one of my superpowers.
Trisha, thank you so much for seeing the writing as well as the content. It's so great to be read by writers ❤️ I have learned so much in recent weeks through Bridgette Hamstead's substack, and I feel like the autism/ADHD connection is the puzzle piece that's been missing all my life. AuDHD is not in the current DSM, and I think understanding of it is new/emerging. Masking was one of my superpowers, too--or so I thought. Though I didn't recognize what I was doing as masking. Now I'm trying to learn how to unmask. A big project! Glad to know you're down in that rabbit hole with me.
So many swirling thoughts, Rita, and so much that has hit home. I have always wondered what the heck was wrong with me, but until my early 50s I didn't have the words or the knowledge to make sense of what I was feeling or to explain what I was doing. For what it's worth, I know what it is to be on the receiving end of casual cruelty (the pronouncement made by that school counsellor; the utter lack of empathy displayed by your second husband; your dad's thoughtless words)—I see you, and my heart goes out to you. I'm glad you have a healthy means of self-regulation to help you during especially fraught or low moments, and as always I marvel at the ability you have to weave together the literal and the figurative and to craft such beautiful essays.
Wishing you a wonderful visit with your daughter, Rita.
I just want to say that nothing is wrong with you, Marian. The most affirming thing I'm getting from reading Hamstead's writing, especially, is an understanding that my differences are not pathology. They are just differences. They are seen as pathology because the world is organized around those with a different neurology. It is the world that is wrong, not us. Not you. I've long believed that in theory, but it's hitting differently now. I'm finally beginning to internalize it. I think the anxiety and depression so many of us struggle with is a rational response to the world we live in and how we experience it. Thank you for always seeing me and my writing, Marian. For journeying through this life with me, through our words, no matter all the miles that separate us. (The visit is wonderful, thank you. I know you know.)
This is beautiful writing, Rita. The structure is exquisite. My heart was with you the whole way. You pulled me into the rabbit hole, looking for the missing piece I suspected all along was going to be there. That's pretty masterful. What a journey. As a long-time high school teacher, I completely relate to the experience of becoming a problem to a new admin, before you have even met them. I thought it was a particular thing of school culture, but now, of course, I see it must be everywhere. When the pandemic hit, and we all had to move online overnight, I left my school of 18 years for an easier environment. It was a good decision, I bet yours was too. It's so easy to forget how difficult that was.
Thank you, Susan, for letting me see how you see the writing. That means so much to me. And how I would love to sit and have a long conversation about schools and what Covid helped us see. Yes, the pandemic broke me, but not in the ways most people would think. It was seeing how impossible things had been before Covid that made the idea of going back to that way of working/being feel impossible. The decision is a mixed thing for me. So good in some ways, but financially not great. It can be hard to know how to best take care of ourselves. I'm still figuring that one out. I'm so glad that you were able to leave and get to a place that's better for you.
rita, first, beautifully written and moving. Painful, but hopeful. I love the puzzle as metaphor the way you use it, the way you WORk it, the puzzle and your life. Thank you for sharing and your courage in doing that.
Thank you, Joanne, for reading and responding. It means so much to me.
Oh.
First, I want to say I see you. I see all the little pieces and how they don’t fit until they do. How soothing it is to sort things into the right place. How I used to explain that accounting and library science were so much the same thing - sorting information and stories into the right places so that people could make sense of it and how I see you doing that. And how much I love you how you give us the puzzle, the pieces, and the ability to start putting it all together to see you more clearly.
Enjoy the time with your daughter, Rita.
It is always a gift to be seen by you, Kate. It is so soothing and satisfying to sort things into stories that make sense! I love the way you look at accounting and its connection to library work, and you are helping me see/understand why that is an area in which my mom has always excelled. I think of myself as being bad with numbers and the kind of exacting work that accounting is (balancing budgets was one of the most challenging parts of my library job), but I loved analyzing data to see the stories it could tell.
(And my visit with Grace is wonderful. I love seeing the life she's making.)
My future daughter-in-law has diagnoses I don’t understand, but similar, I think. She also has various strategies for remembering things, and her car is always stocked with emergency supplies and such like. I was just thinking this morning about how one tiny thing she once said has restructured my thinking about, oh, everything. She’s wasn’t naturally highly organized and has challenges, but she’d developed strategies, she said, as a way to be kind to herself.
It’s hard for me to overstate what a quiet game-changer that was for me. Reframing things like buying separate toiletries to live in my swim bag, starting the dishwasher before bed, putting the studio heater on a timer, other chores… all these little habits are so much easier now that I’m not wasting energy beating myself up and thinking in terms of “I should be better / more organized” or remember to remember or whatever.
She also loves puzzles.
Enjoy your time with your daughter! Looking forward to the next installment. I hope you can be kind to yourself.
Hi Nicole! Your note has me thinking of a book that shifted so much about the way I view housework. It is KC Davis's How to Keep House While Drowning, and I think one of the things she writes about is looking at things you can do that are gifts for future you--like starting the dishwasher before bed. "How can I be good to tomorrow Rita?" is a question I've learned to ask. She also writes about how housework is morally neutral, which helps so much with killing that "I should be better" voice. (No, cleanliness is not next to Godliness. Nope, nope, nope.)
I've learned so much from my daughter about strategies for living with the brain I have. I used to think (and say) that she was gifted with extraordinary executive functioning skills. She's created Excel sheets that are works of art, and her digital calendar is a color-coded marvel. She juggles so many things and never drops a ball. One day she finally set me straight and said that she's not naturally good at it, and in fact she uses all those tools because she's not. She works at it. I so appreciate the ways in which things are different for the generations after ours (the things we know now that we didn't when I was young), and for how I get to learn from them. Sounds like you are getting to have some of that with your future daughter-in-law.
RITA. You had me at "I forgot to remember." Wow. As the child of a bi-polar mom, alcoholic dad, and sib to an autistic brother, I feel all of this. I've been so limited as far as cognitive things lately, I've done a lot of looking at my behavior and things that I might have considered quirky and whimsical now seem like a big soup of mental illness/neurodivergence/wtf. I will think about this piece until you write part 2, for sure. I have so much more to say, especially about the "trauma? what trauma?" situation. Thank you for writing this, I'm sure it wasn't breezy, but I got a lot out of it.
EILEEN. If your work ever brings you to Portland, you have got to let me know because we have so much to talk about. (Seriously. I live about 10 minutes from the airport, and PDX is one of the nicest ones in the country to spend time at, if time is tight.)
The soup is definitely something I want to think/write about. Yeah, the trauma. Yeah, the brain injury. Yeah, the wtf. Writing about this stuff isn't breezy, but it's been cathartic and healing. I'm glad it gave you something, and thank you for letting me know that. Sharing is always more difficult for me than the writing, and hearing that makes the sharing worth the discomfort.
I'm a big fan of PDX the airport and the city. We used to overnight by the Klackamas mall but now we are downtown (UPGRADE!) I work infrequently now but I will be on the lookout as I would love to get together. :)
Definitely an upgrade 🙂 The airport had a big remodel about a year ago, and all the businesses in it now are local--with a rule that they cannot charge any more at the airport than they do in other locations. I know I'm biased, but I really love it.
Tillamook cheese FTW!!!!
Oh, Rita -- I meant to comment the last time you posted, so I don't want to let this one get by. I love jigsaw puzzles, too, and not the difficult ones. I've told my daughters numerous times not to buy me those. I work them to relax, to vege-out, and not to be challenged -- I have plenty of that elsewhere, thank you. One of my daughters, a couple years ago announced that she's on the spectrum, quit driving, dropped out of our lives for a while, told me her therapist couldn't believe "your mother didn't catch this." (Does she not know how much scaffolding she needed, growing up?) Anyway, I'm just here, rooting for you, loving whatever you write. Keep being you. Please.
Bethany, I am so glad to see you here, whenever and however you can make it. I know how plentiful your challenges are right now. (We're dealing with some memory/cognitive issues in my family right now. I don't know-know how it is for you, but I know enough.)
I'm so sorry about the experiences with your daughter. One of the things I want to at least touch on in part 2 (or 3, maybe) is how much our understanding of neurodivergence has changed in our lifetimes. My children are younger than yours, and I didn't catch things that seem obvious now, in hindsight. Even with a diagnosis for one of the kids I helped raise. Even 15 years ago, there was much we didn't know that we do now. I'm rooting for you, too. And for your daughter. We're all doing the best we can with what we know now, with what we have now. Sometimes that's really not enough, but it's all we have. One of the big challenges of being a human, I think.