My darling 8-year-old daughter drew this picture for me the other night.
Yes, that’s a picture of me, Josie’s “at times mean” mom. Based on the picture she drew of me, I was having one of my mean moments. And to be sure that the message was clear, she reiterated the “at times mean” part in the heart she drew next to my portrait.
When she gave me this masterpiece, I could tell she was a little apprehensive of what my reaction would be.
What did I do?
I laughed and agreed with her.
I am 100% okay with her describing me this way. I’m even okay with her drawing me to look like that.
Had she said I was hateful or hurtful, then that would have absolutely bothered me.
But for her to call me mean doesn’t bother me at all.
Because sometimes I am “mean”.
I love my daughter. I adore her, really. She is by far one of my very favorite humans on this planet.
And every day I am doing my best to raise her to be a kind, compassionate, responsible human.
And believe it or not, she does not always comply nor appreciate my efforts.
Not too long ago, I was at my wit’s end with her. After a particularly trying stretch of sassiness, I ended up telling her that I wasn’t going to tell her what do to anymore because she was clearly grown and did not need me to tell her what to do. I also told her that the next day she needed to go find a job and start paying me rent and for her own clothes, groceries, etc.
I’m pretty sure Tyson told her it would be in her best interest to stay away from me for the rest of the evening.
I remember sitting by myself later that evening thinking about Mary. (As in Jesus’ mom.)
First of all, did Jesus get an attitude with her? Did he question everything she told him and tell her that she was wrong? Did he give 50% effort at the tasks she gave him to do? Did he complain every single time he had to take a bath???
If so, how did she handle herself? Was she able to remain calm and patient? Did she ever raise her voice? Did she tell him not to come complaining to her when he got cold because he refused to dress appropriately for the colder weather? Did she tell him to go get a job when he was 8?
Surely Jesus did not put his mother (or father) through these trials. But if he had, how would she have reacted?
I have no doubt her reaction would be the exact opposite of mine on many, if not most, occasions. (After all, she was full of grace, and I am definitely not.) But I do like to think that I do at least one thing that she might have done. And that’s to ask God to help me. To help guide me in teaching and disciplining this headstrong, independent, too-smart-for-her-own-good daughter of mine so that she becomes the person He designed her to be and wants her to be. So that she leads a happy, fulfilling life.
I think she knows that I want nothing but the best for her. I tell her why I want her to be ready to work hard, learn from her mistakes, be kind to others, and shower regularly. Whether or not she’s listening is really the question.
Most importantly, I know that she knows that I love her. And not just because she drew not one but two hearts in her picture. But because I tell her that all the time. And I do my best to show her that all the time, too.
While we were at the playground this evening, Moses went over to a fairly tall, steep climbing wall. As he put his foot on the first step, I thought to myself, “I don’t think he can climb this.” Instead of going over to help him, though, I just stayed back out of the way and kept my mouth shut.
He went to step up on the second step, and then stopped and got off the wall. He ran back towards the slide he had been going down, but instead of stopping, he ran past it.
He ran to a shorter, less steep climbing wall on a different structure. And climbed right up it. It took him a little extra effort to pull himself up and over the top, but he did it.
So tonight’s parenting lesson brought to me by Moses was to stay out of the way. My job as his mom is not to decide what he is or is not able to do. My job is to give him the opportunity to try and support him in his efforts. If he needs help, he’ll ask for it. More often than not, however, he doesn’t need my help.
How many times do we as parents get in the way of our kids showing us, and themselves, what they can do because we decide for them whether or not they can do something? Or decide that they need help because they’re not doing it quickly or easily enough, or because it’s not the “right” (i.e. our) way?
Our kids are capable of amazing things. And they’ll be happy to show us if we’ll just stay out of their way.
“Mom, these shorts are too big on me because I’m so thin.”
“Mom, her stomach is round and mine is flat.”
When my then 6-year-old daughter said these things, I mentally went into full-fledged panic mode.
On the inside, I was simultaneously screaming and crying at the thought that my young daughter was already falling to the emphasis our society and culture places on thinness while searching for the “right” way to respond to her comments.
I don’t remember when I learned that skinny was “good”. I think it’s a message that has been embedded in my culture for so long that it was just known. Kind of like how no one had to tell me that the sky was blue. I just knew. In grade school, I can remember looking at my best friend and seeing how skinny she was and feeling huge next to her. I can remember walking with a woman in my neighborhood when I was in 4th grade to try to lose weight so that I wouldn’t grow out of one of my favorite outfits. I can remember telling my mom that I didn’t want to go to Dairy Queen for ice cream because I didn’t want the extra calories when I was maybe 11 or 12.
Long story short, I battled through severe anorexia for about a year when I was a freshman in high school. The day that the scale showed I had gotten back under 100 pounds was exhilarating. The turning point for me was when I was standing with a young woman that was clearly bigger than me but she was the one getting compliments on how great she looked, I realized that the level of thinness I had achieved was not “pretty thin” and I did begin to eat more and gain some weight back. It was a very difficult, mentally painful process to see the numbers on the scale and the size of my clothes going back up. When I got to 110 pounds, it was my daily goal to keep it there. For the rest of my high school career, two things mattered the most to me: my grades and my weight. And I was only accepting A’s and 110 pounds, respectfully.
After high school, things got slightly better but not much. I still spent so much of my energy and focus on my weight, which I had allowed to go up to 120 pounds. It was part of my identity by then. I didn’t know how to live without my weight and size at the forefront of my thoughts. And it was completely normal. It was reinforced every day without me even having to look for it.
It wasn’t until I was pregnant with Josie that I ever went through an extended period of time where I honestly felt good about my body. Go figure it happened when I also hit my heaviest weight ever. However, that body positivity only lasted a short while because right after she was born, I felt that I needed to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight stat. And the well-intentioned comments about how I was losing the baby weight so quickly spurred me right along. The same thing happened when I was pregnant with Moses.
For so long, eating and exercising were not about health for me. It was all about trying to achieve that “perfect” body. The one that wasn’t too big or too small. The one that shape-hugging clothes looked good on. The one that elicited “positive” comments about how I looked. And all of this was encouraged by the world around me: commercials, magazines, movies, friends, etc. The message was clear: The size and shape of your body mattered. And the size and shape that mattered was small and thin. And I bought into that message hook-line-and-sinker for far too long.
In my experience, making critical statements about the size of our butt, belly, boobs, and thighs comes as naturally to women as breathing. There’s always at least 5 more pounds to lose. Food is both a friend and an enemy and the line that separates the two is thin (no pun intended). Exercise is about flat stomachs and thigh gaps and being swimsuit ready more than cardiovascular health and cholesterol levels.
I hate it. I hate the toll that it has taken on me for more than half my life, both physically and mentally. I hate the amount of time and energy I spent on making sure my weight fell at the low end of the “ideal” range for my height. I hate the tears I shed over not being able to fit into a smaller size of jeans or that I still didn’t have a perfectly flat stomach.
A couple of summers ago, I read an article featuring several women that had very positive body images. As I read the stories of these women who lovingly embraced their bodies, I had two different thoughts running through my mind. The first one was, “I wish I could have that kind of mindset about my body.” The second thought that closely followed the first was, “But do they really love their bodies the way they’re saying they do? Because I just don’t know how that’s possible.”
It struck me as very sad that I would question the genuineness of these women who, to me, were anomalies because they were able to not just look at themselves in the mirror but have themselves photographed showing more skin than clothing and be happy with their bodies. There was no mention of needing to lose weight, apologizing for or explaining where their “imperfections” came from, what foods they avoid eating, how many calories or points they’re allowed to consume each day. There was just love and appreciation for their bodies.
Even though I kinda thought they were lying, deep down I wanted to be like those women. I wanted to look in the mirror and not immediately examine my reflections for the flaws that were undoubtedly there. I wanted to be able to appreciate my body for being healthy and physically able to do pretty much anything I needed it to do. I wanted to be able to sit around with my girlfriends and not get caught up in nitpicking certain areas of my body that weren’t quite up-to-par or complaining that the delicious food I was enjoying would “go straight to my hips”.
How could I do that?
Also, how do I change the narrative for my daughter? How do I protect her against following the same storyline about body image I and countless women and men before me followed?
Because I am one of my children’s primary teachers, a lot of the change has to start with me. So in our house, my kids will never hear me criticize my body. My kids will never hear me speak the word “diet” to mean anything but the foods we put into our body. I make a very concerted effort to not refer to any foods as “good” or “bad”. I do point out which foods help our bodies to be strong and healthy and have the energy to do our work throughout the day. I have not and I will not ever celebrate or criticize the shape of either of my kids’ bodies. Food, weight, and body shape are not a focus in our house.
What I want to beg other people to do is to quit doing what I spent more than half of my life doing. Quit criticizing and shaming your body. Quit criticizing and shaming other people’s bodies. Our young kids are listening and watching and learning from all of us. My daughter hears you when you comment on how much weight someone has lost or how much weight you’re wanting to lose. She hears you talking about counting calories and macros and drinking the magic drink that’s going to help you go down two dress sizes. She sees you eating a salad and hears you talk about how it’s not what you really want to be eating but are doing it anyway for the sake of losing weight. She sees the judgmental, critical looks when someone who is overweight walks by, and she hears the comments that are spoken aloud. She notices that when you look at a picture of yourself you look at how your body looks before (or if) you notice how big your smile is and how happy you are to be where you’re at and who you’re with. And there will come a day when Moses will hear and understand all of these things, too.
Use your words and energy to build yourselves and others up by focusing on the attributes that truly matter and will make this world a better place.
On the mirror in my bathroom is a sticky note that says “My body is a temple of the Holy Spirit. I will honor God by caring for my body. I will give thanks to God for this body He has given me to do His work.”
Believe it or not, reading and repeating that every day, appreciating my body for what it is able to do, fueling my body with foods that I enjoy and help me to be strong and healthy, and cutting out all negative-talk about my body has resulted in a new narrative for myself. One that has helped me finally find myself with the best physical and mental health of my life. A storyline that I never thought was possible for me.
My hope is that this will be the narrative my daughter and my son will adopt for themselves.
My hope is that you will, too, if you haven’t already. Because together we can change the narrative around body image for the future.
In the past several weeks, I’ve had several conversations with people who are going through a hard time, and each of them has said, “I know this is nothing compared to what others are going through.” Or even, “I shouldn’t even be saying this to you because you have it even harder.”
I think most of us can say that we’ve been there, said that. We’ve tried to silver-line our situation by comparing our situation to one that seems harder. One of the last times I remember saying something along those lines was to my counselor. And she immediately said, “You’re not going to feed me that line, are you?”
Life is full of struggles. No one is exempt. Some are small, some are huge. Some come and go relatively quickly, and some might actually last a lifetime. There is no avoiding hard life experiences from time to time. And when they arise and we want nothing more than to make them disappear, the very last thing that’s going to make that happen is playing the comparison game. You comparing your struggles to mine or me comparing mine to yours at best provides temporary “relief”, but in the end is essentially as effective as trying to put toothpaste back in the tube once you’ve squeezed it all out.
You are not me, and I am not you. You do not have my past experiences, mindset, or perspectives nor do I have yours. What is a struggle to you may not be as much of a struggle to me. What’s a struggle to me might not even register as a hiccup in your day.
We may all struggle in common areas of our life, such as relationships, work, and even faith, yet our struggles are unique to each of us because we are simply unique beings. You and I may be in the exact same difficult situation and perceive it much differently. As individuals, we are bound to perceive and process experiences differently for so many different reasons.
Take, for example, receiving constructive criticism at work. If we both work for the same organization in the same position, let’s say sales, and we are both told that our work performance has subpar and are given suggestions on how to improve, there is a really good chance and you and I will not have the same response. You will be able to listen openly to the feedback and be genuinely grateful for the suggestions. That’s because you have a beautiful growth mindset that helps you view mistakes as opportunities to learn and the confidence to know that, despite this current critique, you are still good at what you do and are going to just keep getting better. I, on the other hand, will be so devastated that I will barely be able listen to the words being spoken about me. That’s because my fixed mindset has taught me that mistakes mean I’m clearly not smart or good enough to do this job. I’m also a perfectionist and my main goals in life are to 1) never fail; and 2) never let anyone down. The constructive criticism has let me know that I am both failing and letting my boss down. I will likely give my two weeks notice tomorrow.
When you’re faced with a challenge, whether it be a poor work performance review, trouble within a relationship, the loss of a loved one, whatever it may be, comparing it to another’s situation isn’t going to help you. Even if you decide that his situation is worse or her challenge is greater than yours, it’s not like yours is going to magically stop being hard. That everything is going to *POOF!* be all better.
Since my counselor put me in my place, I have learned to stop comparing the tests that I experience in life to those of others.
For example, my son has Down syndrome. Yes, he can not only eat food, he also feeds himself. Yes, he can walk and run. Yes, he can do so many things that other kids with Down syndrome or other disabilities can’t. Yes, he brings an insane amount of joy and light to my life. Yes, there are still times when being his mom is hard. Yes, there are still things that he can’t do yet that I wish he could because it would make my life easier.
Comparing all this to someone else whose child has more or seemingly more difficult limitations doesn’t make the hard stuff go away. It also doesn’t help me to mentally or emotionally feel better.
Over time, I’ve learned to say, “This is hard for me right now.” For me – for my brain, for my emotions – this is hard.
There are no comparisons. No feelings of guilt. No excuses for why it gets to be hard for me.
Just acceptance that it’s hard. For me. Period.
I’ve learned to pray about what’s hard. Sometimes I even ask “Why, God? Why me? Why my family?” I ask for guidance and strength and patience and whatever else I need to get me through whatever situation I’m facing at the time. And then I trust that God knows my heart and He knows my mind. He knows my strengths and He knows my weaknesses. And He knows “why”. Which is why I know that He’ll give me who and/or what I need to be in the challenge or get through it.
I’ve learned to ask for help from others.
I’ve learned to say, “No.”
I’ve learned to accept that I am not in control.
I’ve learned to rest – physically, mentally, and emotionally.
I’ve learned to call my counselor when I need an unbiased ear to listen.
I’ve learned that my way is not the best nor the only way.
I’ve learned to keep my heart and my mind open to possibilities that I haven’t even thought of yet.
This is what has worked for me. Maybe some of it will work for you. Maybe it won’t. Because you are not me, and I am not you.
In the end, however, comparing ourselves and our troubles will not work for either of us. Let’s stop comparing and start working to figure out what will actually help us and do that instead.
This comment was made in a video by this person a few months ago. I first learned of it a few days ago. After I watched and listened to it a couple of times, I decided I wasn’t going to say anything because I don’t like getting into politics. I don’t even know this woman and she doesn’t represent me or my state so why bother, right?
But the more I’ve thought about it, I know I have to say something.
For me, it has nothing to do about politics and it has everything to do with morals. It has nothing to do with being a Republican or a Democrat and it has everything to do with the standard of what is and is not acceptable in our present-day society.
First of all, I don’t care who you are and I don’t care what you are talking about. If you know a word is offensive and you choose to say it anyway, saying ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t remove the insult from the word you said. For example, if I said to you, “No offense, but you’re really ugly.” Does the first part cancel out the second? No, it doesn’t. The words ‘retard’ and ‘retarded’ used in relation to describing a person or group of people have been recognized as extremely offensive for well over 10 years. I’m pretty sure that’s an ample amount of time for anyone born before 2009 to remove it from their vocabulary when referring to a person or group of people. Let me be clear: Saying “no offense” before or after the word ‘retard’ or ‘retards’ does not make it inoffensive. Ever. Pointing to a group of people who are still fighting to have their worth as human beings recognized to illustrate who you think of when you say the word ‘retards’ only serves to compound the offense.
Secondly, did you notice that she went on to identify a group of people that comes to her mind when referring to ‘retards’? Who she compared those who are “so stupid and ignorant they cannot put something common sense in place…”? Yep, people with Down syndrome. Someone like my son. Someone like my Goddaughter. People like our friends that have Down syndrome.
Here’s where I’m going to bring in politics. I am so tired of hearing people say things like, “Well, he said that because he’s a Republican/Democrat.” A political party doesn’t speak, people speak. A political party has ideals and views, but people choose what words come out of their mouths. This person didn’t say what she said because she represents a certain political party. She said it because she is a human being who thinks it’s okay to demean one group of people by referring to another group of people to serve as an example of her offensive slur.
What bothers me the most, though, is that there are going to be some people who know me and claim to care about my son yet will stay quiet about this elected official using the word ‘retards’ as well as calling out people with Down syndrome to give illustration to the word. They will stay quiet because they identify with the same political party that she is a part of or because they agree with the issue she was trying to make a point about. I honestly don’t care if they are a member of her party or if they agree with her stance on the issue she was talking about. I don’t care. What I care about is excusing and/or agreeing with her use of words and her belief about people with Down syndrome.
During the past few months, I have witnessed an alarming number of people who excuse or even support immoral and unethical behavior in the name of a political party. It frightens me that people would allow a political party affiliation to come before God’s commandment to love thy neighbor as thyself. On both sides of the political spectrum I have seen and heard so much hate and disrespect which is somehow deemed acceptable in the name of party loyalty. It’s as though somehow political parties have come to set the moral standards for their members instead of vice versa. I personally choose to stay out of political discussions because of their negative nature, even among people who identify with the same party. However, when that hate and disrespect extends to people who didn’t ask to be involved in the narrative, I am going to speak up.
I’m not asking for anyone to jump party lines to denounce the words of this person. What I am asking is that you understand that on a moral level what she said was so incredibly wrong and offensive to so many people. Some of which I’m going to guess she’s claiming to care about or represent. But without words and actions to back that up, then her claim is only that. You can be a member of a political party and not support some of the people and practices associated with it. (Trust me, I know this from experience.)
Last night I prayed for the person who said these words. I also prayed that others would not see her as an example to follow. I prayed for the words to address this issue in a way that was respectful yet firm in repeating myself and countless others in saying that using the words ‘retard’ and/or ‘retarded’ to describe a person is offensive and inexcusable. I pray that you and your sense of morals will not support that.
Almost a year ago, three hundred eighteen days to be exact, I shared about reaching my breaking point. Physically, mentally, and emotionally I was exhausted. I was burned out from investing too much time and energy into people and things outside of myself and not consistently investing enough quality time and energy in myself.
I didn’t get to that place overnight, and I knew that getting back to a place of health – physically, mentally, and emotionally – would take time. Sure, I could have gone to my doctor and asked for an increase in my antidepressant medication, and I’m sure that would’ve “helped”. However, deep down I knew that what I was experiencing wasn’t depression (although it was definitely part of it), and putting the band-aid of more medication wasn’t going to get down to the root of the issues I was experiencing.
There was no magic formula I followed to improve my overall health. I didn’t follow a particular program or introduce anything radically new into my life (other than planning to take a leave of absence from work which got the Covid-wrench thrown into it). Instead I found that what I needed was already in my life…I just needed to utilize my time, energy, and resources differently.
First off, I prayed. A lot. I’m not just talking saying a few extra Our Fathers. There were a lot of big conversations between God and me happening. Some of them were a lot of me asking “Why?” about a multitude of different things; others were of the begging nature in which I pleaded with him to just make it all go away and show me the fast, easy road back to “normal”; then there were the ones in which I surrendered to Him and just asked Him to hold me because I couldn’t hold myself up any longer.
The weekend before I was supposed to begin my leave of absence, I was invited by a couple of friends to join them in a 40-day yoga and personal growth challenge. Through that, I did find that doing yoga daily helped me improve my physical health. I don’t know if you’ve ever done yoga, but some of those poses are hard. And then you have to hold them for forever. Even though I wanted to give up pretty much every day in the beginning, I stuck with it and found myself getting stronger and not hating all the hard poses so much. I also found that my mental health was improving from both the nature of yoga and being focused as well as being pretty proud of my progress.
Sleep became a priority. I found a sleep app that tracked not only how long I slept but also how much light and restful sleep I got. I have learned that: a) I feel best when I get 7 hours of restful sleep; b) too much alcohol before I went to bed decreases my restful sleep; c) exercise typically increases my amount of restful sleep; d) not enough sleep usually mean I’m not going to be as peppy and patient throughout the next day; e) the less sleep I get directly affects my eating habits the next day (and not in a healthy way). Overall, I learned that sleep is essential to my overall health.
I started watching The Office. As a school counselor, I have learned about the science behind how laughter affects the brain and can improve your mood and mental health, which is why I knew that if I was going to watch something, it had to be my kind of funny. Michael, Dwight, Jim, Pam, Stanley, and the rest of the crew at Dunder Mifflin are my kind of funny!
With the help of my husband and my counselor, I began to reconcile with things from my past that were still affecting me even though I thought I had put those people and things behind me. I learned the true meaning of forgiving and letting go of the pain of the past. I learned how to finally forgive myself for the hardships and the mental and emotional pain I had inflicted upon myself and endured from others.
I rediscovered the importance of not comparing myself to others. Although I am nowhere near the perfectionist I once was, I still fell into the trap of comparing myself to other women in various ways – physically, spiritually, intellectually, professionally, etc. I stopped following people and groups on social media that served to be a source of unhealthy comparison rather than positive inspiration.
I experienced the beautiful power of relationships. Throughout my life, I have had the opportunity to meet and know some truly amazing people, and firmly believe in the idea that people have come into my life for “a reason, a season, or a lifetime”. I have been especially thankful for the people in my life who have supported me and cheered me on during this turbulent season of life. These people have helped me to remember who I am and who I wanted to get back to being. For their love, support, and encouragement, I am forever grateful.
Finally, and most importantly, I was patient with myself. As fantastic as it would’ve been if I had woken up after the end of the first week or even the first month, thrown off the covers, and announced, “I’m baaaack! All better!”, that didn’t happen. Sometimes it seemed like I was moving backwards and sometimes I felt like I wasn’t moving at all towards feeling better. Then there were the “A-HA!” moments and days that I could feel myself moving forward that helped me to know I was on the right track. There were the glimpses of the “me” that I had been missing that motivated me to keep working.
Three hundred eighteen days and counting. (Because I’m working every day to maintain my progress…I haven’t put in all this work to go back to where I was!)
Why have I worked so hard to gain control over my overall health for the last three-hundred eighteen days?
Simple. (Kind of.)
I did it for me.
Because I deserve it. I deserve to feel good physically, mentally, and emotionally. Because God didn’t create me to lead a life of sadness, hopelessness, frustration, and gloom. Taking care of myself – mind, body, and soul – has helped me to love who I am again. It’s helped me to be a much better wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, and advocate. Taking care of myself benefits everyone in my life.
I know that I’m not alone in feeling lost, alone, unhappy, burned out, etc. My hope for anyone reading this thinking, “Where do I start?” Start where you’re at. Make today your Day 1. Your journey will most likely look very different from mine, but you’ll never know what yours looks like until you start. Once you start, take it day-by-day, hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute. You’re worth every second.
It’s no secret that our healthcare workers are overwhelmed and exhausted – physically, mentally, and emotionally. They need our support and prayers now more than ever.
I want to ask that you remember to also support and pray for those in education right now.
There are so many people in education that are also being tested day in and day out during this time.
There are so many people who are on the front lines in education that are working tirelessly to continue to provide not just an education but also a safe place for students and staff to go to every day. These men and women are being asked to put the welfare of others before their own.
It’s not easy, but they’re doing it.
Just like those in healthcare, these people need support and prayers now more than ever, too. And just like those in healthcare, they’re also often the least likely to ask for help.
It doesn’t have to be much. Just something to let them know that you know they’re in the trenches, that you’re thinking of them and supporting them.
Send an encouraging message. Or a funny one. A smile can literally change the way your brain feels, and laughter is good for the soul.
Drop off a snack or meal that they don’t have to prepare. Or booze.
Send a card. Homemade ones are best.
If anything else, pray for them. Pray for them to have the health and strength to continue showing up and serving the students they love.
This week I got to Zoom with my 4th grade students during their Counseling time. It was so great to get to see their faces and hear their voices! We weren’t Zooming just so they could sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me, though. We were Zooming so we could talk about Down syndrome.
October is Down Syndrome Awareness Month and it’s also the month my school district celebrates Disabilities Awareness Week. It’s one of my favorite weeks/months of the school year because I love getting to teach my kids that having a disability does not mean there is something wrong with a person. It means that there is something different with the way a person’s body or mind, or sometimes both, work. We learn about different types of disabilities while always keeping our focus on the fact that a person with a disability is a person that deserves to be treated with kindness and respect.
For each class I gave them a basic explanation of the chromosomes and the extra copy people with Down syndrome have, some of the differences that causes for their brain and body, and how much they are able to learn to do when given the chance. Then I asked if anyone had questions about Down syndrome.
The students in the class I Zoomed with on Tuesday morning were either still half asleep, bored to tears, and/or experts on Down syndrome already so none of them had questions.
By Tuesday afternoon, I was questioning whether or not it was worth doing the next two days. If the information I was sharing with them was appropriate and meaningful or just falling on deaf ears. If spending the time talking with them would even make a difference.
As I Zoomed with another class on Wednesday morning, I could tell the students were a little more engaged as I went over the same basic information. When I invited them to ask questions, hands quickly went up into the air.
“Is it similar to autism?”
“Can you catch Down syndrome from someone who has it?”
“Is it rare?”
“Can it be cured?”
It was awesome! I answered their questions the best I could and loved the effort they were giving in trying to understand Down syndrome.
Today’s session was good, too. One student asked if kids with Down syndrome behaved worse than other kids, and another asked if kids with Down syndrome could breathe okay.
It was yesterday’s session, though, that helped me to know that doing this wasn’t a waste of time.
Down syndrome isn’t rare. It’s the most common chromosomal condition that occurs in babies. About 1 in every 700 babies are born with Down syndrome. That number would be higher but unfortunately approximately 67% of women choose to terminate their pregnancy following a prenatal diagnosis.
There is no cure for Down syndrome. And as I told my students, I wouldn’t want there to be one. Because if Moses didn’t have that extra chromosome, he wouldn’t be Moses. Same goes for a lot of other awesome people with Down syndrome.
My hope is that one or more (or all) of those amazing young kids will grow up and make a difference in the life of someone with Down syndrome.
Maybe one of them will be a doctor who tells expectant mothers, “Your baby has Down syndrome. I know this news is unexpected and not necessarily what you wanted to hear, but I want you to know that there is no reason to believe that your child won’t lead a very fulfilling life.”
A nurse that says, “Congratulations! You baby is beautiful and perfect.”
A teacher who says, “Let’s see what works best for you so that you can learn as much as you can while you’re in my class.”
A policy maker that understands people with Down syndrome deserve fair access to things like life insurance and organ transplants.
An employer that welcomes people with Down syndrome to work at their business in a capacity that is appropriate for them. That provides the training and opportunity for them to be successful and contribute to the success of the business.
A friend who accepts a person with Down syndrome for who he or she is. Who isn’t nice because you’re supposed to be nice to people with disabilities but because she truly enjoys being around him.
A partner or spouse who resists the urge to bail upon hearing the diagnosis. Who chooses to stay and love and support the mother and child through all the ups and downs.
A mother who refuses to abort the life growing inside her. Who chooses to love her baby unconditionally regardless of the number of chromosomes it has. Who chooses to focus on all that her child will be able to do when the world wants to tell her all about what it won’t be able to do.
In the world of Down syndrome, we are taught that early intervention is key for the successful development of our children.
I believe that early education is also essential for progress to continue to be made when it comes to the Down syndrome community. Talk to your kids. Teach them about Down syndrome and other disabilities so that when they find themselves around someone who has an extra chromosome, who might sound a little “funny” when he talks, who needs a little extra time to understand what she’s hearing, or whose brain or body works a little differently in other ways, they know what to do.
In honor of Down Syndrome Awareness Month, I want to share about one of my special role-models, Mrs. Cordelia Conn, through a letter I’ve written countless times to her in my head:
Dear Mrs. Cordelia,
You had no idea, but you were one of the early pioneers and advocates for people with Down syndrome and a personal role model for me. And you did it simply by being the best mom you could be to Patrick.
When I was younger, I always admired you. You had a confidence about you that even a young girl like me could pick up on. You had the sense of humor that was essential in being a mother of seven. There was a genuineness and openness about you that just felt safe. You told it like it was without a cloud of anger or judgment hanging over your statements.
What I remember most, though, was how you were with Patrick. How you acted like he was a normal human being that belonged anywhere he wanted to be and especially belonged wherever you were – church, parties, Boomland, etc. You didn’t try to hide that he had Down syndrome, and you didn’t emphasize it, either. You made it clear that Patrick was not a person to be pitied or coddled. You had expectations of him and didn’t make excuses for him when he did or said something you didn’t approve of. Most importantly, you treated him with respect and love, and I saw that.
Neither one of us knew it yet, but God did. He knew that I needed a role-model to look to when I had my own son with Down syndrome. He knew that I needed more than to just know Patrick and see all that he was able to do. He knew I needed to know you. To see you as a mom to Patrick so I would know what kind of mom I would want to be to my own son.
When I got to sit down and talk with you last September, you told me that you didn’t know that Patrick had Down syndrome until you took him to your family doctor for his first round of routine immunizations when he was two-months-old or older.
After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I asked you if you thought the doctors and nurses knew he had Down syndrome when he was born, and you said, “Supposedly they did, but they thought maybe I couldn’t handle it. Who knows what their feelings were?” When I asked if he was healthy as a baby, you again just said, “Supposedly.” To say I was shocked to hear these things is a gross understatement because in the world of information overload we live in today, the chances of a baby being born with Down syndrome and it not being communicated to the mother is virtually unfathomable. To not know if he or she had any medical conditions that would need additional medical attention or care.
But that’s what makes you so incredible. I honestly don’t think it mattered that you didn’t know right away that Patrick had Down syndrome. Because Down syndrome or not, he was your baby and you were going to love and provide for him the best you could.
You may have only met Moses a handful of times, but your impact on him is much more than the sum of your brief meetings. Because of you, he had a mom that was ready to accept, respect, see, and love him for the person he is and will become.
As we talked, you were amazed that Moses has been receiving therapies since he was 6-weeks old. That he was about to start preschool and would be going to school just like any other child. Those things were not available for Patrick, but yet you still made sure that he wasn’t just tucked away and dismissed. You gave him the opportunities to grow. To be seen. To be known.
Along with a journal and some of Patrick’s old books, you gave me an angel to take home to Moses. You told me to put it up so that he couldn’t reach it and so that it could watch over him. I’m thankful to know that he has another even better angel looking over him now.
Thank you, Mrs. Cordelia. With my whole heart I thank you for being the mom you were to Patrick so I could be the mom I am to Moses.
Jenny (a.k.a. Moses’ mom)
In loving memory of Mrs. Cordelia Ann Rock Conn (1928 – 2019)
This is the mantra that has gotten me through this week as I’ve found myself struggling to make sense of life these days.
This isn’t new territory, either. A couple of months ago, I was going through some old things and I came across a letter I had written to God. I can remember writing it like it was last week instead of 12 years ago. At that time, I was definitely not where I wanted to be. To be honest, I felt like I was on the road to nowhere and I was lost even trying to find my way there. Not exactly what I had pictured my life looking like at 27.
In the letter, I poured my heart out to God. All the thoughts and feelings of anger and frustration, sadness and loneliness, confusion and fear. I asked Him to help me know what to do to help myself.
Here I am 12 years later in a much different season of my life yet feeling those same emotions and a little lost again. And this time it’s not just myself I have to worry about. The stakes are definitely much higher now, and my sense of urgency to know what to do to help myself and my family is much more intense.
Where am I?
I’m at home.
I’m serving my family. I’m cooking meals, washing dishes, doing laundry, and cleaning up messes. I’m cheering for my daughter as she learns to make a lowercase ‘a’ and for my son as he correctly identifies objects when given two choices. I’m rocking outdoor recess duty. I’m snuggling with Josie when she crawls into bed with me each morning and rocking Moses at naptime because he wants me to. I’m taking deep breaths so I don’t completely lose my temper and reminding myself to keep small problems small. I’m asking for hugs and forgiveness when I fail to do both. I’m excited to see my husband when he gets home so I get to talk to an adult and hear about the outside world.
When I was at work, I would often announce “I’m going to go change lives!” Now I feel like the only thing I’m changing is diapers.
Believe you me when I say that I NEVERsaw myself as a housewife and definitely not as a stay-at-home mom. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with either of those by any means. It’s hard work and the pay is horrible. I’m one “official” week in and I’m ready to turn in my two-week notice.
But I’m supposed to be here. Even when I don’t want to wash another dish, it feels right. I don’t have the luxury of knowing why I’m doing exactly what I never wanted to do, but I do have the luxury of trusting that God knows why I’m here and will help me to understand when I’m supposed to.
Over the last 12 years I have learned that life isn’t about getting where you want to be and staying there. It’s about continuing to live and experience and learn and grow, and that still includes going through some growing pains at times.
I’m where I’m supposed to be.
And who knows? This may end up being the best place I’ve been to yet.