My son had an OT eval on Friday. They wanted to check to see if any of his issues with writing his letters were related to fine motor skills. No one thought they were but agreed we should double check. I have been raised by a Speech Pathologist and have grown up hearing the cautionary tales of parents who ignored signs and signals so I quickly agreed.

I also grew up hearing the horrors of brain injuries not due to wearing a bike helmet therefore we were ahead of our time in this mandatory safety rule. This caused quite a bit of mocking from random classmates who saw me riding by (the dutch boy haircut under the helmet probably didn’t help) but my brain is in complete working order (physically) so I can’t complain.

All was good OT-wise. I was relieved we got the eval but a little sad about having to get one. My son looked at me a bit as I explained to the therapist why we were there and I wondered if he had a little anxiety feeling like something was “wrong” with him.

Maybe my worries in this moment were just that, my worries, I spent a lot of time as a kid seeing specialists as I never did any homework and did not achieve what I could in school.  I am still not sure if this was a learning problem, a lazy problem, or a bit of both but, consequently, I let “being a person who needed extra help” define me.

My son is not this person. He is tenacious, not lazy, and has a lot of pride in his strengths. I remind myself I am not here to shield him but to support him. But like forgetting where I put my car keys and everything else in my life, the trying to remember doesn’t always win.

This past year or so has been a constant test as to whether I will let myself be defined as “poor, sick Deena”

As I have been recovering my husband has found much comfort in NAMI which provides, among other things, support for spouses of people with mental illnesses. I have kind of been a dick about this. If anyone should know the importance of support, in whatever form, it is me. I am not sure what actually happens in the meetings but I assume (most likely wrongly,but I am not about to let that stop me) it is a group of older women making my husband feel like a hero for putting up with burden-filled me. Even if that is the case, why shouldn’t he get that reassurance?  

A little while back we went to dinner and standing outside afterwards, I realized I had a wedgie. I discreetly ducked into an empty storefront to set it free. Afterwards I noticed a couple looking at me. I was pretty blase about the whole thing till I learned later one of them was one of my husband’s NAMI friends. 

“Oh man, that guy has to deal with a crazy wedgie pulling beast of a woman.” I imagined this man saying later.

I am nothing if not someone who likes to let my perception of how others view me be the basis for my own self-esteem, completely voiding the self part of self-esteem, a probably unhealthy but delightfully responsibility-free root to go.

I dislike the idea of these meetings and his desire to attend them because I feel I am healthy, why does he still need to go. Apparently people are autonomous and get to decide what they “need.” I am not a fan of this part of life.

But as I tell my son, “That’s the deal, Captain and Tennille.”