Countdowns and meltdowns – bolstered by a big birthday

Woman in striped jumper sits in white dodgem car with boy in navy t-shirt cuddled into her side.

Milestones can be tricky to navigate in life. Rather than markers on the road, they often become obstacles. Things to encounter and embrace, or struggle through. My own relationship with milestones in recent years has been a challenge and the casual parlance with which I used to regard them has been replaced with at best, distaste and at worst, distrust. When you have a child with a developmental delay the discussion of milestones becomes fraught and can seem hopeless. Lately, I have consigned them to a mental drawer with an incomplete baby book and a forgotten cross-stitch project. We make our own markers now and we work hard for them.

With a healthy cynicism about arbitrary milestones, I pondered my upcoming ‘Big Birthday’ earlier this year. I was drawn to thinking about who I wanted to be rather than what I wanted to do. While I think the social narrative around ageing is improving, it is true women have some biological realities to consider while also having seen enough of life to know what challenges might lie ahead.

Woman in striped jumper sits in white dodgem car with boy in navy t-shirt cuddled into her side.

As a parent carer, ageing brings its own challenges, and I am thinking about the longevity of that. While my son gets bigger and heavier, I am wary of how I move and handle him, how I keep him safe, and how I prevent injury. I need to be healthy to care and have the energy to keep up with him. I want him to access playgrounds, soft play, theme parks, fairgrounds, and leisure pools. I want to manage the hurdles of taking him abroad for therapy. I want to be resilient for the unexpected challenges that come my way. I want to be mentally sharp and emotionally balanced when I have to advocate for him and challenge authorities who have different priorities. This is not a new quest but one that is ongoing. In spring, I found myself a bit in a rut. Thanks to a great trainer, I knew what I had to do and how to do it, but I needed microfocus and a period of sustained accountability to get into a good routine. None of that sounds very ‘self-care-y’, but as I have said before, self-care is not always what you want to do, but what you NEED to do.

My biggest inspiration for doing things that feel hard and keeping complaining in check is of course, my son. Earlier this year he had a big operation for hip dysplasia and spent 4 weeks in a pretty horrendous cast. This is on top of years of inpatient treatment, surgeries and therapies. As I frequently come up against conflict with the local authority I remember what he has endured and how he is vulnerable but also, tough. Which is the approach I take to advocacy. Being strong enough to insist we can access the support we need but vulnerable enough to articulate why we need it and admit our infallibility. I have spent three years pleading with the local authority to get wraparound care organised for him in the summer holidays. Like most parents, his dad and I take two weeks of holidays, compared to his six. To be clear, the reason why this is more of a challenge for parent carers, is because holiday camps and out-of-school clubs that mainstream children can attend are not accessible for all children. Our son needs a hoist and plinth for changing, one-to-one support and staff who are trained in delivering buccal medication. This year has been worse than ever and one day of term remained before I had certainty that there would be any kind of provision.

In the last three years, I have been off work (ironically) in May or June with the stress/stress-related illnesses of sorting all this because it raises some pretty tough emotions, memories and pretty depressing thoughts. Even my most tried-and-tested coping mechanisms are withered and worn by it. This year has been different. Because I set myself a challenge in April that I would complete in May and June. I embarked on an ‘8 week lean’ programme at a local and independent gym. It was recommended by the brilliant trainer I mentioned earlier as the gym she would always trust to send clients to. Getting ‘lean’ was a side effect of what I was looking to achieve. I wanted to make habits that would build a good routine and see me physically and mentally thrive in the hardest part of the year. I wanted more energy, clarity and stamina and yes, I wanted the changes I made to my activities and diet to change my shape physically to a body I was more confident in. So how did I fare?

This year, I stayed in the lean programme, stayed in work and despite so much uncertainty remained pretty resolute and focused on my goals. My energy levels are better and so is my motivation. The lean programme has created a good routine. I have managed and wanted to keep it going for myself in the most challenging part of my year. Daily measures include calories, nutrition, exercise and steps. Daily check-ins build a cohort and momentum. The gym itself offers a challenging but supportive environment. The first sessions of feeling shell-shocked were soon replaced by an appreciation of the process and progression in exercises.

The fitness industry talks about ‘non-scale victories’, signs that whatever changes you make to your lifestyle are helping you beyond numbers on the scales. This might be losing inches in your body measurements, clearer skin, lifting heavier weights, having more room in your clothes, sleeping better etc. These can be more impactful and realistic than a weight goal and for some people, more meaningful than being stage or photoshoot-ready. I was clear that my programme would not have before and after photos, but energies.

For a long time, my focus in training and looking after myself is being the best possible parent carer to my son. So I can lift him, carry him into soft-play, change him, take him abroad for swimming therapy and be mentally and physically up to the challenges and provide opportunities. I want to be fit enough to do this for many years to come as long as it is safe for us both. Turning 40 is a pretty big reminder I can’t take that fitness for granted and I wanted to celebrate while feeling at my best. I imagined how I wanted to feel on my birthday and I wanted energy and strength. In the two days before my big birthday I took my boy swimming, carried him onto a fairground ride, drove him around in a dodgem, lifted him into a swing and introduced him to his new holiday club which started this week. Tonight we tucked a tired and happy boy safely into bed and being able to do that for a long time is my biggest motivation.

Note: I am aware having a gym membership and making this investment Is a privilege not accessible to all parent carers, nor is the time to go. Having two adults in the household in employment is less likely in households with a disabled child. We both remain employed due to the kindness (and relative fitness) of our son’s grandparents who collect him from school on working days. We have understanding employers and job roles that can adapt when needed. This is due to having established careers before our son was born. This arrangement currently does not have a back-up plan and the only out-of-school club offering the care he needs in our whole city opened only this week and is funded for a fixed period by a charitable trust.

Not before time, drawing a line, this next year is mine

It’s late February and I finally feel a change in the season. I have woken up to blue skies and a calm mind. Something has shifted and I feel that the trust I had in better days ahead is revealing its promise. I have been floating over the surface but now I feel present. Which is handy, because I turn 40 in less than six months and I plan on having a good time for my big birthday. I want to make changes and so I really hope my luck is changing too. Even if I don’t really know if I believe in luck.

Prelude to a (probably not ancient, or indeed existent) curse

It has been a bit of a year, if a year was 18 months long, and felt like a decade. In the summer of 2022, we reluctantly put our house on the market. With sadness at the circumstances but certain we were doing the best thing for a positive future for our family and they kind of home we now needed. At this point some kind of ancient curse, as old as the local Property Centre’s operating system, seeped into our unsuspecting lives. It might have been a hex, bad karma, poor manifesting… or just a series of unfortunate events on a personal, regional, national and international level.

We were teetering about on the closest we get to an even keel at that point.

Following two years of pandemic-related stress and disruption. Within a period of professional abandonment of statutory provisions for our boy. On a foundation of much worked family wellbeing as we recovered from a myriad of trauma that comes with having a child with a rocky start to life and profund and multiple additional needs. We were getting by so we chose thatmoment.

The decision to sell our home was the starting gun on a period of such unlikely disruptions, that are not individually remarkable, but collectively a massive headfuck (and I really did look for an alternative word here but nothing else works).

A note on sharing stories

I won’t share all of our challenges, they are not all my stories to tell. Not all of the things that impact us are our own troubles, but are often the side effects of loving others, having the courage to be vulnerable and existing in a society that lacks compassion. We cannot always understand or control what hurts us, we just know that we feel hurt.  

I always share stories when I am on the up. When I have the energy. But also when I have a message of hope. When I have found the positive. I wonder if that is a disservice to how I practice writing. I wonder if I feel too vulnerable in the moment, too overwhelmed, too worthless. Maybe my next step is to tell the stories when I don’t know how it ends. I don’t know what the point or the learning is. Not that we ever do really. We can close chapters but there is always more story. I do know I am compelled to share this one now.

Getting on with my ‘annus horriblis’. A term often associated with the late Queen Elizabeth II. It’s interesting she pops into my mind because her truly terrible year was absolutely cushioned by privilege, but not without pain. And sometimes we are guilty of not feeling compassion when we don’t like someone’s circumstances. Like there is some kind of criteria for compassion.

The annus horriblis

Events include:

Successfully completing the sale on our home on the third set of buyers after two failed to settle, one week and then one day before the deadline.

Not knowing whether we would have funds to complete the purchase of our next house.

Which was then delayed by seven months in a process where we were never given a clear timeline of events or any kind of accountability/ recompense/ acknowledgement of the challenge.

Some devastating personal news that broke my heart and foundations, while I did not have my own home but did have somewhere I was loved and welcome.

Rebuilding my fragile but spiralling self-esteem.

Dealing with painful abdominal symptoms while awaiting surgery.

Having surgery and not being primary caregiver for a while.

Battling with services to access statutory provision on two fronts – short breaks and wraparound care.

Completing the purchase of a house and discovering it was far from ready and needed a fair amount of investment, while recovering from surgery.

A long wait and anticipation for my son’s major, essential and potentially life-changing surgery.

Supporting an incredibly vulnerable and necessarily resilient child through surgery and supporting afterwards to lead a life even more restricted than usual.

Dealing with the painful aftermath of restriction and then rehabilitation.

Learning

Throughout that period that has been joy too. And we are better placed now to soar. We have rebuilt our nest, we have secured our home and our family, we have plans in place for productive and HAPPY events. I have been learning too. I have learned about not needing a reason to find something hard. Not needing permission to be sad and sit with the sadness. Not finding the bright side straightaway. Being compassionate to yourself, feeling all the feelings and when you are ready, taking action. Not leaping up so quickly you risk more injury. I can be pragmatic. I can take decisions in stages. I can lower my standards. I can hold myself accountable but still summon self-compassion. This is my big old ugly cry.

I know there will also be challenges. I believe there will always be learning too. I have been pulled apart, my pieces are laid out in front of me and i am going put them back together again with new skills and insight, hoping that my new form is malleable to however I want to shape it in future. When I am in flow. Because I am molten. Golden. I want to shine. It’s time to hit my prime.