Drowning in streams of consciousness

Apparently, my brain cells have been dying off slowly and I didn’t realize how long it’s been going on. Truly.  My absence from blogging for so long? Has NOTHING to do with not having anything to say.  Nope, got LOTS to say.  Seems the trouble is actually in my inability to string together enough words to finish a post.

Consequently, I have more than 30 unfinished posts in my drafts folder.  I start them knowing full well what I want to say.  Somewhere in the middle I get distracted —most likely by something Nik is doing which requires immediate attention to keep him from doing bodily harm to himself.  Lately, I am distracted by the mere act of sitting down.  No matter what the distraction, when I come back to the unfinished post? Nothing. Nada.  The urge to write is gone, the words won’t come and I just click Save Draft and, well, there it sits. Sometimes for a year. Or more.

Ahem.

I think my problem is twofold.  Well, let’s be honest, there are many problems but only a couple which have any direct bearing on my writing at this point —at least, I think.  One is the incredible physical and emotional toll being exacted by three years of chronic sleep deprivation and worry about Nik’s health and development. Nope, not even talking autism here.  I’m talking ear infections, GI woes, feeding issues.  All of those things are separate from his autism.  Ditto the possible ADHD.  As a result, my short-term memory is beyond bad. 

People think I am super organized because I write down everything about Nik’s food, water, meds, bowels, sleep habits, etc.  Nope, it’s all because I can’t remember if I gave him a medication three hours ago or whether it’s been three days or five since he had a bowel movement, or…you get the idea.

Loss of short-term memory is not conducive to writing.  It’s an awful feeling to have a “brilliant” thought or insight, or a really funny or inspiring story to share and then completely forget what it is by the time your browser window opens. We’re talking seconds here, people, not minutes or hours.

The other obstacle has more to do with what I write about.  Rather, what I think about what I write about.  I’ve hit this wall before, this struggle to find my voice and choose my words.  I get caught up in thinking that I must have something meaningful —with a capital M— to write in order for people to want to read my words.  Or that I have to have some stunning story about my son —his challenges or his triumphs—before I have something worthy of sharing.

The net result of all of this? I pull away.  I hide inside myself.  I allow myself to connect on fewer levels, with fewer people.  The up side is that I spend more time reading other’s words and find myself being incredibly moved by their stories.  But the connection is one-way.  Connecting, really connecting, is the thing I struggle with —I have my whole life.  This opening of myself and allowing myself to be vulnerable, known.  To be seen and loved for who and where I am —warts and all.  To be known as more than Niksmom.

Kyra wrote an amazing post about stepping into a larger version of oneself.  It moved me.  And scared me.  I’ve decided to accept her invitation, to take the risk of sharing more of myself.  So, expect to see me here more often —much more often— and maybe get to know me in new and different ways.  I’m pretty sure I’ll learn a thing or two about myself on the journey, too.

Fear not, there’ll be plenty of stories about Nik, too.

You helped me find myself.
I had to find myself.
No use looking for no one else,
‘Cause I’ll be lonely till I find myself.

I got to find myself.
I got to find myself.
No use looking for no one else,
‘Cause I’ll be lonely till I find myself.

(Find Myself by Eric Clapton)