Today the PTA for my son’s elementary school sent out a well handled email about the two upcoming days that people nationwide are planning to walk out of school to protest the school shooting in Parkland, Florida. After I read the email, I found myself mindlessly playing Plants Vs. Zombies.
We took my son in for some evaluations, and it’s official: he has ADHD—the kind that makes him bounce around the room like a rubber ball. He’s always been high energy, so this isn’t a huge shock, but having it in black and white is a bit intimidating. He’s also apparently smarter than hell.
My son has been bullied all year. How terrible, right? My son has been accused of bullying two other kids in his grade. What kind of a terrible person is he?
The depression and anxiety are getting worse this week. I’m starting to clench my jaw more, and have more trouble getting to sleep and staying asleep. Everything feels urgent, but I’m not motivated to do much. It’s clear the cocktail of medications I’m on is not working out for me.
I’m not posting much on Facebook these days. Except for today, I haven’t written a public post on this blog in several weeks. I’m not making many phone calls, or reaching out much to people to have lunch or coffee or just text and say hi. I’ve gone quiet. I’ve gone dark.
Thus says the Lord: Cursed are those who trust in mere mortals and make mere flesh their strength, whose hearts turn away from the Lord. They shall be like a shrub in the desert, and shall not see when relief comes. They shall live in the parched places of the wilderness, in an uninhabited salt […]
In the early days of Lent, I found myself needing to take a break from Facebook for “a few days,” I said. Then, somehow, I concluded my break needed to last for all of Lent. Here are some reasons why.
Sometimes my son has a tricky relationship with the truth.
I am stuck. I don’t quite know why. I get overwhelmed easily. My best friend says it’s a trauma thing. I’d like to know more about that.