Slow Your Horses and Sheep

Today is my 44th birthday, and I woke up tired. A thunderstorm rolled through last night. Our dog was terrified and kept banging on the gate, the noise woke Sidney, and then Sidney was terrified too, so I slept with her. A few years ago, a night like that would have ended with a 5:30 a.m. alarm and a full day of holding it together for everyone else. This morning, all I had to do was take care of my family and myself. To me, that is a win.

I have always given 110%. In medicine, that was my strength. It was also my weakness. I could not give less effort at work, so I came home with nothing left. I needed to sleep. I got migraines. My family got whatever was left of me. When I stepped away from practicing, I wanted to give them the best side of me instead, and my health has improved more than I ever expected.

My daughter has a saying for me. When I'm rushing, she tells me, "Slow your horses and sheep, Mom." It has stuck with me ever since, because she's right. At the beginning of being a special needs parent, everything was a sprint. I thought if I worked hard enough, I could find the answer and fix it.

Sleep was my biggest sprint. When Sidney was diagnosed with mild sleep apnea, I became hyper focused on it. For eight months I tried to keep her on a CPAP. She would take it off in her sleep, which was not her fault. Neither of us slept. I spent all of my energy trying to make it work, night after night, and I was angry and exhausted. I wanted her to have the best night's sleep, and I wasn't getting any sleep myself.

It cost me so much. I had no patience or energy left for her or for the rest of my family, and it hurt our relationship. That was one of the hardest times I've had with her. I was trying to fix one problem, and look at everything else it created. I was unwilling to accept defeat.

Looking back, the problem wasn't Sidney, and it wasn't me. Some plans look great on paper but just aren't doable for a family that is already running on empty. A plan only helps if a tired mom can actually keep it going. If something your child's care team suggested isn't working at home, that is worth telling them. It's information, not failure.

What I learned is that typical answers are not always the answers for us, and that is okay. Now I slow down and think outside the box. Before I sign up for anything, I look at the true cost of my time and energy, and who can help me. We still care a lot about sleep at our house, just in a way we can both live with.

Slowing down didn't make me less effective for her.

It made me better. I notice more. I make calmer, more objective decisions, more like a researcher and less like someone scrambling to implement everything at once.

I also learned that I can't do this alone. Yesterday I met a physician whose son with autism is 26. She understood right away that my goal is not to change Sidney, but to help her brain work as well as it can. People who don't live this life have a hard time understanding what it's like to have a child who doesn't fit into the medical system. Before I met my best friend Karin, another special needs mom, I felt alone on this journey. Special needs moms need each other.

Here is my rule now: I will not sign up for anything that does not put my well-being first, because when I sacrifice myself, it hurts her too. The pressure I put on myself to find every answer and fix everything was never realistic. I already have a great life with her. Now I'm optimizing what we have, learning from it, and sharing it.

It's a marathon, not a sprint. So if you're in the middle of your own sprint, I see you. Slow your horses and sheep, mama.