Tag: burnout

Dear Ravi,

It has been a heck of a week. Parts of it were really good, but parts of it were exhausting. I started my job and I love it. My client is bright, sweet, and we have the same offbeat sort of humor. I am working Monday through Thursday for her, about 25 hours a week. On Saturday, our Gather group had follow up interviews for the new position at church. Our group met from 8:30 to 12:30 Saturday morning. It was both exciting and exhausting. A final decision on the candidate will be made shortly. We had a wonderful Sunday school class yesterday. Could you hear us down the hall? We were making a joyful noise. Part way into the class, I was sitting on the floor with my kiddos. I stood up and my entire back went into spasms. It was hard to even take a breath. I have been having chronic back pain for the last month, but this took things to a whole new level. I moved onto a bench and spent time just trying to breathe. Luckily, none of the kiddos seemed to notice. Church followed class and it was amazing. I loved the music and Elizabeth’s sermon. I sat in the chancel with Roberta afterwards to listen to the organ postlude. I love a good postlude. Following this I went down to the chapel to just breathe, pray, and be with you. It is always good to be with you. Post church, Robert and I joined some dear friends for a late lunch and then I went home, took some meds for my back, and collapsed.

Ravi, this week took all of my spoons. It’s been a while since I have brushed up against autistic burnout and sensory overload. Let me describe how it feels for me, and I wonder if it felt this way for you. I am a cat packed into a human body. I like to bask in sunbeams. I like fidgets, toys, and small things that bring me pleasure. I like my meals to be consistent and in the same bowl every time. Noise, changes in my routine, random chaos are very upsetting and dysregulating to me. Imagine being an orange tabby cat. You are peacefully lying in a patch of sun and suddenly someone locks you in a room with a rambunctious toddler. The toddler pulls your ears and whiskers, pokes at your eyes, and chews on your tail. You like your fur to be flat, neat, and streamlined. The toddler has ruffled your fur backwards and now your tail is soggy. You are trying so hard not to use your teeth and claws, but it is a challenge. You scramble under the nearest piece of furniture and frantically try to smooth down you rumpled fur. You are shaking and scared. You can’t find your center. Ravi, this is what happens when my senses are flooded and I am going into burnout. The good news is that I know a lot more how to buffer myself than I did 10 years ago when I did not even know that I was autistic. I can usually gut it out until the end of the workday or the social scene and then fly home and hide under my favorite quilt. I only eat safe foods, and I work on rest and rehydration. I cuddle under a pile of pets and Nikki climbs on my chest, makes biscuits and purrs. Slowly, life comes back to center. Ravi, as you grew you got much better at self regulation. If something or someone made you uncomfortable, you just got up and walked out of the room. I always admired this quality in you. If you did not like someone or something, you just left. That is a huge asset and sign of growth, my love.

So, my son, this is a long-winded explanation of what it feels like to have my senses flooded. Did it feel this way for you? Was there anything I did that helped? Though I miss you desperately, I rejoice to know that you are in a place of perfect peace, and your nervous system is centered, calm, and happy. It is Thanksgiving week, and we are going off the grid for a bit, just for a sensory respite. We will look for cardinals. I will listen for the sound of your deep throaty chuckle, or your high-pitched cackle which emerged when you bumped up against something that was completely absurd. Daddy and I love you forever and always. Peace, Mom.