Letter Therapy = PS: You Made the List!

 

Russ, (repentent after sleeping-in on a camping trip & leaving me alone to deal with monkeys)
This is his best attempt at, "Love me! I'm an angel" Yellowstone July 2009

 

Years ago I sat in a human psychology class listening to a teacher explain the different ways relationships functioned. He used a letter “H” to illustrate a couple who weren't in a healthy relationship; they essentially lived parallel lives –each individual one side of the H- with very little connection in the middle. But an “A” couple was ideal; they had their own “lines” but still leaned on each other. He explained that in marriage you need to have your own life and interests while still being connected. The trick was not to lean on your partner so much that you became enmeshed-which was apparently a bad thing- at the time I was single and longing for love and being enmeshed sounded divine.   

I did meet someone wonderful. He was kind, handsome, totally into me and he could single handedly lift a washing machine from a moving van; thus fulfilling all of the requirements on my “What I want in a spouse list.”  I could think of nothing better than spending every waking second with him.  I wanted our “letter” to be an “O” because that way you couldn't even tell where one person's needs and wants ended and another person’s needs and wants began. I was head over heels in love. We were apart during our engagement; Russ played football at one school, while I went to another. He was off tackling someone on the weekends, while I was sitting on the sidelines wishing he was tackling me. We couldn't get enough of each other, and when we finally got married, I remember thinking everything was going to be perfect.

 (Insert. Dramatic. Sigh.)

 

Strawberry Shortcake + Happy celebrating boys + Fire = Russ turns 36! Jackson 2008
 

By the time we’d been married six years, we had a three year old, an eighteen month old and a two week old. Times had changed; I smelled like milk. I was no longer considering forming any letters of the alphabet with Russ. I wondered why anybody even invented the alphabet and in the pre-dawn dark, I may have periodically ranted in the general direction of my husband’s sleeping form, shouting: “THERE WILL BE NO MORE ENMESHMENT EVER!!”  In those early days of mothering, I was clawed, clutched, sucked, wet on, fought over, hit, thrown up on, cuddled, and loved twenty-two hours a day. Note: there was a two hour block of time when I was free to myself. I tried to sleep during that block of time.  My husband, however, thought this was a good time for enmeshment. He missed our “O days.” He would even settle for two dysfunctional L's lined up by each other, he said he wasn’t asking for much, maybe just a little cuddling? I used to love to cuddle! I responded by saying he could touch his big toe to my big toe, but as we laid in bed together, I realized he needed to cut his toenails, so all bets were off.

 I think the initial hope Russ had that we’d get through the early stages of parenting and resume our O letter lifestyle was obliterated years ago. We’ve grudgingly accepted that our haphazard pace has only increased with time. Like everyone, we are swamped juggling work schedules and boy schedules and life schedules. Russ may have given up his dreams of enmeshment, (which I’ve assured him the professor said was for the best). But sometimes at night, before we succumb to the weight of exhaustion, we lay in bed, our hands touching, and that contact sparks some long ago memory, I close my eyes and remember the hopeful kids we once were. I trace my finger in his palm, draw the letter A the way I imagine Anne Sullivan would trace it into Helen Keller’s palm. The need we have for communication is still there, so we stutter through the words at first, try to sound out the letters, work to string the vowels and constantans together to form sentences.

 

Russ & his "Mini Me" Alex: If you want to see Alex smile a real smile, just put him with his dad! 2008
 

We try to be gentle with each other in our awkward attempts at articulation, but a few years back, we broke the cardinal rule of our letter therapy sessions. We tried to form words after midnight (which means the words that were formed might need to be edited for content). It was a rough day that flowed seamlessly into a rough night. Everyone had the flu, we were moving in a week and I was in charge of a school fair the next day. We were both so exhausted from packing, cleaning, and administering Tylenol to even see straight. Russ and I collapsed into bed, practically delirious. Before I’d even pulled the covers over us, I felt at once crowded. “Scoot over” I said, elbowing him, “You’re hogging the bed!”  “I'm hogging the bed? You're on 2/3 of the bed!” Russ countered, pulling my hair.  Now, this was a queen size bed and Russ is an ex-college linebacker. The very idea that Russ could insinuate I was taking up the majority of the bed was infuriating, and I told him as much. Russ claimed he was falling off the bed and if he scooted over any more he'd be sleeping on the floor, so naturally I’d cried, “And that would be a bad thing because...?” Instead of answering my question, Russ declared, “You always hog the bed and I never complain!” So I said, (with perfect diction I might add) “Don’t you have a minor in psychology? Shouldn’t you know that using the words “always” and “never” when discussing behavior is not a good choice?” “Well if you didn’t always hog the bed, I wouldn’t have to say it.”  Russ laughed smugly. I love my husband for his sense of humor, but this was NOT a joking matter. Clearly he took up more space on the bed and I was the sacrificing wife who always scooted over to the other side so he would be more comfortable. I climbed out of bed, pulling the blanket along with me. “Where are you going?” Russ asked, confused, “I'm going to sleep on the couch, so I don't crowd you so much.” I ground out, throwing a pillow at his head. “Oh, come on Joanie” Russ cajoled as he wearily climbed out of bed to chase me down the stairs, realizing as he raced, that I was not in a teasing mood, or even a rational mood for that matter.

 I flopped on the couch and turned on the TV. “I hog the bed? I hog it?” I yelled into the dark. Russ caught up with me and stood uneasily at my feet, blinking like a deer in the headlights, not sure which direction to sprint for cover. Finally, decisive, Russ threw his hands in the air and said, “All right, let’s settle this. I'm going to get the tape measure from the garage and we can measure to see who is actually taking up more space.” “You are not!” I cried leaping from the couch and following him to the garage. After he went outside I locked the door and turned out the lights. It was twenty degrees and I laughed maliciously as I watched him make his way barefoot through the snow to the front door. He came inside shivering, held up the tape measure and grabbing my hand in his cold one said, “Come on wife, let’s settle this.” I followed him up the stairs. We lay down on the bed. Russ got up and tried to measure the distance of our positions, but I complained that when he got off the bed, he changed the point where his arm was resting.” After some discussion, we agreed to lie side by side while I used my mascara wand to make a tiny dot on the sheet where our arms rested.  We got off the bed and I stood at the foot of the mattress while Russ fumbled with the tape measure.  Looking at the sheet I was shocked when I realized my side was significantly bigger than his. BLAST! So, naturally, at the last minute before he could measure, I pulled the sheet to the side, so it made my side smaller. Russ hollered “You cheated!” “I did not!” I cried, laughing. “This was a stupid idea!”  I continued, falling back into bed. It was one AM. Russ climbed into bed as well; I curled into him like the letter C. I cried a little from the sheer force of fatigue I felt crushed by. Russ held me, tried not to fall asleep while he listened to me rattle off my complaints. He kissed the top of my head and before I finally succumbed to sleep, I wondered why I thought enmeshment was such a bad idea.

Hangin Out at Spencer's Football Game: Thus the big smile! Russ & Logan. October 2010

In reality, our moments of connection; our much needed letter therapy session are sporadic at best. In the past I have easily justified this drop in adult conversation as a necessary part of the cause and effect of living with autism. The whole way we navigate our world, from opposite work schedules, to dividing and concurring tasks, to deciding whose dealing with the child whose having a meltdown and whose staying behind to pick the pieces…is designed around our boys. It’s a zone defense. We have it perfectly worked out so one of us is always helping our children, but by default, rarely helping each other.

 But here’s the deal; Yes! Life does pull the carpet out from under your feet sometimes; it slams you to the ground so fast all you can do is wait for your pupils to redialate so you can locate the car keys that fell out of your pocket midair, (because of course, the boys are late for scouts). It’s easy to justify the way you behave in a crisis situation. I don’t blame either of us for getting so caught up in our roles as adult care takers putting out fires every five seconds,  that when you  finally have a moment to regroup, to shake off the soot, that you naturally (oddly) think of yourself.
 

Spencer giving Russ a little sugar: OR Spencer asking Russ what kind of face
to make when he starts shaving? April 2010

 Years ago, a good friend of mine with a very busy life told me she’d checked her calendar and realized with traveling for work, and her kid’s schedules that if her husband was going to get any enmeshment, it would need to be that night. So, when the kids were finally asleep, she climbed in bed, lit a candle and said (possibly in the same tone of voice you would tell your child, “I want this room picked up, now!”) “Ok. I’m here…”  Her husband responded, “I just feel like I’m one more thing on your to do list.” I asked my friend what she did then, and she said that she blew out the candle and resumed reading her book. I told her the difference between her husband’s response and mine, was that Russ would have looked dumbfounded and cried out gleefully, “I made your list?!!”

 I confess I have been so overwhelmed with keeping my wits about me, with trying to protect the fragile remains of my crumbling sanity, that at times, I have brushed away Russ’ needs like I was brushing toast crumbs off the counter. His need for connection has in the past become one more thing on my to do list, and possibly even the last thing on my to do list. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve thought, “You’re on your own Russ. You’re the adult, and while I know you’d like to share your –good day, bad day, ordinary day- with me, Alex just melted down on Isle 5, so, let’s catch up…another time….next month? Wednesday the 4^th? I can pencil you in at 5 pm between therapy appointments.”   

Logan, Spencer & Russ with their beloved dog Boo Bear. Jackson 2009

 I’ve realized in the last year that the mounting stress of raising three boys, two with autism, coupled with the pressure of daily life has at times caused me so much anxiety that I’ve turned inward as a means of self preservation, However, in turning to self so much, I’ve denied my husband his place as protector, I denied him my vulnerable heart. I thought of him less often, and our points of connection grew farther and farther apart. I was wrong. (It KILLS me to admit this! Picture me dead on the floor, and you, grappling with an unfinished post and no closure). I know now, we need the hold we have on each other like we need air. It must be protected with bubble wrap. It’s fragile and tenuous. We need to consistently sound out the words that give us joy, we need to laugh often, we need to connect more than just our big toe touching each other. We need to hold each other closely so we can remember there are still good things in the world and moments of happiness yet to be discovered. There is strength in the Quaker Proverb, “Thee lift me, and I’ll lift thee, and we’ll ascend together.”

 So, apparently you can teach an old dog new tricks, because, SURPRISE! I put Russ on my list,  which means I sometimes say no to other things, I let Alex writhe about on the floor of Isle 5 a few extra minutes, and I have washed the same load of laundry three times because I keep forgetting to put it in the dryer. We’ve shifted our priorities a bit, made a little wiggle room, reevaluated what is really important, and it turns out, fighting over who takes up the most room on the bed = not so important. Besides, we got a king size a few years back, and most mornings it would seem Russ and I are hovering on either side of the mattress anyway, because Logan has come up sometime during the night to sprawl between us, forming the perfect letter H.

A Bear & His Cubs. Salt Lake City, Utah, April 2010