Please, don't kill the cat.

Nearly a year ago, as my bewildered husband and I wrestled with the beginning stages of the ASD diagnosis process for our eldest daughter and me, we attended a workshop on "Managing Challenging Behaviours" at the behest of his mother. We didn't know what to expect. I was extremely on edge as the only clearly ND parent in the room, feeling like they were coming to get me. Some of what was said was helpful, some felt like a personal affront. I occasionally wanted to scream, "this is too hard!!" and flee the room, but instead, I sat and rocked and wrung my hands together trying to block out the agonising feelings bombarding me from everyone else in the room.

As tough as it was, there were a few pearls of wisdom we took away from that night that proved useful for better understanding our daughter's often bewildering experience of the world. Foremost in my mind, was the notion that curiosity, not compliance or "acceptable"/"normal" behaviour, is the opposite end of the spectrum from anxiety, a state we frequently inhabit in our household. The ASD researcher/speaker encouraged us to watch for curiosity to know when our anxious little creatures were genuinely relaxed so we could capitalise on those moments for understanding how to get them there more often.

I tucked all this under my cap and set to my task of trying to unravel the mystery of my daughter's persistent anxiety without thinking twice about how it applied to me. I recognised that S and I were feeding off one another like a pack of dementors at ground zero, but I couldn't see through the smoke and flames to an exit strategy. I funnelled all my energy into getting her in to see the paediatrician, the child psychologist, the occupational therapist, the speech pathologist, running in circles to get the professional safety net we needed to make necessary changes. What I failed to see, was how much I needed that energy to soothe my own anxiety for both our benefit.

I needed help to get help. It's such a conundrum. It's a juggernaut confounded by my own struggle to seek help, which gets progressively worse the more anxious I am.

Yet, now that the smoke is starting to clear, the sound of reinforcements approaching, I suddenly recognise my own curiosity returning. I find myself able, for the first time in decades, to seek out new ideas and ways of thinking, sit with my thoughts without them mowing me over, weave new threads together into an interesting tapestry of creativity. It's refreshing and, dare I say, fun.

I must give credit where it's due for jolting me out of my mental whirlpool and reminding me I have the ability to write my way through the gripping anxiety, down the slope of ebbing strain, an into fields of frivolity. The Twitter #WritingCommunity has given me this. Motivation to write more better, different voices resonating, creating connections with others sharing similar struggles around the globe, is helping me pause, breathe, think, reflect, write, and find my curiosity again.

Thank you!