My EPIC New Year’s Resolution

January 1, 2016Feminism, My Favorite Things, Serious StuffAudrey Hayworth

Have I ever told you about my first editor? I wrote a column in my early twenties for a local magazine where we used to live. It sort of fell into my lap after I had been named one of the town’s sexiest singles (I know, I know).

Anyhow, the editor of this magazine had a prolific career in publishing. He had lived and worked in all of the big markets, and moved/took this job to be near his ailing parents. He called me one day, out of the blue, and asked me to lunch. ‘I’m going to get fired’, I thought. But no, he wanted to tell me I needed to write, and in forty years of publishing, I was only the third person he had told that to.

No, I said. I believed that God and the Universe wanted me to do something with the abuse I had endured. What, I didn’t know, but at the time that was what I believed.

He stared at me intently. ‘I think you’re wrong,’ he said.

We would revisit this conversation on occasion, quite frequently, actually, and then I got married and had kids. And then we moved, our oldest was diagnosed with autism, and I chose not to go back to work to make his therapies a priority.

‘Have you thought maybe this is God or the Universe telling you to take this time to write that book?’ he asked. In truth, my old editor called me on my deepest dream that I thought impossible, that me, of all people, could actually write.

Hmmmmm….

So, I started writing. I cranked out a book. And then our second son was diagnosed with autism. Everything went to the back burner.

Then, a few years ago, in late 2013, I started writing again. And then I started blogging, to keep me in the habit of writing, and it was an easy way to document the lives of our children.

Then, on a whim, I signed up to go to a conference in June 2014. And there, in all their glory, were my people, my weirdos, the misfits whose brains were just as odd as mine, and for the first time in my life, I was with my people.

That’s an unnerving experience if you’ve never had it. You go through life, you make friends, fantastic best friends, but they don’t understand the storm of words and ideas that swirl inside your brain and keep you up at night, the ones you keep to yourself for fear that no one will understand. To be in the presence of people that understand just that, is almost shattering to your core. It’s a shift in the paradigm of your universe, that there are other people like you, that maybe your ideas aren’t so crazy and far-fetched, and that maybe, just maybe, this is where you were meant to be all along.

And so, all of a sudden, you think okay, maybe I can do this. I went viral two months later. Okay, I thought, maybe my words really can make a difference. I started meeting other creative people, people who had the same shit storm swirling inside their brain. And then, last spring, I met Harmony from Modern Mommy Madness. Meeting her has been life changing, and I hope for each and every single one of you, that you each have a working partner and friend like her. The craziest and epic-dumbshit that sits in my brain I can tell her, and guess what— she has the same crazy and epic dumbshit inside her brain. We’re working on some of that epic dumb shit and it’s AMAZING.

Shit started to happen last year, good things, fantastic, set-your-soul on fire things. But then the naysayers also started.

‘No one really makes it as a writer.’
‘That’s a cute/fun hobby.’
‘Thank God your husband supports you.’
‘Is your husband okay with you writing?’
‘You don’t have a degree in English.’
‘Hardly anyone ever gets a book published.’

The list goes on and on and on and on. It tapped into my fear of failure.

So I shut out the noise, and kept telling myself that I finally accepted (and that’s the biggest part and challenge), that this is my purpose in life. I finally accept it, 37 years in, that my words are the what I am supposed to contribute to this world. That maybe I didn’t have to do something with the horrors that happened to me, but yet use those feelings to be a better writer, and reach those that need it the most, that I can use those feelings to tap into your inner core and question your reality and perceptions, that is what I am meant to do. Maybe five people will read my words, or maybe five million. I don’t know, and that part doesn’t matter. What does matter, is that I move forward with the intention of living my purpose.

That acceptance is powerful. That power also means that the naysayers will get louder, and I will have to work harder to shut out the noise, and I might have to buy stock in ear plugs.

But, big shit happens when you finally have the clarity of your goal.

So, that’s my resolution. To work towards the goal of doing more creatively, and writing more. Small and large steps everyday, resolute in shutting out the noise. To own who I am, and to no longer cower in my fear of failure.

I want this for you, too. What are we going to do, together? To fight fear in the face and accomplish epic fucking things?

I can’t wait to see what happens.

This Is The Payoff

December 8, 2015Autism, ParentingAudrey Hayworth

Today, he turns 11, despite my begging with the universe to stop time and keep him small forever.

I wonder some days if I’m the only mother who finds the birthdays of her children bittersweet. He was so excited to wake up and turn 11, and yet I feel the monumental shift below my feet, unable to stop and steady myself against the change of time.

This year was the big shift, the longest leap to date. I looked at him recently…able to hold a conversation, pursuing his passion, figuring out his spot in this God awful world that we live in, and I was taken aback.

This is the payoff, the moment we worked so hard for.

I’ve written and been very open about being terrified about having children prior to having them. How could I, knowing all of the evil in this world, knowingly bring innocence into this world??? Who was I to think that I, the flawed human that I am, could be a worthy mother?

And yet, we have done it, and grown together.

The most emotional lesson that this precious child has taught me, surprisingly, is how to laugh. I always thought I knew laughter, that I laughed when things are funny, but the truth is that I never knew. In retrospect, I think I always wondered how people could genuinely laugh, knowing the weight of evil that surrounded all of us.

The first time I realized that I had never really laughed, tear inducing laughter that I felt in my soul, was a time that he was on the changing table when he was only six weeks old. In the middle of changing his diaper, I leaned over to grab another diaper, and he farted right in my face. I stood there, stunned, as this was a first for me. And then I started laughing and couldn’t stop with tears rolling down my face.

This was the first of many gifts this boy has given me. It was so hard, those first few years. Days of self-induced vomiting tantrums on his part, hours and hours of therapy, diagnostic testing, and begging prayers that he would just grow up to have a life that he loved. This meant clarity in priorities, shutting out external noise, turning the other cheek to nasty stares, unsolicited comments and opinions about how I needed to parent this special boy. It also meant that I had to take a drastic turn in how I viewed his world, sharply adjusting my view to see things through a foreign lens. As hard as it was, this was his gift to me: laughter and the ability to view all experiences from a different point of view.

This process is bittersweet, because there is no other way to package this experience than heartbreak. I look at him, with swelling pride, and feel as though my heart has shattered into the tiny pieces of ash, and no matter how hard I try to chase after the invisible pieces blowing into the wind, I’ll never be able to quite put it back together again. Our love and progress is out there, reserving its spot in the universe, setting us up for the next lessons.

Someone once told me that children pick their parents. I have no idea if this is true, but if it is, I am profoundly grateful that he saw something in me that I didn’t yet see in myself: strength and love.

Happy birthday to one of the loves of my life. I am so very proud of you and so thankful that you chose me to be your mother.

3 Things I Want to Tell My Friend Whose Child Was Just Diagnosed with Special Needs

December 2, 2015As Seen on Other Websites/Blogs, Autism, Parenting, Serious StuffAutism, special needsAudrey Hayworth

My husband and I have two boys, ages 8 and 10, both of whom are on the Autism spectrum. Every time a friend or acquaintance comes to me and tells me their child has been diagnosed with autism or another special need, my heart aches just a little bit more. Because I know things, and the path their new life will take will be rewarding, but exceptionally difficult at the same time. Here are three things I want them to know, things I learned the hard way:

Advocacy is a nice by-product, but it’s not your job to make stupid people understand. Listen, some people are stupid, plain and simple. Either they intend to be mean, because they’re assholes, or they have no intention of understanding because it’s just not a priority to them.

Years ago, right after our oldest was diagnosed, I was in a fast food restaurant and I ran into an old friend of the family. She wanted to know how therapy was going, and was asking questions about the boys and their therapy. I walked into the play area, and a stranger followed behind me. It started off innocently enough:

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she started, “but I heard you talking to that woman about your kid having autism.”

I smiled. “Yes.”

“I don’t mean to judge, but did you vaccinate your children?”

I should’ve stopped her right there, and told her to shove it, but I was naïve and believe in teaching opportunities.

“We did, yes.”

“You know that’s what caused their autism. Have you researched this? Is your husband OK with you abusing your children? He must not be educated.”

“My husband is a physician, actually, and we made the decision to vaccinate with our pediatrician,” I said, trying to remain calm.

“Oh, well that explains it. Your husband gets paid by the pharmaceutical companies.”

This lunatic had no intention of learning about what autism means to our family. She came in with the sole intention of making me feel bad about my mothering skills. People like this can suck the life out of you, but it is not your job to make them understand what you and your child are going through. It is your job to be your child’s mom.

You are going to lose friends, and at times, you will feel lonely. This is an unfortunate by-product of this life you are embarking on. I’ve yet to know someone with a child with special needs who hasn’t lost a friend or two because of it. Maybe it’s because of their own insecurities. Maybe it holds a mirror up to their imperfect life. Who knows? But the less time you focus on the people who step back and more you focus on the people that step forward, the better off you’ll be.

Even the well-meaning friend will say insensitive things to you. Nothing makes me angrier than people telling me I needed to ‘grieve the child I wanted.’ I always hold back from responding, ‘no, you grieve the child you think I should have.’ We have the children we are supposed to have, regardless of what others may think.

While people will disappoint you with their behavior, the friends that step up and stick by you are the ones you will keep forever, because they get it. These are the golden ones; hold onto them tight.

Everyone can and will Monday morning quarterback your decisions, but they’re not living this life, you are. Acceptance needs to be your new mantra for yourself. You are going to make mistakes. Accept this now, and it will be less painful when you screw up. There is no playbook for your life. Even with research, fabulous therapists, and brilliant doctors, straightforward solutions are usually not the first answer.

You will get angry and frustrated, but that is a waste of your precious time and energy. When our first child was diagnosed, I got into the tub and cried, because I didn’t know what I was up against or what the hell I was doing. When the second child was diagnosed, I crawled back into that tub and cried, because I knew what I was up against. I can’t change the way their brains are wired, just like I can’t change their eye or hair color. It’s what makes them them. While I dragged them to therapy multiple times a week, I used the rest of the time to focus on their gifts and strengths.

What you do need to do is throw all of your expectations out of the window while you drive towards a new destination. This is the life you are living. Embrace it.

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