I’ve been posting less for the last year, not because the Blog is Dead. I don’t really care if people aren’t reading or writing personal blogs anymore, just like I don’t care that everyone else plucks their eyebrows. I’m a rebel like that.
No, I haven’t been blogging because it’s been a really hard year with my boys and it felt wrong to air what was going on here on a blog where their friends’ parents and their teachers could read it. I’ve been writing about it, though, working on a book that I felt could deal with it all more thoroughly and help other parents down the road.
Here’s the short version: both boys have Sensory Processing Disorder, which is real, dammit, no matter what the AAP seems to think. We also had them both fully evaluated by a developmental pediatrician, and Benjamin was diagnosed with high IQ and a difficult temperament, which we could have told you. Zachary was depressed and anxious, along with the high IQ, and I’m not going to get into more detail about how that was manifesting except to say we were very worried. (Again, to the AAP, whose to say part of his anxiety wasn’t dealing with the sensory issues?)
We did a couple of things. We got occupational therapy for both boys for six months, which helped them but also gave us a bag of tricks to use on a daily basis. We learned that their minds need to be fed a nutritious diet of heavy cognitive lifting for them to be happy. We also moved. A large part of our reason for moving midyear was Zachary’s unhappiness. We weren’t sure how much the issues were just him and how much they were him in the wrong situation, but we figured we’d change the puzzle before we started trying to change the piece.
I’m happy to tell you that Zachary isn’t depressed anymore. He’s still anxious about some things and Benjamin is still intense and neither of them does great at birthday parties that lack structured activities, but this move has landed them in a much better place.
That’s the good.
I got up at 5 AM yesterday and again today. I wanted to go through all that I’ve been writing, the hundreds of pages of writing about what we’ve been through in the last year. And I realized there’s no way I can write this book, no matter how many people it might help, no matter how good it would be for me. It’s just too personal. It’s one thing for me to vaguely say things were hard. It’s another for my boys, in ten or twenty years, to read a book I published about exactly how parenting them through all of this felt. I can’t do that to them.
Someday, when Zachary becomes the writer he dreams of being, he can write the book about what we all went through. I’ll save my notes for him.
And that’s the good, too.