Fragile: Move With Care

When we first moved into the third floor apartment overlooking Shingle Creek and the Mall of the Millenia, we knew it would be a temporary living space. It is an apartment, after all. Sitting on my balcony, sipping coffee and bird-watching at the headwaters to the Everglades has been a joy. Being within walking distance of Macy’s is also a joy but we're ready to move on. 

I thought Henry enjoyed it here, but was also pretty sure that he knew this was not our forever home. When I told him last week that we found a house and we were going to move, I didn’t expect a flat out NO. A frowning, head-shaking NO.  

Then we did all the things you do when you are managing a disorder that dislikes change. I showed him pictures of the house. I let him pick out his room. I showed him the pool and we talked about when he would swim. We created a calendar — packing days, Special Olympics Summer Camp days, staying at Mimi & Granddad’s while the house is painted days, moving days, in the new house day.  A full two months of events, all set out for him.  Then he was excited. Or so I thought.

I went into his room to give him a suitcase and noticed that he’d taken all the pillows and blankets off his bed. They were in the walk-in closet on the floor, arranged like a little sleeping cave.  Or maybe a cocoon. I’m hoping for a cocoon. 

Henry’s behavior got me thinking about my response to moving into our dream home with a writing room just for me. I thought I was doing great -- I'm excited! Then I noticed that I wasn’t sleeping very well. I was eating dinner, not meals exactly, but fists full of Cheez-its.  Every few hours I was snapping, “Where the hell are my glasses?!” 

I asked my husband to go look in Henry’s closet and tell me what he thought. He surveyed the tent-cave and said, “It’s ok. I’m nervous too.”  The mighty Egyptian man is nervous too.

Because that’s what we are when we make a change in life. Even though I am thrilled, my system — my body, my central nervous system, my emotions — are in a whirl. I don’t have autism, so I know how to cope. I pin home decor on Pinterest, cram Cheez-its and snap about the location of my glasses (you guessed it -- on top of my head. Every time.) Healthy? Maybe not, but socially acceptable. 

I want to be like Henry and know when I need to curl up on the closet floor. It’s ok to take time to be overwhelmed. Overwhelmed is a state, and it happens to my system, whether I like it or not.  Being overwhelmed isn’t a reflection of my truth or who I am and that's what it is for Henry.  A state that requires care.