He was dying . . .

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I am often asked if it’s true autistics are incapable of empathy, affection, love, compassion, etc.. I try not to let it get to me, knowing there are so many people out there who believe the myths and the misinformation regarding autism. I try to fight these notions by encouraging and educating those I can.

One of the most powerful tools I have at my disposal is experience.

This morning I spoke to my son, he was feeling sad, he and his grandma had come across a dying bird in the back yard. He posted this status update to his Facebook profile this evening ~

He was dying, my Grandma found him in the backyard, we picked him up and held him as he passed, I stroked his head making sure his final moments were of love and not of fear. We put him in a box with some tissues and some socks so he could spend his final moments in comfort, it was sad we couldn’t save him and we didn’t have him for more than a few minutes but I feel better for having been there for him. I made a difference in its life, albeit in the end of it.

Yes. Autistic people can feel empathy, deeply. They may not always be capable of expressing their feelings, every individual with autism is unique, they have strengths and weaknesses just like everyone else. There are many people not faced with the challenges my son faces who are incapable of the level of empathy my son felt today, holding that little bird. He is a good, good man.

Crystal R. Cook

Diabetes is an asshole.

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Well it is . . .

On the shoreline.

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This vast ocean is spread out before me, drawing me near with a silent voice from somewhere within the wind, inviting me to forget the world around me. I’ve often wondered why sailors referred to the waters as her, I’ve read it’s because of the seductive powers they hold and the unpredictable nature of them. When I visit the waters edge, I feel a gentle strength of comfort washing over me, the way I feel when held in my mother’s embrace.

Now, I am standing on her shore, so still in the peace she offers, gazing out upon the waves. She sends frothy bubbles sneaking slowly toward me to tickle my toes as I entertain whatever thoughts wish to find me.

I want to stay in this moment, at least for a while. I feel my breath keeping time with the rhythmic ebb and flow of the waves until the chill of the salty waters steal it away with cold, slippery fingers caressing my bared legs.

I gratefully listen in hushed silence to the whispered secrets freely floating amongst the glorious noises of nature, losing myself in the beauty before me while the sun drops twinkling diamonds upon the seemingly endless surface of solitude laid before me.

Strolling along this beach, my bare feet sinking in the moist sand, there is a restlessness stirring inside of me. Something longing to be as free as the wind blowing through my hair. I can’t help but wonder what lay beyond that distant horizon, if the air tastes as salty on those shores I cannot see.

Sitting on the glistening sands, sifting through broken fragments of shell and rock discarded by the waves, I am in awe, admiring the colors and textures artfully blanketing the silken sands beneath me. Tangled seaweed scattered here and there remind me there is a life to the sea thriving under this immense body of water I can barely even imagine.

Forests of living wonder, mountains of coral filled with populations of creatures great and small, existing in world I can only dream of. A world healing to many and a source of great fear for others. A world many have been lost to, yet enables us to live. I’ve heard tell of the great beauty which lies beneath the surface, I’m content to stand upon the shoreline and close my eyes, in my vision, it is one of God’s greatest works.

The cooling air and setting sun remind me the day has been long and I must leave the sanctity of the ocean shore, as I gather myself to return to the world I faintly hear her calling for my return . . . another day.

Crystal R. Cook

Social Anxiety or Self Defense Mechanism?

My Anxiety Is Not Disordered by Cynthia Kim 

The article above provides some thought provoking insights regarding social anxiety and those on the Autistic Spectrum . . .

I found I could relate well to her assessment of certain individuals with social difficulties. If you know me, you obviously know I have social peculiarities. I don’t often care to be around people, I prefer talking via typing rather than gabbing on the phone. I don’t mind going for coffee with a friend, but I don’t particularly care to go to their barbecues, the nights out on the town, the movies, or the mall with them. I don’t know if I necessarily have social anxiety or if I am simply teetering on the edge of some misanthropic cliff, deciding whether or not to jump.

imageI find spending time with others to be draining, emotionally taxing, and generally uncomfortable. Even with people I love dearly, I need breaks. Decompression. I often feel I should say to them, “It’s not you, it’s me.”

The difficulty comes in explaining why. I just do. I am not afraid of people, well, most of them. I simply do not care for the vast majority of them. I don’t understand them. I love to watch them, study them, dissect them in my mind. I liken my people watching to the desire to take apart a clock to see how it ticks.

Social pretenses are somewhat lost on me, expected norms of interaction don’t come naturally whether it is within a group dynamic or one-on-one, I often feel a certain discomfort. I like being alone, I relish my solitude, but I also enjoy the company of loved ones, I just can’t seem to enjoy it for extended periods of time.

I am not anti-social, selectively and cautiously social is a better descriptor. There was a time I suffered through it all, when my fight or flight triggers were tripped I ignored both options and forced myself to muddle through, seeking and finding release and relief was not something I allowed myself.

Now though, I say no when I know it will all be too much. I steal away and take a few minutes to regain my center when I find myself in a situation involving others, only returning when I know I am able. I feel a certain level of comfort simply knowing I can do so, sometimes just knowing I can is enough to keep my composure.

As this blog article says, it is a self-defense mechanism for some of us. It’s a way of maintaining balance to a fragile portion of who I am. I know what anxiety is, I have social obstacles certainly, they can lead to anxiety if I do not address them, but I think the anxiety is a consequence of the social quandaries I face, not a cause . . .

Crystal R. Cook

One Lovely Blog Award

Thank you awrestlingwriter for nominating my blog for the One Lovely Blog Award. I started this blog at the end of May thinking I would most likely be giving up on it by the beginning of June, sometimes my optimistic side stays hidden in the shadows. I’m happy to say I’m still around and happier to have become part of a community of like-minded people, gifted and gracious.

One Lovely blog Award

My nominator says . . .

“So, the One Lovely Blog Award nominations are chosen by fellow bloggers for those newer or up-and-coming bloggers. The goal is to help give recognition and to also help the new blogger reach more viewers. It also recognizes blogs that are considered to be “lovely” by the fellow-blogger who chose them. This award acknowledges bloggers who share their story or thoughts in a beautiful manner to connect with their viewers and followers.”

In acceptance, those nominated have a few guidelines to follow:

Thank the person who nominated you for the award.
Add the One Lovely Blog Award logo to your post and/or blog.
Share 7 facts/or things about yourself.
Nominate 15 bloggers you admire and inform nominees by commenting on their blog.
7 Things About Me

So then; 7 things about me . . .

I am not normal. Weirdly random with an offbeat sense of humor. I don’t fit into any societal molds, I am simply, unashamedly, and happily who I am.

I am a woman of faith. I try to honor The Lord each moment, I fall short of his glory daily and earnestly seek his council and forgiveness when I do.

I hoard books. I love reading and re-reading the classics, I actually enjoy reading Shakespeare, I’ve committed pieces of Poe to memory simply by reading them so often.

The first book I remember reading as a child is The Old Man and the Sea by Hemingway.

I have four positively amazing, inspiring children. They are my heroes. My oldest two are autistic, one of them is bipolar as well. My daughter has spread her wings, married and moved away. I want her back sometimes. My youngest will graduate next year, he is a witty genius and one of my truest friends.

My  mother is my best friend.

I have been in love with my husband since I was sixteen. That was . . . a long time ago.

On to the nominations; this one is difficult as I am so new to the community of bloggers, I haven’t had the opportunity to really delve into many of the blogs I have clicked that little follow button on, for now these six blogs are the ones that have touched my heart, of course there are more, choosing is overwhelming. They may be new to blogging or veterans of the blogging world, they are all lovely to me.

http://wereallmadheretheblog.wordpress.com

http://chocolatevent.com

http://doctorly.wordpress.com

http://diapersandtutus.wordpress.com

http://thinspiralnotebook.com

http://dearyesterdaygoodbye.com

Thank you again, awrestlingwriterfor thinking of me . . . If you hadn’t been my nominator you would certainly be on my list of nominees :o)

An award, a gift & my gratitude

I have a small confession to make. I started this blog anticipating utter failure. I was quite certain it would flounder and float aimlessly in the realm of blogdom until I simply gave up and deleted the whole thing.

I’m not entirely certain what makes a blog successful. I tried to research what to do and what not to do, everyone has an opinion and there are plenty of them to choose from. After reading advice from many bloggers I decided I would just forget it all and simply go with my own randomly unorganized way of doing things.

It suits me. I still have no idea what makes a blog a smashing success or if mine will ever be considered as such, but I no longer fear its inevitable demise. Well, perhaps a bit, but that too is in my nature.

Self doubt is a nasty intruder, it paid me a visit the other day and almost had me convinced I was wasting my time, I was ready to delete it all and go back to my journals, hiding my words from all eyes but my own.

God has a way of quelling my doubts in the most unexpected of ways.

I awoke to a sweet message from a fellow blogger, awrestlingwriter.  She nominated my blog for an award. I’ve seen them posted to various blogs I enjoy following and I must say, I secretly wanted one to decorate my page with.

One Lovely blog Award

I know the magic of these awards shared throughout the community of bloggers has worn off for some of the more seasoned among us, but as this is my first, I celebrate it. It renewed my resolve to continue, but my doubts still lingered, they never go away willingly.

Later in the day I arrived home to a package. It was from CafePress. It was addressed to me. Weird. I hadn’t ordered anything. I figured it was a mistake I would have to repackage and return.

It wasn’t.

It was a gift. A thoughtful, encouraging gift from a beautiful friend I’ve not yet had the privilege to meet face to face, she is as dear to me as any. I’ve felt her friendship and love from a distance and it’s real, a blessing in my life. Opening that box scared away the doubts still lingering within me.

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I have so much to share, so many words longing for release, so far I’ve been clinging to the wall like I did when I first put on a pair of roller skates, maybe it’s time to let go. Baby steps . . .

Thank you my friends. Thank you.

Weird Al, I love you. I do.

The actual amount of epic awesome packed into three minutes and forty-five seconds of Weird Al perfection here is indescribable. I will be memorizing and singing this song to the annoyance of anyone within earshot as often as I can, this means my husband and my children are going to love me all the more, or not. I really couldN’T care less!

Why does it always surprise me?

Facebook Facepalm of the Week . . . 

Facebook Facepalm

The Heart of a Man or Dear Women . . .

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Now I must speak to the heart of a woman. The heart that loves, gives and longs to be cradled. The heart that would gladly beat for another if it would save them. The very heart that needs while focusing on the needs of others. The heart that beats, the heart that breaks. The heart filled with love for the man she’s promised her lifelong devotion to.

Women carry many burdens often too heavy for them to bear. We must be strong when we feel weak. We must sacrifice and we must never give in to the desperation sometimes filling us with doubt. We look to the men we love to pick us up when we fall, we cannot understand why they sometimes don’t seem to see our plight, they don’t seem to see our need.

Men often carry their burdens alone, never reaching out for assistance. They live with the pressures of providing food and shelter and clothing to the family they’ve promised to care for. They think of the future while their todays become yesterdays. They forge ahead to maintain the life they’ve made for the ones they love.

We can sometimes take their efforts for granted, they need to know we value them, we appreciate all they provide. Just as we long to be recognized when we put all we are into caring for our family, they too need to know we notice just how much of themselves they give to do the same.

Men sometimes seem to live on a different plane of existence than we do, their feet touch the ground when they walk. Their vision doesn’t always exceed past what their eyes alone can see. They were brought up to be strong, analytical and grounded. Society told them they shouldn’t give in to emotions or exhibit too much tenderness.

As women, we see with so much more than sight, we envision things with emotion and can be easily frustrated when the men we love do not. Where we are feeling, they are often thinking. They express themselves in their own way, just as we do, the differences need to be recognized. Sometimes when we don’t see an emotional reaction we feel slighted, just look into their eyes and you will find what you’re looking for.

Compassion doesn’t always come easy to some, the world has deemed too much compassion in a man a weakness and men are not supposed to be weak. They’re the breadwinners, the kings of the castle. Young boys are too often given the message tears are for girls and sissies, fear is unacceptable and expression of deep feelings are best restrained.

Societal roles for men are ingrained in the culture in which they are raised, the roots of these expected roles run deep and are difficult to escape. The antiquated ideals of what a man should be and how he should behave are inherited from one generation to the next.

Mothers and fathers of sons can contribute to these notions or try to combat them, but sometimes the world at large has a louder voice. Girls are encouraged to use their imagination, they’re called creative while a young boy is called a dreamer. Girls are taught to talk about what is in their hearts, it’s a sign of maturity. Boys are told to grow up and be a man.

Little girls are encouraged to cry when they’re sad, outwardly express joy and happiness. Little boys are told to suck it up when the world causes them pain, they’re expected to maintain restraint when they feel joy.

As young children, girls are given praise and accolades for a job well done while so many boys are simply given a pat on the back. They grow to be men who don’t know how to react to sincere praise and consequently have a difficult time giving it. As parents, we need to model what we want our children to become.

It’s no wonder so many men and women can look upon the same thing and each see something the other cannot. Not all men are ignoring our tender hearts, they may have never been taught how to care for them. They may not have been told a woman needs to be wrapped in the warmth of their love. They didn’t learn communication is the key to a life of fulfillment.

As women we must try to look past the man and see the little boy inside who thinks and feels and dreams. The little boy who longs to release the long bottled up emotions he carries within, the carefree spirit that wants to laugh and create, but is afraid.

We tend to take it personally when the man we love comes home and doesn’t seem interested in our day, when his brow is furrowed we take offense when it may simply be he had a difficult day and needs to decompress. He needs to be given that opportunity, we need to remember it isn’t always about us.

There may very well always be this distance between a man and a woman, we need to nurture the little boy within, understand his fear and his need to stay hidden. We need to know even though he may not always show his love in the ways we wish, he would not be by our side if he didn’t feel all the things he may be yet unable to show.

There are men in this world who are not bound by these manmade chains restraining their inner selves. These men are examples to which other men should aspire. To the women who have been blessed with these precious few, thank God for them and be certain they know just how thankful you truly are to have them in your life.

One of the most fragile and precious things a woman may ever hold is the heart of a man . . .

The Heart of a Woman or An Open Letter To the Men of the World.

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It’s no secret women mystify, confuse and excite men. It’s no secret a woman can turn a man into a clueless mountain of mush. It seems to be a secret among men however, that they are not entirely powerless in the battle between the sexes.

This is an open letter to the men of the world . . . You will be reading about women. Now before you get excited, I must tell you, it’s about feelings, expectations, needs, and desires. Things you need to know.

A woman is fragile. No matter how strong they are in the face of the world, deep inside they are still the little girls who believe in true love, fairy tales and happily ever afters. They can hurt so deeply they feel they will be lost in the pain and they can love so much they will sacrifice their dreams for the sake of it.

A woman longs to be held when she cries, or at the very least have her feelings acknowledged. To turn your back on her tears is to turn your back on her heart. A woman desires compassion and understanding. She craves kindness and needs encouragement. Without these things she begins to build a wall with the broken pieces of her heart.

Self esteem doesn’t come naturally to most women, it needs to be planted and cared for. It needs to be nurtured with a compliment every now and then. Without proper care it will wither away. To a woman, love is more than words. Love is more than existing together. Emotional intimacy fulfills them.

Watching a father play with his children fills her heart, listening to him read them a story brings her warmth. Holding her hand while you watch the television or saying I love you for no reason other than you do can bring tears to her eyes. Asking her if she could use a helping hand when she is elbow deep in dishwater might make her heart skip a beat.

When she says she’s tired believe her, when she says she’s frustrated don’t take it personally. If you are the source of her frustration, take steps to relieve it. Know without you her heart would no longer beat the same. When her day has been too much to bear and her mood is at odds with you, be calm and attempt understanding, especially when you don’t understand.

A woman gives more than she has to her family. She spends every moment thinking of them and caring for them, putting herself last. It’s your job to put her first and make sure she has what she may sometimes deprive herself of. She would give her life to do the same for you.

A man must fulfill the emotional needs of a woman or her flames of passion will smolder and cease to burn. If at first mornings light she wakes with your arms around her, she’ll long to feel them once more when the sun again sets.

It doesn’t take much to free the butterflies stirring within her soul, a scribbled note on the table, ‘I’ll miss you today.’, can make her spirits soar. If you look into her eyes every now and then, you can see her devotion. If you hold her close you can feel it with every beat of her heart.

A woman gives, and when she receives, she gives all the more. Bad days are inevitable. Disagreements and opposed opinions are natural. Giving them voice for too long is not. Women desire communication, pieces of them cease to exist without it. They need a connection, they need to know without a doubt your hearts beat as one.

They need to hear it, see it and feel it. A man cannot assume a woman knows how they feel simply because they spoke vows once upon a time and he is present in the home. She needs to be reassured and reminded or her light will begin to dim.

A man will never hold anything more fragile and precious than the heart of a woman.