Out of control

Yes, it’s official.  After 30-odd years of trying, I am finally ready to admit that there are things that are out of my control.  These things include, but aren’t limited to:

• Other people’s actions
• Other people’s reactions
• Other people’s choices
• People who have autism; namely, one adorable 11-year-old I know
• The weather

Local readers will understand just exactly why I tacked on that last one – yesterday our state was positively covered with monster tornados, literally a mile across.  Lots of people died.  The more fortunate ones kept their lives but lost homes, cars, businesses.  The really, really lucky ducks (like me ‘n mine) kept their power, kept their internet, and literally watched the tornados do their damage live and in color on the telly.  It was horrifying, and more than once, as I sat there feeling almost ashamed because I was so glad the storms were going around us, I could hardly hold back tears at the sheer power and horror and chaos wending its way across the state.  And, there was nothing I or anyone else could do to stop it.

This is really, REALLY hard for me.  Things that I can’t fix or manage or suggest my way out of?  Those things cause physical discomfort for me.  Trying to let a situation just happen requires herculean effort.  The thing is, intellectually I do understand that the things on the list above are naturally out of my control – but emotionally it’s a whole other thing entirely.  And that’s where we really live, you know…heart, soul, and gut.  I react as if I were responsible, and you would not believe the trouble that’s caused in my lifetime.

The amount of stress I’ve brought upon myself by worrying about things I couldn’t control is highly significant.  Last night, two of the five things listed above combined into a big ol’ maelstrom of STUFF…and I will admit to you that I was a mess.  The storms had the trees in our neighborhood doing the twist, and the lights would flicker just enough to make me twitch uncontrollably because WHAT IF THE POWER GOES OUT?  And/or the interwebz?  Knowing exactly how Stephen would react to either of those scenarios made me want to assume the fetal position in a dark corner.  But here’s the kicker: I worried enough for 20 people and nothing had even happened yet!  I was making myself sick because I could visualize it all happening so clearly.  Autism’ll do that to you, you know – you live through a few F-5 meltdowns, and you just don’t want to venture into that territory EVER AGAIN.

I couldn’t even enjoy the really nice meal I managed to throw together in between panic attacks.  And friends – when *I* can’t enjoy eating, it’s a big deal.  News flash: you can’t control the weather, no matter how hard you try, or how little you eat, or how piteously you wring your hands.

You can’t control an innocent little boy unable to comprehend understand why power sometimes blinks off, or why a video shows up on the computer YouTube but not the iPad YouTube, or why his teacher took a day off, or that Band-Aids really will help a boo-boo.  He lives in a country mostly created in his own mind, and I am rarely granted a visa to travel there.  Oh, I plan, and use common sense, and make some neat PECS cards complete with velcro. I do my best, but control – real control when circumstances are out of my hands?  Not a chance.

While we’re in the confessional, I might as well admit that no matter how many heartfelt speeches are spoken in love from this mother’s heart – a mother trying to be firm but kind, cool but not a “buddy” – I cannot control my 13 year old and his choice to play xbox instead of, I don’t know, reading a little Shakespeare.  I mean, yes, we make rules and we try to enforce them, but at some point you have to give up ultimate control and hope you’ve taught them well.  At least that’s what I keep telling myself (usually when I’m mid-speech about how studying hard NOW will open up so many doors for you, Kerry!).

There are other situations – professional and otherwise – in which I try too hard, and go way too far down the path of trying to “prove” myself, or make up for what I think might be perceived as shortcomings.  Pointless.  Doing my best is about as far as I need to go – anything else is a waste of time, and most definitely out of control.

So.

I admit that I am powerless over others – and my life has become unmanageable.*

*A caveat: by unmanageable I really mean that I can't continue trying to manage every single little thing, often missing managing the kind of big, important things.  That kind of unmanageable.  Because I’m compelled to tell you that I am one helluva manager, when you need something managed.  Or at least I’ll kill myself trying to manage it.  All by myself, ‘cause I’m a big girl!

You can now see how I got myself into such a predicament.

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