gravity pulls you in (why not sit a spell?)

Our family spent a long (three day) weekend together - the first extended bit of time in quite a while.

As ever, I kept things structured and well-defined, more out of habit than necessity.

I caught myself several times watching the pot of Miss M's development, more out of habit than necessity.

I wondered aloud if I would do this the rest of our lives - monitor how Miss M is doing on her own grid, then how she is doing on someone else's grid, then how everyone in the grand scheme operates on their own.

It's exhausting.

We are a few weeks shy of eleven years old (eleven!) and puberty is well-engaged. Pimples, things growing here and there - and oh joy! - mood swings that wave in and out like the tide. Just what someone who constantly regulates herself needs. More challenge.

Miss M is truly, authentically, Miss M. She still fits some sort of criterion, I suppose, though I just can't put my finger on something and nod and agree and ascribe any behavior to "stimming" or "perseverating" or whatever. This is a kid with a stunning intellect, a terrifying vocabulary, an old-world view of manners, and a heart of gold. It's like she's been transported from another time. As if she jumped into a time machine and has arrived from Planet Jane Austen, where civility reigns, and one must fan oneself and take tea.

I wrote to a friend last night, who is a professional in the field and explained that now that OT, speech and other therapies are over, what now? There is nothing to change or fix - she is thrillingly and blessedly our Miss M, who marches to the exotic beat of her own drummer.

This does not, however, make it easier to plug into the typical eleven-year old world. Things like pettiness or sarcasm do not have a place in her heart, nor do things like frivolous music or pop culture. Things to her must have meaning, and a point, to which I say that someday, her college professors are going to worship at her temple.

But for now? Difficult stuff. I might add that she is content, she is well-adjusted. She knows who she is. We just all sort of stand at the edge of the yard with her and look out, scratching our heads. Those typicals just seem so, well, ordinary sometimes. As Miss M is fond of saying, "lacking in imagination."

We talk, talk, TALK about our feelings, the differences, the similarities, the perspective, the empathy, the this, the that.

And you know? It just seems like crushing a flower to constantly encourage her to fit in. I don't do it. We use the word appreciate a lot; we appreciate other people and how they think. It's sort of a reverse noblesse oblige of the neurodiverse set.

And that seems to fit okay.

I wrote an essay a million years ago, in Gravity Pulls You In. I haven't looked at it since I wrote it - not sure I can right now. I feel light years away from that person who analyzed and lost sleep over my daughters differences. First, terrified, then defiant, and now - meh, it's all good.

But I remember.

I remember having to troll blogs and read essays and anthologies, and talk and wring and sweat and tell myself that it's all okay. I think we all do/have done/need to do that. To process. Work it out. Sweat it out and suck it in.

Do check it out. I received a copy last night, and it's glossy, colorful cover is alluring, holding inside nuggets from those who get it.

It'll be a good thing to read today.

And maybe, if I'm lucky, Miss M will take tea with me.