Atypical Mama

I wrestled with writing this piece, it's short, small and it's purely inner thoughts. I'm a strong believer in not being the only one on a journey and the smallest things can inspire hope, solidarity or just make others feel seen where they are.

I am an atypical mom: not in the sense I'm sprunchy ( soft and crunchy) -even though I am- and not because my children are atypical, but atypical as in I belong to the neurodiverse. It's a weird feeling to admit as an adult. It's something I've been running away from and something I swore I grew out of. Realizing those two opinions are not the case has been both freeing and binding. I don't believe we have to have labels, but there is something about a diagnosis that gives you a yellow brick road of hope and direction with side rails of realization.

Before and during this pandemic I've been aiding my own children in their journey of testing, and that's not over yet. Little did they know they were aiding me too. Helping me realize my little quirks, pointing out me using their techniques, and improving my self awareness are just a few of the ways they have helped in their own mini human ways. It feels like we are in this beautiful process together which is reassuring in its own way.

I'm an atypical woman, who happens to also be a mom among many other things, and I look forward to figuring all that out.