I've been too self-absorbed lately to feel like blogging. I cried every day for a couple of weeks because the doctor said my son might have autistic spectrum disorder. I was crying mostly because I saw him as perfect before, and suddenly I saw him as having something wrong with him, and as sensitive as he is to my emotions, I felt guilty that he might be absorbing a flawed self-image of himself from me because I couldn't release the judgment. I also had the typical reaction that all mothers get when told that their child may have a problem--guilt about my parenting...and for a while I thought that I should stop writing altogether, as it was taking away from time I should be spending with him.
I've been reading a lot, educating myself from all sorts of angles...and I've concluded that it's unlikely that my son is autistic or that his developmental delay will be "pervasive." Still, he's undergoing some gradual dietary changes and is on a homeopathic remedy and several flower essences. Nightly I'm giving him craniosacral check-ins and sometimes quantum touch if I can stay awake for it. On the allopathic end, I'm taking him for his first California-funded evaluation next Monday, and I have to be vigilant about having a "body of glass"...letting all energy, all judgments and labels flow through me...breathing out anything triggered...as the tendency will be to label any speech delay with some scary diagnosis, as that's what allows them to fund and provide services.
One intuitive told me that my son is a "crystal child," one of a group of souls incarnating en masse at this time in order to help humanity evolve to a crystalline etheric form. He does actually fit the description of one of these--born large, with a bigger head than average, a sweet child who's calm, loving, and affectionate, with an intense gaze, who speaks late because he uses telepathy instead, and who is very bonded to his mother. I realized that I liked this idea because it assuaged the wound in my ego delivered by the diagnosis that my child isn't normal...and it's just a label like ASD is a label, and the truth is that he is neither worse nor better, special or different or wrong or right--he's just him, whole and perfect like any other child.
I also got my first rejection for my novel, which I know is something that must be multiply borne as a writer, but it still made me feel kind of bad. Anyhow...between the curt form rejection and unresponsiveness on the part of several beta readers, I decided that it's not at all ready and I'm back to another huge rewrite.
So that's all kind of discouraging, but the good thing about all of it is that having my ego as a writer take a beating is allowing me to see the reason why I'm doing all of it--the fact that I love it utterly, the writing process, the creating of stories, and the joy is still there despite the invalidation.
My conclusion is the only thing that's causing me anxiety is my own ego. Because I notice that as it suffers more bruises, it's draining out the unease that has been sitting inside me for months.