I have my theories about Jack coming by his issues honestly. I’ve heard that lots of parents don’t get their own diagnoses until their children get theirs. I don’t have a diagnosis, but it’s not for lack of my own issues.
There are lots of quirks I share with Jack. There are also lots that I don’t. Both Jack and I have sensory issues. But while Jack gravitates toward sensory input, I shirk from it.
I believe that, at the very least, I have Sensory Processing Disorder, also known as Sensory Integration Disfunction (or is it the other way around?).
I broke the news to Alex one day while we were driving. “You know how I’m always thinking that I have one disorder or another?” I asked. “I think I have Sensory Processing Disorder.”
He kindly (and quickly) came back with, “Maybe you have more than one disorder.” Thanks, Sweetie. (And by “Sweetie,” I mean, “Jackass”.)
I do enough oversharing here at Stimeyland, so I don’t need to list all of my crazy symptoms here. (I’ll parse those out when I need blog fodder.) Suffice it to say, when we got home this evening and there was barely perceptible music coming from a house down the street, it took everything I had not to (completely) freak out. I had to abandon my kids’ bedtime routine and retreat to a back room with my iPod Shuffle.
It’s kind of a bummer, but I think it’s helpful for me in my interactions with Jack to have some sense of what it’s like when you’re absolutely driven toward (or away from) something. It’s also been educational for me to realize that I am not just weird about things, but that I am wired in a way that makes me weird about things.
Having a name and a cause for my quirkiness doesn’t make it any easier to deal with music from across the street or, say, putting my hands in water, but somehow it does make me feel better about it. And that’s a start.