There’s no secret that my time working at a law firm was painfully difficult for me. I am smart and a good researcher and writer so that part of the work was good. I wrote some kick-ass legal briefs in my time there, and won some difficult cases in part because of my research and writing skills. But I’m also autistic and had undiagnosed and untreated ADHD the entire time I worked there, not to mention myriad developing health issues.
I burned out. Hard core. My billable hours showed it. I got decent at bringing in work (a task that’s unbelievably hard for an autistic chick) but always split billing credits with the fellow attorneys who were working on matters I brought in. Therefore my stats for bringing in money to the firm weren’t as good as they would have been if I’d hogged billing credits as many of my colleagues did. And, being autistic and a devoted foster parent, I wasn’t much understood by either peers or management. I was an outsider in every way at the law firm.
By the time I left, my billable hours were abysmal and it was time for me to go. I’d already dropped to part time because I could no longer hack full time work there.
I left for a job that was horribly emotionally taxing and required all the skills I was worst at: people skills and in-court legal arguments. The things I was stellar at (research and writing) were not much required as an advocate for children. I was burned out going into my job as an attorney for the child.
I left that position a shell of myself a year and a half later. I was physically exhausted and ill with medical conditions made worse by stress, and mentally, I was beyond fried.
It’s been more than a year since I quit working outside my home. It took a solid year to recover myself mentally. Autistic burnout is no joke. Thank god I have a husband who could support me while I recovered. It’s a privilege I never for a second don’t appreciate.
At first I spent every night having work anxiety dreams, always about getting fired by the managing partner of my old law firm. I flinched easily, like someone who had been in a literal battle. I was tense, anxious, and unproductive. I watched a lot of dumb tv and tried to teach myself how to clean my house.
All that I did moderately well at first was caring for the kids. They’re tender vulnerable shoots that I always want to protect and nurture. Thank god I could still do that and love doing it. And thank god they didn’t care that the other end of the dining room table was piled sky high with junk I hadn’t put away yet.
In a lot of ways, I think caring for the kids has healed me. (Not all the kids – certain kids. Taking a newborn baby last January when I still wasn’t myself wasn’t the wisest choice I’ve ever made, and honestly, I slogged through that bleary eyed and shaky). But Sprout? She’s a healer. And her sister Sunny. And always, always Kiddo, who is such a bright light when she’s here.
How do kids heal me? Lots of ways. They’re honest as can be. No pretense. They don’t expect me to be someone I’m not. They make me laugh non-stop, especially Sprout and the hilarious sassy things that come out of her mouth. And their needs are in some ways fairly simple: food, warmth, affection, clothing, good books, play, safety, endless love, and a listening ear. Those are things I can do.
So where am I at now?
I can’t say I’m 100%. Who ever is? My health issues still plague me with joint and abdominal pain, and chronic gnawing fatigue. I’m on yet another medication (Imuran, an immunosuppressant) that may help once it takes effect, and I’m hopeful for some improvement on it. I’ve applied for disability because I could not hold down a job even part time now with my sleep needs.
Overall, though, I’m much better medicated than I had been. I’m on Vyvanse, a slow release stimulant, which makes my brain work better with the ADHD and which helps a little with my fatigue. I’m also on Vraylar, which helps with autism irritability that comes from the wrong kinds of stimulation.
Emotionally? I feel freaking great. Through years of EMDR therapy, I’ve learned to roll with things that happen in life in healthy ways. I’m no longer triggered so easily. I spend my days often outright happy, but if not happy, then at least satisfied and good about where I am in life.
I’m spending my time reading books instead of watching dumb tv, and I can feel my brain expanding and flexing again, like it forgot for a while what life was supposed to be like, but it has remembered and is stretching after a long sleep.
I’m also writing a lot. I signed up for an outstanding children’s book writing course and it has sparked something in me that has been resting quietly for 35 or so years – the desire to be a writer. I have drafted a middle grade reader about a 7th grade girl who is being bullied by peers and a teacher, and who finds the courage to do something about the teacher. I’ve got a complete draft done, and am in my first round of revisions. I’m working also on a picture book about Kiddo and her love for our old Basset hound Slimy, which I hope to both write and illustrate.
That means I’m painting again for the first time in a lot of years, too, dusting off my old pastels and some water colors. I haven’t painted humans since high school, when I was terribly disappointed in my skills at self portraiture in acrylics. So now I’m working hard at portraiture, using Kiddo as my primary model, and old photos of Kiddo and Slimy together as inspiration for the book.
I have a draft of a picture book about foster care that needs revision. I may convert it into a second middle grade reader, or may seek an illustrator for it other than myself. We’ll see which way the winds blow.
I shall shortly be starting the endless process of submitting manuscripts to publishers. I think I’m actually healthy enough to take the rejection in stride. The amazingly talented children’s book author Bruce Coville once said:
I went to school with people who were better writers than I, who will never be published. They are afraid or gave up. The key to success is bone-headed obstinance.
Bruce Coville
I’m good at bone-headed obstinance! I worked for 17+ years at jobs I didn’t belong in. I can totally be bone-headed about something that means as much to me as being an author.
Despite years at ill-fitting and soul destroying jobs, I’m glad I did them. I’m glad because I wouldn’t be where I am today financially (some day we might retire officially) or emotionally. There’s something to be said for how bright and beautiful the world looks when you’ve just crawled out of the dark.
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