Autism Answer: My Husband Didn't Hit Me

Surgery, Day Six

What a conundrum. People are too often blamed or not believed when they find themselves in an abusive relationship and reach out for help. Yet, also too often, when people see a woman (or child) bruised and battered they pounce on the assumption that someone is abusing them.

Have you noticed this?

One personal recent example:
My husband saw a woman in the store with black eyes and a bruised arm. She said something about getting hurt on a job but my hubby hardly even listened because he was absolutely certain the story was being invented to protect a husband or boyfriend.

A few weeks later, he and I drove to Dallas for my appointment to have Mohs Surgery in order to remove the Basal Cell Carcinoma from my face. It turned out the cute little mole just under my left eye, near my nose, was deceptively dangerous (albeit, slowly so). My lovely hubby waited hours in the waiting room, asked me thoughtful questions, bought me coffee, held my hand, worried wildly when I was taking longer than several other patients

Surgery, Day One

getting the same type of surgery. He loves me and worked at finding ways to be of service while dealing with his own anxiety.

He, uh, he didn't hit me.

As I finally emerged from the room (cancer free!) and told him that we were officially able to go home, he relaxed a little and breathed an audible sigh of relief. The couple we had been chatting with in the waiting room - interestingly, a husband and wife from our very small town! - were happy for us but a little bummed that they weren't able to leave yet. Also, they were impressed with the immediate swelling and bruising of my face. "You'll have to walk around town telling people Boogie did that to ya!" the woman joked.

CONFESSION: We all laughed. Nervously, without making eye contact, and aware of our shared discomfort. But, we laughed. Not because it was funny, but because we were all thinking it. I did look like I had been beaten up. And it did remind us of photos where women have been hit by their husbands.

Why? Why all of us? <---- This is an important question with answers worth discussing. But, also, with answers worth giving to ourselves. So, I'll ask for that in today's sharing. Let's give ourselves some answers.

Surgery, Day Three

*As my wound began to look quickly worse, evolving speedily from one state of healing to another, looking like one image we would imagine of an abused wife after another, the next few days were an emotional roller coaster ride for my hubby.

You see, he couldn't stop thinking about the woman he had seen only weeks previous. The woman he had been certain was being beaten by her man. Sure, she could have been. We (sadly) know too many people for whom that is or has been the story. However, he realized, probably she wasn't. And how sad is it (this is my own addition) that he had not only made the assumption, regardless of her words, but had done so only to then judge her for being beaten and lying about it?

For days my husband would cringe every time I had to run an errand in our town, knowing that many others would likely be making the same assumptions and judgments about us, about me and about him.

Well, my face has healed quite a bit now. I no longer look like a stock photo under the heading "battered women", and so it could be easy for my husband to just forget about it.

Instead, today he found himself running into the woman he'd been thinking about so much (funny to say that so comfortably as his wife, right? tee hee!) at the store and nervously approached her. He apologized for the behavior of his inner monologue and the subsequent sharing of that opinion. He told her the story of me, my face, his worry. Her reaction was forgiveness and laughter. Turns out, she told him, that a few police officers pulled her aside and asked similar questions, they'd had the same assumption.

I'm sorry that people do beat their spouses and their children. It's such a sad, horrible, hurtful truth. And I'm also sorry that when they don't, people might assume they do. There is some crossing of the wires where caring is concerned, maybe. We want to care and step in, we want to be a helpful hero, yet we are also afraid to be when people specifically reach out to us. Or, maybe, we just like to imagine the sensational stuff when we know that we aren't expected to take responsibility. There aren't a lot of easy answers where taking action in the relationships of others is concerned.

But we can do a few things. Stop judging so easily, stop assuming so readily, and especially: choose to believe the stories people tell of themselves and their experiences. It's true that there will be people and times in our lives where the evidence will need to not be ignored when met with clashing stories, but those times are - for most of us - rare. And even then, let's listen without judgment and assumption.

 

Surgery, One Month

If someone reaches out for help, specifically trying to sever an abusive tie with someone, or if we see consistent and concrete evidence of abuse, where a child or disabled person is concerned, perhaps we open ourselves up to taking an action or opening a door where they can find help. And if someone tells us no, they don't need us, our assumptions are wrong, maybe look at where and why we are having those thoughts. Is it evidence or knee-jerk assumptions? Who are we judging? What does it say about us?

It's interesting stuff, really. Diving in and getting to know our judgments and assumptions. They reveal a lot about who we are and the world we are immersed in.

Also, wear sunscreen. You might be able to avoid the Mohs Surgery I had and never even ever have to wonder if people think your spouse is hitting you. ;D
 
Hugs smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 
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PLEASE: If you or someone you know is struggling to heal from or understand how to change a story of abuse, please read Sever The Cycle of Abuse with The Sub Shop Savior by my mom, Dr. Lynette Louise ("The Brain Broad"). It is a beautifully written and designed true story that offers guidance, friendship, and understanding.  
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 *AN ASIDE: I like to think of the way my wound healed as being similar to the healing we go through after leaving an abusive situation. At first, it looks kind of worse. Though we have taken the first steps toward healing it is a precarious time. My wound needed special care, it needed protection and careful cleaning. It is similar when we have broken free from a harmful relationship. We are messy, vulnerable, confused, and in danger of allowing ourselves to be infected with poisonous beliefs, potentially prolonging our healing or hurting ourselves further so that we need yet MORE help and interventions. However, if we do the work and take care in the beginning, the healing soon becomes visible and - dare I say it? - almost easy. Until it IS easy! We are left with a scar, a reminder that we can mostly forget or ignore but sometimes flares or itches and tends to invite questions we can choose to answer as ways to offer insight. It's worth it, my friends. Cutting the cancer literally off of your skin or cutting it figuratively out of your life. It's worth it. (Now, does anyone want to give me $600 so I can pay for my surgery? It's worth it, I just don't have it. Oh, wait. That's still part of my healing, eh? Well, the request still stands. Sometimes it's okay to ask for a little help in the healing process. Giggle! xoxo)

Autism Answer: In The Parking Lot

In the car

I was sitting in our car waiting for my hubby to come out of the auto parts store, my window slightly open and a cool spring breeze tickling my cheeks. 

A big old noisy truck pulled up beside me and a nice looking elderly couple smiled at me from their open windows. I comfortably smiled back. 

Humming to myself I watched as the gentleman from the truck stepped awkwardly out of his vehicle (perhaps babying tender muscles or creaky joints, I thought) and I shared another smile with the woman who chose to stay behind. Kindred spirits, I felt. She picked up her phone and began to scroll. I giggled, picked up my phone and took the selfies in this post. 

Then my husband came out to the car carrying a new alternator, placed it by my feet on the passenger side, and excused himself to head back into the store. I stretched, kissed his cheek while he uncomfortably allowed it (displays of affection are nervous things for my husband so I rarely do them but sometimes, well, sometimes I can hardly help it) and I watched as he moved with a quick shuffle toward the store. Our age is showing, I happily sighed. I like it. 

As my look drifted toward the woman in the truck I was shocked out of my moment by angry eyes and an accusatory shaking of her head. I tried a smile but she only huffed and looked back down at her phone. 

Hmmm.... what had I done? The kiss was literally a peck on the cheek. I would ask nothing more than that of my husband, anyhow. Hmmm... had I imagined the anger? Perhaps. Wait. Here comes the gentleman she was with. Sharply she said, "we have to go." That's how she welcomed him back. Ya, I think it might be something about me. Oh, well. Probably the mixed-race relationship thing, or maybe my husband's age compared to mine. We used to get angry stares pretty often. Or, maybe, she also doesn't like displays of affection. Even tiny ones. I suppose it could have been my humming that bothered her. 

Of course, it may have had absolutely nothing at all to do with me and may have been something on her phone that shifted her mood, our eye contact and her head-shaking completely unnoticed by her in whatever headspace she was in. That's quite possible. Equally as possible as any reason I had imagined already, and all the others I hadn't. 

Anyway, they drove away while I stayed. Humming and thinking and enjoying the breeze. 

Sitting in our car waiting for my hubby to come out of the auto parts store. 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

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Running errands with my husband

 

Autism Answer: A Marriage With Mosquito Bites

I wasn't a little girl who thought about marriage. My Barbie doll was a writer and nature lover who lived alone in the trees; miraculously free of mosquito bites. My Donny Osmond doll spied, took pictures, and wrote articles about how beautiful it was to see my Barbie (read: me) live naked and free and filled with love for all living creatures. A little creepy? Sure, but I liked having an audience without having to figure out how, exactly, to fit him into the picture.

As I grew older I still imagined myself living in the trees, but I included always a log style cabin and a typewriter. Dirty, happy children replaced the wildlife. Completely absent (with no backstory even invented) was a husband or father for those barefooted children.

But then one day I was a grown-up with three sons who found herself pregnant again and unable to stay in the USA; unless I married my then boyfriend. A man who was much older than me and had been married himself once before. A man who had never intended to marry again. And me, never having wanted to be married in the first place.

Well, we've been happily married now for sixteen delightfully interesting and belief shifting years.

Let me tell you right away, when I met my now husband I was a single twenty-three year old mom with three happy, dirty sons living in a small house in the woods. However, the house was my mother’s and I also lived with my four brothers and their cognitive challenges (autism, learning disabilities, even Fetal Alcohol Syndrome – my brothers are adopted – were words I had seen stamped on papers around the house while I was growing up). Also, the fathers of my sons were absent from the picture but not from our story. Though it’s true I had always wanted to be a single mother, I never told the men that they could not be part of their children’s lives. Instead, I believe, I chose well based on my deep wishes. I chose men who were not likely to step up and do the work. But when living out my imagined picture I learned that there was so much more to it. Nagging doubts and important worries. How much work should I do to make it easy for the dads to see the boys? Never would I badmouth biological fathers to my sons, but how best to tell the truth? Tiny bites of big issues were buzzing consistently; some more hungry than others.

When I met my now husband I was open to a relationship but not anywhere near considering a possible husband or father. I loved being a mom to the point of not wanting to share. I had strong parenting opinions and no interest in explaining or defending them. I was selfish and comfortable with that. My boys first belonged to themselves, and then to me. The end.

So I wasn’t surprised when the sexy black man who fixed my mom’s car became my boyfriend. Well, I was a little surprised but only because there was no way we made sense together. I’m a white travel loving hippie chick from Canada and he’s a soda drinking black mechanic who had never been outside of Texas. He watches TV while I hike in the woods, singing to myself and imagining things. He’s twenty-three years older than me. I embrace a world filled with beauty and possibilities while he watches it warily for danger and crooks.

But we are similar down, down, down deep. We love the children. He had four children from previous relationships and I had three. And he loved my children as though they were our own. I was amazed by that! I focused on that. He would show up at my mom’s house with a box of donuts and cans of pop for the kids. I would cringe and remind everyone that the snacks were unhealthy, but I would see and feel the thoughtfulness. I’d cancel a date because one of the boys was sick and my boyfriend would immediately show up, regardless of the hour, with Dollar Store drugs for children to find me diligently nursing a sick boy using organic foods. He would invite us to his trailer house where the boys could watch cartoons, and I would struggle with my distaste for television while I adored his desire to have us around, even while my “freedom” style of parenting was wreaking havoc on his wildly messy piles of car parts and tools that looked to me and my boys like fun junk.

I grew to see how being with someone who cared about us but who was also very different would expand my edges, give me and my sons more to understand and think about while making me practice focusing on the intentions. It turns out, also, that explaining my parenting choices was a wonderful way to understand them better myself and to grow more confident as a mom.

When I became pregnant again I had a habit to break. And, indeed, I wanted to break it. This time I didn’t step away from the father and chose instead to see how we could be mom and dad together. Yet marriage still never occurred to me.

Until I got stuck in Canada on a visit to family and wasn’t allowed back in the USA. Suddenly the thought of marriage made tangible (if unromantic) sense.

The romantic part, I think, is how easily we understood that we wanted to be together, so

marriage was a no-brainer. We didn’t have a big wedding or ceremony; in fact, we met at the courthouse between separate appointments. He was fixing a car, I had an ultrasound scheduled.

We have spent the past sixteen years designing our marriage our way. I lived for a long time in my mom’s house in the woods, long after my mom and brothers had moved away. My husband, however, stayed in his trailer house in town. Our son was born at a cabin in Missouri while my husband was still in Texas. I lived with all four of our boys in California for a couple of years, helping my mom and my autistic brother when mom first started Brain & Body (my mom is international mental health expert Lynette Louise, aka The Brain Broad). Eventually, my mom sold her little house in the woods and the boys and I moved in with my husband in his trailer house in town. It was perfectly timed, two of our sons had already moved away to California and our youngest son spends huge amounts of time at the school in marching band, theater and leadership; so it’s convenient to be in town. My hubby watches TV while I sing to myself in the tiny patch of wooded area behind our house. Well, sometimes it’s too hot outside – okay, a lot of the time! --in which case I read and read and read in a room away from the television. Sometimes we snuggle together and watch a movie.

The diversity and uniqueness of my family couldn’t possibly be more impressive if written as propaganda advocating diversity. We are an almost ridiculous mix of colors, sexual identities, shapes and sizes, cognitive abilities, political opinions, and financial stabilities. I’ve grown accustomed to the confused stares of strangers when my older than me black step-daughter calls me “mom” at the grocery store. My oldest sons have tricks in their back pockets for looking less Middle Eastern in times of intense tension, and my gay son and gay step-daughter have revealed for me LGBT issues I had otherwise been unaware of. When my autistic brother screams with joy while jumping on the trampoline and the air smells deliciously of my best friend’s authentic Mexican cuisine and my youngest bi-racial son is dancing down the driveway, I know my family couldn’t have existed as it does once-upon-a- time in frighteningly recent history.

I’m lucky and I love this life. Yet there are certainly challenges I hadn’t imagined or anticipated in any of my fantasies of adulthood. My husband and I get equal parts disapproving glares and condescending “good for you” pats on the back. I am forced to see that our culture is prejudice in ways that seem almost never-ending; nearly invisible and easily ignored for those who choose not to see, but never ever not affecting us.

When I remember the Barbie life I imagined for myself it’s surprising just how well I knew (or created) my future life. I lived in the woods, my children were certainly dirty and happy, the diversity and value of wildlife is a gorgeous way to represent my unique family, and the husband I never imagined made it all possible.

He watches us. He gives to us. He loves us. He is one of the biggest parts of our stories although you’ll rarely see him in the picture. He’s a private person, but that’s only part of the reason. Largely it’s because when he was a little boy imagining his future, he imagined giving to a wife and children. He imagined giving them a home and love. They were a picture he painted but wasn’t in. And though his imaginary family didn’t look like us; they were us.

That’s the thing, though. When I imagined my life in the trees surrounded by wild cats, I never included the mosquitoes. The things that bite and make you move. Naked beauty comes with itchy bumps. The bits and pieces of a real life that can be dangerous but are mostly just annoyances. The mosquito bites are real. They are many, and they are real.

My marriage and my life are beautiful and real.

It’s a marriage with mosquito bites. 

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 Author's note: I submitted this piece to Hitched Magazine the other day, in honor of my husband and I and our wedding anniversary this month. I wanted to celebrate seventeen years of marriage with volume! I'm honored that they accepted and published it. Now, I just have to find a way to tell my private husband that thousands of strangers are celebrating our marriage with us. tee hee! Thank you for being here, friends!! 

Happy anniversary to my magnificent husband and our lovely family!!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

Autism Answer: Walking Down The Aisle Into The New Year

Jory and Sabrina

"Is it okay, Sabrina? You don't mind? I don't want you to feel like we're taking over your wedding day." 

"It's fine, don't worry," she promised me from her spot on the bed, snuggled in with my son. "We just want to be married. That's what we care about." 

My son kissed her on the forehead and smiled his agreement.

My oldest son got married on Dec. 27, 2016!

He and Sabrina have been together for less than a year, they are going to be parents, they got engaged a month ago, and now they are married. 

It's a gorgeous timely story! Ending the year with a new beginning.

For many reasons I am confident this marriage will be wonderful. 

Largely because my son is so himself when he's with his new wife. I've watched him grow and explore pieces of who he is and who he wants to be in other relationships, and I've enjoyed that. But with Sabrina he seems so comfortable with who he is while also getting excited about their future.  

"I'll accept the manager job but if it doesn't work out for us, I'll demote myself. Go back to this job that I already know I love," he explained to me a few days earlier. He's always put doing what he loves first and career advancement second. But a little later on I heard him chatting with Sabrina about their evening shift at the cinema where they both work. He was offering to switch roles with her, knowing she prefers working concession and she dislikes ushering. He's putting what he loves first again, and it's her.

It is an ending for me. He is not my man anymore, he's our man (until I let go enough to let him be her man. tee hee!). 

Of course, we are all aware that actually, he is his man. 

Another reason I am confident this marriage will be wonderful; we are all aware of this. Of how we are our own selves, and how our relationships serve us by giving us the freedom to explore that. She is herself. He is himself. They are themselves, together. 

"What time is the wedding?" I asked for the fifth time on the morning of the wedding. Knowing I could be getting my fifth different answer.

"My cousin is going to try to be here by one," Sabrina answered. Her cousin is the person who is going to marry them, and this new time is a good one. 

"Awesome! My niece will probably be able to make it for the wedding if it's at one." I was happy about this. I had been perfectly comfortable with a wedding that shifts and shimmies, dancing to the tune of work schedules. But I also hoped all of my nieces and sons could be there. With this new time, they could be! I was hoping it would stick.  

Mostly I am confident that this marriage will be wonderful because they are clear about what they want. There is no ambiguity, no uncertainty, and no posturing for others. There is only: "We want to be married." 

So, with everyone around them wanting to be there, they allowed us but didn't pressure us. The one thing that mattered most to them was: They wanted to be married. 

And at one o'clock, surrounded by most of our family, they were!  

My son and his wife are stepping into the new year together and are allowing us to join them, although we aren't mandatory to their happiness. (But, man, he's still mandatory to mine! I gotta work on that! ;D )

Moments before the ceremony my son chatted on the phone with my husband, who couldn't be there. "I figured I'd do what you did, dad," my son said. "Getting married. It looks like a good deal." I was beaming. I was amazed. I was momentarily lost in the insight and truth of this statement.

My husband and I have been married for sixteen years and though our marriage has been anything but traditional, it has been wonderful. I remember what my hubby said to me when I told him we couldn't get married, that it could never work because he would never leave our town and I wouldn't stay, he said, "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." 

I shook my head at his naivete. How could it be that simple? 

And yet, it has been. And that difficult, too. We've had to build bridges with unusual scraps and tools. Yet every time, we've done it. And it's been a good deal. 

So I'm amazed and impressed and grateful to watch my son and his new bride do the same. Build a life that matches who they want to be and how they want to live. Personalized and not traditional. But wonderful!  

 

They are living life in their way and for themselves.

In this coming year I hope we all remember to do the same. To choose our own goals. To take action. To be clear. To raise the bar. To do so with the world in mind but ourselves at heart. 

"I had a dream that your nieces were my flower girls," Sabrina told me in her barely awake voice from the coziness of her early morning bed. "They can walk me down the aisle, since I don't have anyone to do it, dropping flower petals on the floor leading to the living room." 

Stepping into this new year let's all be willing to see our missing pieces as open opportunities. Let's be open to creating a wedding of our own dreams, not someone else's. Let's walk down the aisle strong in the knowledge that we are marrying the life we choose; not one that is chosen for us. 

May we all remember to do what my son and his wife have done.

Differently! 

Happy New Year my wonderful friends!

I can't wait to build more life with you in the coming year!

Hugs, smiles, and love!!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 
 

Congratulations Jory and Sabrina!!

You have given me more than I could ever hope to give back. Luckily I know that soon you will be getting the same from your own little peanut!!! xoxo

 

Jory and Sabrina - Bride and Groom!

 

 

Flower Girls

Living room wedding family photo

Autism Answer: My Favorite Tip For Healthy, Happy Relationships

One of my favorite pieces of relationship advice:

Know the difference between annoying and a problem.

I have been happily married for sixteen years. My husband is about as different from me as humanly possible and yet we haven't, so far, had a fight - although debates and

Me and my hubby.

disagreements are as common as stubbed toes and itchy mosquito bites! I honestly believe one of the biggest reason we don't fight (aside from trusting my decision to want him by my side) is an ability to know the difference between something that is annoying and something that is a problem.

All of my relationships are made happier and more authentic because of this! As a mom, sister, daughter, and friend, I am able to breath deep and truly listen, or shrug off an almost angry feeling, when I recognize that my autistic brother or my socially anxious son or my protection oriented husband is merely doing something that I don't like or that I find annoying, and not actually creating a problem. Also, I have learned to recognize and deal with problems when they do arise (because, of course, they do) with confidence and a belief in finding an answer.

I'm certain everyone we have a relationship with will annoy us at times.  (Heck, I even annoy myself now and then!) Their beliefs or abilities may clash with our own; creating friction, a need for patience, and the necessary skill of listening with an open mind. I think I found the need to learn this because of my four brothers. My mom adopted them when I was a pre-teen and they were all, to varying degrees, cognitively challenged. They were annoying, but they were not problems. Despite the cruel energy the professionals and neighbors used to tried and say otherwise, arguing that my brothers were actually a problem, my mom insisted they were not.

My mom was right. (Although, I'll argue that the professionals and the neighbors were a problem!)

I'll admit that it took me a while to learn the difference, my mom (who is Lynette Louise aka The Brain Broad, a renowned international mental health expert) exampled and explained it to me creatively and consistently my entire childhood. However, it wasn't until I thought of it simply in those words, "Know the difference between annoying and a problem," that I truly held onto and successfully incorporated the understanding into all of my relationships. It probably helps that the words materialized while my husband was, well, annoying me. Giggle!

This has shifted me in powerful ways! I am now far more eager to work on solving any true problem in my relationships because I've learned to recognize that there aren't many. Also, I have gained important skills of debate and discussion during the more annoying issues that pop up and can be fun to learn with. 

I have gotten rather good at making all of my relationships healthy thanks to this awareness of annoyances vs problems;  my relationships are healthy, but that doesn't mean they all last long. Some of them are rather short. Sometimes problems are bigger or more prevalent than annoyances, and that can mean saying goodbye. Walking away from a person or a group. But even though some relationships last longer or grow stronger than others, all of my relationships are honest, organic, and built on a foundation of allowing people to be who they are.

My oldest son is getting married next year and I intend, amidst a few other suggestions and relationship tips, to make this one stand out: "Know the difference between annoying and a problem."

I hope he doesn't think I'm being annoying. 

tee hee!

Hugs, smiles, and love!!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

My oldest son and his lovely wife-to-be!!

AUTHOR EDIT: Thanks to a thoughtful comment/question on my Facebook Page - asking for help knowing the difference between an annoyance and a problem - I thought I'd add my personal definition here.  

An annoyance would be when something makes life inconvenient or uncomfortable vs a problem which makes life dangerous (physically and/or emotionally) or stops people from expressing their own personal beliefs and personality.  

 I hope that helps! Feel free to play with the concept in order to come up with your own definition. Hugs!!