My Sexulaity is Evolving!?

Reader be warned, this blog is going to talk about my sexuality, primarily sexual and romantic attraction. Not sex itself.



I got my first crush when I was seven years old. Of course it wasn’t sexual at the time, but I knew my feelings for this boy were different from how I felt about anyone else. I remember writing furiously in my first little diary about him. I cut his picture out of the year book so I could tape it where I could see it everyday.

I loved a boy. I didn’t really talk about it. I didn’t know what to do about it besides try to play with him more at recess and try to get in more group projects with him.

It happened becuase he was nice to me.

I have been bullied for as long as I can remember. Sometimes worse than other times. I went to a new school in 2nd grade after a poor experience in our local public school. In our class our seats were arranged by our last name, and this kid happened to sit next to me because of our last names. He turned out to be a very kind person. He never made fun of me for my height or gender or lack of fine motor skills or anything. He never made fun of me.

I don’t remember a lot of specifics from that young of an age. I do remember he was nice to me and part way through the school year it made me get new big feelings. I had heard enough about crushes to know that’s what this was. But I also knew I didn’t want to like… kiss anyone yet.

This crush lasted on and off for about seven years. It was my only grade school and junior high crush.

Because our school was small we were with the same kids all the way through 8th grade. So he and I were in the same class and same classroom, often next to each other becuase of the ongoing last name organizational system for years. And he was always nice to me.

We were friends all those years, and as we got older even did very typical Jr. high things like go to McDonalds together and see movies. But they were never dates. Even though in my heart all I wanted was for them to be dates. I’m not sure how much I told him, I was very scared to share any intimate feelings at that age. I don’t know if he knew or if he knew and wasn’t interested. Either way he stayed kind.

We went to the same high school for one year, but that was the same year my heart found its next crush.

This boy also sat next to me at school. We had our last class of the day together our freshman year. I already knew him from the skatepark. We would often sleep though our last class and then go skate after school, catching a ride from his brother or my mom to a skate spot for the afternoon.

It really didn’t take long for me to fall for this boy. But it was clear that once again that the interest wasn’t mutual and I had to fight down those feelings for fear of losing my only good friend in my new scary high school. This was the worst year of bullying in all my schooling and I had drifted away from most of my friends from 8th grade in this new school, leaving me vulnerable.

After that year I again switched schools, starting at the local public high school for my sophomore year.

I still hung out with the boy from freshman year all the time, and my heart still crushed on him pretty hard, until my junior year when I became closer with a kid who I had met though our school music program. This kid was a year younger than me than me, but we had become very good friends and eventually I realized I liked them more than a friend as well.

My heart had moved on to its next love, who happened to be my new best friend. All three crushes had been best friends at some point before becoming crushes.

Throughout all these years average teens were a mystery to me. They seemed to have actual crushes on celebrities and people they barely knew. They were attracted to people just by looking at them. I literally could not understand this. I had never experienced this. I had only fallen for best friends.

The third crush was my last for a very long time. We started dating my senior year and got married a few years later. We are still together. I married my third crush, the first one to return my romantic feelings.

My fourth crush didn’t come until more than a decade after the third one. I literally felt no romantic or sexual attraction to anyone except my partner for over ten years. And then I found a new best friend.

We had known each other for a while, but eventually we started hanging out together late at night smoking weed and just talking for hours. After a few weeks of this, I fell hard. I hadn’t experienced a crush in so long that it was all consuming and wrecked me.

It was hard on my marriage but ultimately something that forced us to talk about a lot of things that had been previously “off limits” due to our time spent within conservative Christianity. The experience helped us grow as a couple and stay close to the person I was crushing on. He’s still one of our best friends, and his new partner has also become one of our closest friends!

A few years ago I discovered the term “Demisexual”, which describes a sexuality in which you only develop sexual attraction after forming a deep emotional bond with a person. When I learned what it meant I immediately identified with it. Read more about demisexulaity here. I used this term for myself for the past few years, but now I’m not really sure anymore.

It turns out as I’m figuring out my gender my experience of attraction is changing dramatically.

For the first time I’m finding myself attracted to seemingly random people. I’m getting these weird small crushes, and they are entirely on queer people, or people I am close with. People whose gender is hard to figure out are the ones I’m most likely to fall for. I wasn’t exposed to a lot of genderqueer people until very recently.

It’s taking me by surprise.

I’ve never experienced life like this. Just seeing a random person at a bar and thinking “Oh they are cute, I would totally be into them.” Having a friend get flirty with me and not only feeling anxious, but also feeling somewhat into it. Its all new and weird.

Looking back it turns out all my crushes except crush number 2 are openly queer in some way. Number 1 came out as gay at some point and I found out when I found him on facebook years later. Number 3 is my trans partner who wrote an entire album about her bisexuality. Number 4 recently told me he’s bi.

There’s something about queer people I guess. And now that I’m more comfortable in my body and my identity than I’ve ever been I’m finding myself attracted to people in various ways all the time! It’s really wild. But overall it’s good.

I’ve always understood sexuality as fluid intellectually, but now I’ve experienced it first hand. Sexuality can change and evolve! It can catch us off guard, it can overwhelm us with feelings. It can be a gift and seemingly a curse at times, but I’m grateful for it. I’m grateful for healthy intimate relationships of all types. I’m happy to have so many in my life both past and present. I’m extremely thankful for those boys who befriended me and protected me as a young person who was so often bullied.

I once heard it said “Once you love someone you love them forever” and with those four big crushes I have I found that true. Even if I’m not close to them today, my heart will always have a special place for them.

The Gender Unicorn is a really useful tool for understanding gender and sexulaity. If you’ve never filled it out you should take some time to think about where you might land!

A Big Step Forward!

I’ve spent the last few months wrestling with my gender and what exactly I need to feel more like myself.

I’ve consistently found that the more masculine I allow myself to be and feel the happier I am.

When my partner or good friends drop a masculine “He” or “Husband” my heart leaps out of my chest. Yes. That is me. That is what I want.

I still have a lot of work to do and each day I’m slowly tearing down walls. I still believe I’m not allowed to be this or do this. I’m not “allowed” to be a boy.

When I was a kid I was intensely and quietly jealous of my male cousins. I wanted to be them. I wanted that maleness. I didn’t want to have to constantly prove my identity as “one of the guys” but I did have to prove that over and over again.

I had no idea that trans people existed when I was a kid. If I did I would have spoken up. Instead I just did all the boy things and played with all the boys. I was recognized as a tom-boy, but when it came down to it, I was a girl. At school I was in the girls uniform, girls teams, girl everything. Besides having two great female friends to hang out with in those situations, it sucked. I wanted to be with the other group. I was in the wrong group.


“It Feels Selfish. It feels like giving myself… too big of a present.”

– Maia Kobabe on Top Surgery

I heard one of my favorite authors, Maia Kobabe*, say in an interview on Gender Reveal that top surgery would be “too big of a present” to emselves.

This resonated deeply with me. I feel this way about top surgery, I also felt the same way about testosterone. Its too nice, too big, and I don’t need it, so it’s just like a huge gift to myself. I also had a lot of worries about testosterone. Both of these thoughts slowed me from making any quick decisions, or even seeking out a doctor to talk to.

I’m a very sensitive person, I don’t do well on most meds, so I worried about just messing with my system at all. I worried about becoming angry and irritable. I worried about not getting to pick and choose my changes. I might get really hairy. I might go bald! I might have a lower voice! I might… I might… I might…

After months of research and watching videos and talking to trans friends, I finally decided it to move forward. I knew I could do a low dose and stop at any time and if I stopped early on I wouldn’t experience many changes and it takes time to reach the irreversible ones.

It took a few months for me to get in with a new doctor who cares for several trans people, but when I finally did the appointment was amazing. He was so affirming and kind and gentle. I was anxious but decided walking in that I had to be 100% honest and if it didn’t go well I could find a new doctor. That wasn’t necessary, he was great.

I struggled to articulate to him why I wanted to go on testosterone, “I’m not looking for any specific physical changes, I know it’s kind of a grab bag. I just want to feel… more like me… and I think maybe this will help.”

This cis-male dotor was tearing up and replied “I understand what you are saying and have heard similar sentiments from other paitents.”

I told him I wanted a low dose and he listened and did exactly that.

This day was the first day I felt confident enough to write “non-binary trans man” on my paper work. I had only said “non-binary” publicly before this. I gave myself more freedom to be me and it felt really good.

After finishing with the doctor I got my blood drawn. At the end of the blood draw I noticed the man who had taken my samples for testing had a trans flag sticker on his name tag, and was only about an inch taller than me. Until that moment I had read him as cis. I don’t know that he’s trans for sure, but not a ton of cis people go around wearing trans flags, and a lot of trans people work at this clinic.

This interaction alone gave me so much hope. Maybe someday someone will see me working my job and call me “he” and think I’m a short cis-guy.

Sitting in the waiting room waiting to meet with the nurse for my first T shot I decided to take a selfie. My last pre-T selfie.

A week later on 12-4-19 I went back and met with a nurse (also trans) who taught me how to do my injections and watched me do the first one around 11:30am. I felt really anxious.

After that I went on with my day, we got coffee, I went to therapy, had lunch with a friend to celebrate the occasion, and went to work. I didn’t feel any different.

The next evening I was just doing stuff around the house, hanging christmas lights, and all the sudden I felt different. I felt warm, calm, happy, energized, and… horny…. What?? I felt so good! I honestly think this is what I first felt the testosterone in my system, about 34 hours after my first shot it was affecting me and it felt awesome.

Over the next few days I realized I was actually excited about every possible change. I’m not sure how many times I’ve mentioned how hungry and tired I am to my friends (common feelings when you are early to T). I’m actually looking forward to my voice changing. I’m watching the hair on my belly start to get darker. I’m happy about all these things and more! I’m happy about the things I was scared of!

Going on T has been one of the best gifts I’ve ever given myself and I have zero regrets here in week two!

First selfie after my first T-shot at a coffee shop. 🙂

Footnotes:

* Maia’s book “Gender Queer” was what helped “crack my egg” or make me realize I wasn’t cisgender. In the book Maia talks about Spivak pronouns which Maia uses. Here are links to eir book and info about Spivak pronouns.

Gender Queer

Spivak Pronouns

I Made it Through Summer

It’s fall in Portland and the rain is back, earlier than usual. It’s only September 9th and its rained for the past few days. There was even a small tornado yesterday. Fall is here, and with it, deep breaths. 

I have some room to breath again. I made it through the first summer at the skatepark. Fourteen hour days, and seventy hour weeks. Camp was hard, but it kept the park open through the summer. Next summer will be even better.

I have space to make time for my child, and dishes, and reading, and writing. I’ve actually been writing much more the last two weeks, finally! It’s been a long summer of barely surviving; not enough sleep, no time for myself, and no energy to help at home. But here I am with a new balance. The park is doing ok, and I’m doing ok too.

Alongside running summer camp I was dealing with my own internal crisis of gender. It was in May when it first hit, a few experinces plus reading a book (Gender Queer by Maia Kobabe) had me questioning everything I thought I knew. I was exposed to new ideas and new terms in my journey of becoming a better LGBTQ Ally. Terms like “gender queer” and “non-binary”. I also read more stories of trans people, and through it all I realized, I’m one of them.

I’m not-cis.

I don’t have to fight to stay in the box. Even though this has been incredibly difficult it’s mostly been freeing.

It’s terrifying to question who you are at your core and that’s exactly what I was doing. It has been a harder change than losing my faith or discovering I was autistic. This wrecked me. I’m still scared. Most people don’t get it. I haven’t told all that many people yet, or maybe I have. I don’t tell strangers. I don’t have the energy to explain myself to them. When it comes down to practical day to day stuff I still walk though the world like a woman. But I’ve stopped forcing myself to feel like one on the inside. Which is hard to explain, unless you’ve experienced it.

I’ve always felt like I was trying to fill a role, and doing a really bad job at it. This role of “Girl” and “Woman” was a part I felt like I was required to play. Over the years I’ve slowly let go of many of the pieces, but internally, even if I was breaking many gender roles, I still felt like I was trapped in a box. A box that isn’t right. I’m not a girl. I’m not sure if I’m a boy. I often felt deeply jealous at all the boys around me as a child, but I’m not sure that I’m “binary trans.” But I know for sure I am not a cis-woman, thats why I really like the broad label of “non-binary.” I don’t fit in the binary. I’m something other.

I don’t feel like playing teacher, you can go learn for yourself that this type of gender is not really new. There have been genders outside the binary for basically as long as there have been people. It was the rigid gender roles of the first half of the 20th century that worked so well to erase anyone outside the cisgender and heterosexual “norm.”

There has been a big shift in trans visibility in the past few years (in that it exists) and this is feeding itself. As more people are exposed to these ideas more people can find their own identities, including myself. I don’t think I knew any out trans people until I was an adult. The only gender bending I saw as a child were butch lesbians and gay men in drag. I didn’t feel gay my (extremely rare) childhood crushes were all on boys, so I didn’t feel like I fit in the lesbian box so many people put me in as a child and young person.

Over the past few years I’ve been exposed to an increasing number of trans and non-binary people and I’ve found myself drawn to them in an unexplainable way. Not a crush, but more like a friend crush. I want to get to know them and hear their experiences. Maybe I’m weird, but It felt like and unspoken kinship. Each of these people has been instrumental in my own path of self-understanding and acceptance, because this hasn’t been easy. Figuring out you aren’t cis is an ugly slap in the face. You have to look at yourself and realize you are different from a lot of people and that with that is going to come some really hard shit. And you have the choice to affirm what you know is real or to deny it and suffer in silence as to not cause trouble for your family and community.

With my own slow self-acceptance has come hardships. Having to come out over and over again is really hard. I hate being vulnerable, and I hate having to explain things to people that are so intimate. I never had to explain my gender before, why should I have to now?

I’ve been really quiet in most spaces about what I am going through, and my own preferences. I don’t want to cause trouble. I don’t want to ask people to change what pronouns they use for me, even harder is asking for people to use another name.

I just don’t feel like my birth name and pronouns line up with who I am. They don’t fit, it’s like a shirt I grew out of. I can wear it if I have too, but its not comfortable, and all day I’m reminded that I should really put on another one.

At the same time I love my name because it was given to me by my parents. My name is one of the only things my dad gave me.

That’s why for now I’m starting to ask people to start calling me A.J. my first two initials. It honors my parents and grandparents, but feels so much more comfortable. I’ve also started asking people to use “They/Them” pronouns and switched them in all my bios several weeks ago.

I’ve actually played around with this version of my name in my head my whole life. I’ve always liked it, much more than the nicknames I’ve been given over the years to the point I’ve often thought about using it for a child. But now I’m finally going to claim it for myself, because my comfort and well being do matter.

My name is A.J. and I’m non-binary.





A person with light skin and blue eyes smiles. They are wearing thick rimmed glasses and backwards black baseball cap and a black t-shrit.
The other day I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror at the skatepark and it made me genuinely happy. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that before when seeing my own image. So I took a rare selfie.

Most Days

Today I feel normal. Or at least what I think is normal. I didn’t feel bad. Well, actually I started the day feeling quite anxious, but then I had a good conversation with an insurance agent (right?) and went on a long walk with my husband and then I just felt like, kinda good.

I feel like my executive function is better than most days, though still quite scattered, and I just feel happy. I enjoyed having friends over somewhat unexpectedly tonight. It was nice. I cleaned the living room and kitchen and didn’t resent it or have to use all my effort to force myself to do it. I just knew it needed to be done, so I just did it and it was even a bit enjoyable.

I feel like I have the space to breath and be introspective for the first time in….months. I’ve been going so hard and my mental health has not been good. I took some time off work for Christmas, 4 whole days in a row that I didn’t work. It was amazing. But it wasn’t until now, a week later, that I started to feel lighter, more whole, able to work on things other than survival.

Being working poor is fucking awful. It really is. It’s so hard to struggle every week to just barely get by, everything else falls away except work work work. You find meaningful moments here and there to connect with your spouse and your child, but there is no room for so much of what makes life worth living, because you can’t afford to not work on the weekends. 2018 was a fucking slog. It was really hard.

The skatepark was a roller coaster and still is. I wish I was certain about that spring opening date, but that easily could get pushed back again. There was a time I was certain we would be open in October, then it became December, then January, now I’m cautiously optimistic for April.

I’m constantly scared I’m doing too much, or too little regarding Stronger. But I’m constantly aiming at a moving target.

Delivery driving is now the longest single job I’ve ever held, well over 2 years now. It was never supposed to be this way. It’s not a terrible job, that’s why I keep doing it, but it’s not terribly rewarding either and some days can be quite stressful with traffic and parking and restaurants running behind.  

Again, I’m struck by how clear-headed I am today. It’s just so abnormal that it makes me grieve the 99% of days that I don’t feel like this. The last time I kind of felt like this was when I took that long hard walk in Ladd’s Addition, but it didn’t last, it was just during the walk and directly afterwards that I felt so clear.

For some reason I was feeling good tonight that I put on Carrie and Lowell. “The Only Thing” just started and it’s so much closer to how I usually feel. “The only thing that keeps me from cutting my arm….” is often much closer to how I feel. I’ve never been a cutter. I self harm in other ways. I’ve even felt like a failure at harming myself, because I don’t “do it right.” I smack myself in the head or the face, sometimes hard, sometimes over and over. I bite myself. I pinch myself. I bash my head on the wall. I don’t do these things often, but when things get too hard it’s all there is left. My brain shuts down, or gets caught on one negative word or statement, “BAD BAD BAD”, “HATE HATE HATE” and doesn’t go away until I go through the cycle of a full meltdown.

That didn’t happen today.

Today I got up, played an hour of “Pokemon: Let’s Go Eevee” while I waited till I could eat. Then I made tea and bacon, realized I needed some carbs with the bacon and had a piece of chocolate (made toast for my child, forgot I actually had some GF bread around, because I usually don’t). I was getting ready to do some yoga when I got a text from a friend saying her son wanted to play with my son. My son had asked just a few minutes earlier if he could play with said friend, so I changed my plans and took him over. When I got home I had the phone call that I had been anxiously awaiting, they have a quote for insurance for me! Excellent!

I asked Ace if he wanted to go on a walk and he said yes so we went on a long slow walk that eventually had us up on Woodstock where we made a few quick stops before walking home. We bought tamales from a man on the street and they were amazingly good. When I got home I quickly cleaned the living room, still covered in confetti from New Years Eve, wanting to get it done before the kids came to my house. I picked up my son and his friend and made plans to hang out with the friend’s mom later that night. We got back to the house and I cleaned the kitchen and got a text from another friend saying he was in the neighborhood with his girlfriend and I told them to come on by.

I was able to clean the kitchen, make myself dinner, make dinner for my family, and eat, all before anyone showed up. I hung out and socialized, mostly successfully, and just enjoyed being around other people. At one point I caught myself making the conversation about myself, after I had asked my friend to tell me her story, I stopped, and didn’t beat myself up too much about it. Friends left and I rushed to get Mark to bed. He freaked out because his bunny was missing, and I calmly helped him find it.

Then I did some laundry and turned on some music, got some wine, and sat down to write. Something I’ve barely done over the past two months.

Today was just so beautifully normal, and I felt so wonderfully sane and happy.

I need days like this, and I’m not entirely sure how to get them. They come at a financial cost, which can weigh heavily on my mental health at times.

I’m debating if this is worthy or ok to post on my blog. Is it too real? That’s the only way I know how to write. It’s the only way WORTH writing.

I haven’t blogged in a long time because someone was hurt by one of my posts. Hurt is too strong a word, they were made slightly uncomfortable, and they brought it to me.

It was hard because it was over a post I was extremely proud of. I took it down. I haven’t had the strength to go back and look at it. I don’t know how to make the changes I need to to make everyone comfortable. I don’t know how to change the way I experience things for writing. I write things as I experienced them and that didn’t work, I made someone uncomfortable.

So I stopped writing.

I even stopped journaling.
I told everyone I was fine, it was fine. But I wasn’t fine. But I should be fine. People should be able to tell me those things without me breaking. But I’m already broken it doesn’t take much for those broken parts to fall apart again. This conflict on top of the financial problems, on top of the continued delays for the skatepark just really stopped me dead in my tracks.

Like I said at the top it’s been months, months since I’ve felt normal, since I’ve felt happy for almost an entire day. It’s a foreign feeling. Today I feel safe, connected, peaceful, loved, I feel all these things that I should feel most of the time. I don’t know when I will feel them again. It could be tomorrow and I want so badly for it to be tomorrow. If I felt this way even half of my days I would be a different person. I would be a more whole person, I would be able to do so much more for those around me.

But I don’t. Most days I am anxious. Most days I am tired. Most days I’m lonely. Most days I’m working. Most days I am struggling to feel anything at all.

But today wasn’t most days.

Mental Health Awareness Day

Today is Mental Health Awareness Day, barely, we still have a few minutes here on the west coast, so I’m technically correct.

I’ve struggled with mental health. I had a full on mental break down in August of 2015. I quit my job, and started seeing a therapist, who I still see, and who I will send this too. Shoutout to Melissa, she’s awesome.

In 2015 I was tender and scared. I was far too anxious to publicly blog about these struggles. I’ve come a long way.

This time was also when my public facebook page, at the time called The Unpreschooler, started being neglected. I was too anxious about comments to continue posting.

I wanted to post something for today because this is an issue so near to my heart. I’ve been anxious, I’ve been depressed, I’ve been suicidal.

In this blog are the things I wrote while I was in those states.

I don’t struggle the same ways I did in 2015-17. I’m much healthier now. There are things I wrote about then that I don’t believe anymore. Yet, these posts are still me and are still important and I finally feel safe enough and healthy enough to share them.

My secret blog is no longer secret. You can go read the entire thing at https://simplelifepdxblog.wordpress.com/

I suggest reading it in chronological order, you can jump through the months on the right hand menu.

Peace to you.

“On Growing Up”

Recently I cleaned out my closet. In that process I found some old journals. Some I had remembered, but one I had forgotten about it. It was from 2006-2007 and didn’t have a ton of entries, but enough to give me a good look inside my nineteen and twenty year old head. A head I’ve apparently lost touch with.

I have mythologized that period in my life to one where I “had it all together.” I was living alone at the time as my roommate had gotten married and moved out and Ace was off at college (and we were in rough patch in early ’06). I was very proud of myself at the time to have two jobs, being going to school, and have my own place with my own pets. I really did take on a lot pretty quick. I often look back on that time and wonder why I don’t have it so together now. Early in my marriage I would get upset with Ace and blame any and all disfunction on him. That was obviously the thing that had changed in my life.

Now that I’m reading this old journal its become clear to me that I struggled a lot in ’06 and ’07 as well. Its unfortunate to see how unnecessary some of that struggle was. I write a lot about my guilt around not praying enough and my “sin” which means making out with or fooling around with Ace.

My anger at the fact that I was indoctrinated to feel so horrible around that extremely normal, appropriate, safe, and consensual sexual behavior could be its own post.

My anger that my pastor emailed me to let me know he had a dream about me sinning and that he didn’t want me to turn away from God could also be its own post.

Today I’m going in another direction.

My therapist asked me the other day “What would 19 year old Allison think of 32 year old Allison?”

“Well she would be upset at the idea that I was going to hell.”

I was full on “fundie” at that point. I was about the deepest in it in 2006, right before bible college started opening me up to new ideas and theologies about God the next year.

I had a life plan that was totally different. Nineteen year old me was going to become ordained in the Assemblies of God. I was sure of it. I was going to grow our church’s Children’s Ministry and then eventually start a new church plant focused on family ministry.

I was going to get a big house in the suburbs and fill it with adopted children and have happy vanilla monogamous sex for the next several decades.

The last page in this journal is the one that rings most true to this day.

Frankly nineteen year old me would be utterly shocked at how much I’ve changed. Almost everything about my beliefs surrounding religion, politics, parenting, and health have drastically changed. I owe a lot of that to becoming more educated. It was a combination of what I learned in bible college and what Ace learned in bible college that helped me to start very slowly peeling away the layers of fundamentalism just shortly after this journal ended in mid 2007.

On top of that I’ve always loved learning and have continued to educate myself about any topic that seizes my interest. That habit has contributed significantly to my growth as an educated individual.

There are a few interesting things that stood out to me as similarities to my current self; my struggle at staying on task and building habits, struggling to stay organized and keep up with household tasks, being deeply emotional for no discernible reason, being deeply in love with Ace, being extremely passionate about what I view as my life’s mission, being confused about my relationships with friends, loving my parents but being frustrated with my relationship with them, and of course my tendency to process things via writing, both publicly and privately.

Deep under all the guilt and obsession that came with being a pentecostal fundamentalist evangelical Christian there is still me in there. I somehow survived my deep dive into what I would now classify as a cult mostly in tact.

Nineteen year old me wouldn’t think that though. She would think that who I am now has lost track of everything that really matters, that I had abandoned my God-given mission to share the gospel with the children of Illinois. She would be praying really hard for me. Or feeling guilty about not praying enough.

Luckily she’s not here anymore. I’m thirty-two now and still growing up. I’ll never be “grown up” becuase I’m never a static being. Who I am will constantly evolve and change based on what I experience and the way I interpret it . Who I am will change based on my physical location in the world and the people closest to me (both physically and relationally). You might even say that I’ve died and been resurrected as a more authentic version of myself.

I will never be “finished.” I will always be changing and I think thirty-two year old me will be happy with future me as long as I never stop growing up.

Together We are Stronger!

Like so many people out there, I hate asking for help.

There are times we must rely on our community though, and this is one of them.

I’ve stepped out to do something big and risky, and its taken much longer than expected. I’m starting a skatepark, it is happening. I have a partner who is loaning me the money to get the park started and fund it for the first few months.

We have the lease, but have no solid timeline on when we will be able to get in there and start building. The last update I received a week ago said the contractors were still waiting on a permit and thats why construction hadn’t begun yet. Once it begins they expect it will take 4-6 weeks to finish. I expect it to take at least 6-8 weeks.

The biggest lesson I’ve learned learned in this endeavor is that everything takes far longer than anyone admits. It drives me crazy.

I’m now finished earning the modest sum I was by doing some nannying this summer. I’m still doing deliveries, but summer is the slowest time of year for that market and even weekends can be incredibly slow.

I can’t give a commitment to any ongoing hour job, and I need several hours a week to work on the skatepark.

In short, I’m broke.

Some in my family believe I’m still sitting on a lot of money becuase I came into a trust at age 18.

I am incredibly blessed to be 31 and have no student loans becuase I used that money to pay for my own education as well as my husbands. The rest has gone into housing and helping us pay our bills in in hard times. Its gone. I have no savings now, only debt, and a good amount of it from this last year we’ve been paying our last few bills each month on credit cards in the hopes I would have an income soon. Our cards are maxed out.

I’m here asking you my friends and family, to help me pay my bills and buy my groceries so I can get though these next few lean months until the skatepark is open and I am able to start drawing a paycheck.

Any money given to the skatepark will be subjected to taxes whereas money gifted directly to me is tax free. The skatepark is well funded. I am not.

If you believe in what we are doing please help out by helping me pay my bills and keep food in my fridge while I work on this important endeavor!

TOGETHER WE ARE STRONGER!

paypal.me/AllisonJWaters

 

Thank you!

Fucking Hormones

Today I was caught off guard by a big shift in hormones.

I didn’t want to get out of bed, wanted to stay forever just cuddling with my dogs.

When I finally did get up, I forgot to take my meds which is abnormal (I did eventually take them). I got dressed and tried to fix my hair. I got frustrated and gave up. I feel uncomfortable becuase I don’t like the way my hair looks/feels today.

Eventually I ate breakfast. I sat on my computer for a while. Kids arrived. I sat in the living room with the kids for a while. They have all been happy playing since they got here.

I went back to my computer where I decided to look up every house I’ve ever lived in. Most of the look radically different now. Thank God there are not new pictures of our last home as it was hard enough to see it how we left it. That one was hardest to see, it’s where I raised my baby. His crib was in one of the pictures.

I’ve been feeling intensely sad and irritable today. Yesterday I felt great. I was full of energy and happy and got so much done. Today I just want to cry and go to sleep.

It took me several hours to think about checking where I was in my cycle. My period is due in a few days. At least it only took me a few hours this time.

Sometimes after days of feeling intensely sad/angry/depressed/overwhelmed Ace is the one to ask where I am. He noticed this pattern long before I did.

The upside to this being part of a cycle is that it will end. The downside is that it comes every damn month, but its not always so bad. Some months are pretty easy.

Others are horrible.

Horrible isn’t a strong enough word. In the past its at its worse I would experience meltdowns of epic preparations.

Today its not that bad. It hasn’t been that bad in years. But sometimes it lasts much longer. I recently found out that I have a fibroid. One of the symptoms is irregular menstrual cycles. Last month that meant that I was in this PMS-y state for a long time while wondering if I had somehow beaten the odds and gotten miraculously pregnant.

I’m hoping this month I have a normal cycle and and not an extra two weeks of waiting for relief.

I’ve been told that PMS isn’t real and that makes me frustrated as I’m living it. Its always been a hard thing for me and was especially painful when I was a teen. These days its the sensory and emotional side that gets me hard.

All my sensory challenges turn up to maximum at this point and it feeds the already hard to manage emotions. I really struggle and my preferred way to deal with it is to be alone, then I know I can’t say or do anything to hurt or upset anyone.

All my weird tics and stims get stronger too. I wiggle around and chew, chew, chew. Sometimes I hurt myself accidentally by chewing my mouth or nails too much. Sometimes I just feel the need to flop around like magicarp. But thats not exactly a normal and acceptable behavior. It just makes me feel better.

I feel isolated and misunderstood. And all this just comes out of nowhere like a fucking thunderstorm. Maybe if I had been paying attention I would have seen it coming, but that wouldn’t have prevented it.

Its just me in my own body and brain dealing with what I deal with every. single. month. When everything gets really hard. And things slow down. And I’m just here. Alone. Feeling broken.

Stuck

I feel like someone pressed the pause button on my life.

I’ve been working on the skatepark for over three years now, and multiple times have been close to signing a lease. Each time something has gone wrong.

I walked for so long with Oregon City landlords, trusting they would get things figured out. I pointed out all the problems from the beginning and was consistently dismissed by an old white man who reminded me of my grandfather. He had assumed he knew what he was doing becuase he’d done it before.

“The laws have changed” I repeated, “they are going to require surveys, and fire inspections, you will have to make these changes, it will take a lot of time and money.” He reassured me it would be fine and and I would be in the space soon.

Eventually it became clear I was correct, it was going to take several months of work and a lot of money. I walked away and told them to call me when the building was cleared for occupancy. I haven’t heard back.

I’m not sure the first time I went to the Milwakie space, but it was several months ago. This one is better. It is one big room, right about 5000 square feet. Its between a very similar family focused sports entertainment business, and a bottle drop facility. Neither will care that we are loud and both places attract lots of families. There is a coffee and ice cream shop in the parking lot. There is a pizza place in the same building. And best of all, its close to home.

But again, I’m being left hanging by the landlords who are dragging their feet. We’ve negotiated the lease, we got to a point we are all happy with. But we have yet to sign it. Its been weeks of hearing nothing.

This waiting is killing me. This lease is everything right now. Its so hard to know how much to work on the skatepark. I don’t want to put my time into this building only for them to drop us. I don’t want to start paying for things specific to this space until I’m sure its ours.

I’ve pushed my broker multiple times, she’s just as frustrated as I am. Or so she thinks.

For her this is just one deal, just one pay day. For me this is my life. My life on hold, my life with no income, my life just waiting. I want to do something. I can’t pick up anything new until I know how this chapter ends.

Its like I’m reading a book but the last chapter hasn’t been published yet, the author is just not sure how to end it. Except maybe I’m not reading it. I’m the protagonist, and they’ve left me at a climax with no resolution.

I’m not sure how to cope with this. Its like waiting to know if you’ve been accepted to the school with your dream program. Except there is a hard deadline for things like that. For this they can drag me along as long as they want. And they hold all the cards, while I’m here just waiting, hoping, dreaming, and stressing.

Again last night I was up for much of the night with this problem in my head. Should I be doing more? Should I be assuming  I will get this lease? Moving forward with plans and permits?

No. I did that before. It didn’t get us ahead enough to make any difference and wasted time and money in the process.

I have done some work, some big stuff. Reworked the business plan for our new financial situation and specific to this space.  I also talked to a prospective employee and she’s totally on board.

She’s an incredible person who I met pretty quickly after moving to Portland, at one of the only indoor skateparks around. She introduced me to Skate Like a Girl where we volunteered together and over the years we’ve gotten to know each other better.

Knowing she’s willing and excited not just to work for me, but take on a managerial role literally helps me sleep at night. Becuase I can’t do this alone. I need a team, and building that team is going to be one of the most crucial parts of this endeavor.

A few things are moving forward, but the biggest most important peice is just on hold and my whole life is on hold with it.

My Complicated Relationship with Autism

Today I was sent a message by a woman I don’t know claiming we were both “Autism Momma Bears.” This is a label I’ve never once claimed or identified with. I’ve never thought seriously about my son being autistic.

I’ve only thought seriously about me being autistic.

Many months ago, I took the “Aspie Quiz” and scored pretty high. I was in a period of deep self-discovery via research about the brain. I laughed it off.

I might be smart, and I might be anxious. I probably have ADHD, but not Aspergers I thought. I laughed and moved on with my life.

Months later an article came though  my life outlining how autism looked different in girls and woman. It was like someone was reading my mind.

I was freaked out by how accurately it described both my inner and external life.

It set of weeks of frantic research that have now turned into months.

I’m still researching. There is so much to know. I’ve read many books written about autism and written from the perspective of someone diagnosed.

I’ve learned that getting a good diagnosis as an adult woman can range from difficult to impossible.

I once worked up the courage to email someone who specializes in psychological testing, including autism, in adults. She first emailed me back to say she would be happy to help me though the whole process including getting as much covered by insurance as possible. But then she wrote me again to say she was too busy to take me on at the time.

I felt defeated and have not tried again to be tested.

Now I don’t have insurance and I’m waiting to hear if I will be covered by the State Medicaid, OHP. I have no idea what testing might be covered for an adult.

At this point, most days, I believe that there is a place on the spectrum for me. The things that make me think this include my sensory issues.

I get overwhelmed and often don’t realize it until I’m already panicking. Heat, light, small spaces, loud sounds, people touching me. I often don’t consciously realize how these things are affecting me until I feel like I need to move to another space or until I’m snapping at someone for something small. Its not them, its the overwhelming sensory input.

Sensory issues alone do not equal autism. The bigger issues are what really convince me.

When in an intense conflict with someone I love (primarily my partner) some weird things can happen. First, I lose my ability to talk. I can become completely non-verbal at times, and often semi-verbal. Sometimes I have words I want to say, but I can’t get them out, other times my mind goes totally blank. It shuts off. This has a name in autism, autistic shutdown, its a coping mechanism for times of extreme stress.

I remember this happening as a child as well. It would make me angry, both at myself, but also at the people putting me in the position. It usually happened when I was sent to see therapists. It was way too out of the ordinary and way too much pressure. I would close up completely and not talk.

When I’m stressed out in conflict I can sometimes move from shutdown to meltdown, where I want to hit myself (and sometimes do), and often sob or even scream uncontrollably.

These episodes are exceedingly rare these days, though a few do stand out in recent memory and I feel deep shame when I think about them.

There was a period in my life when I was under a lot of stress and had yet to learn any of the coping strategies I have now and would sometimes have these meltdowns very regularly. When I get too deep into a meltdown I become suicidal. I see the only way out as death.

These experiences of meltdowns with suicidal ideation (I’ve never made an attempt) are part of what drove me to seek therapy. Those moments as well as with anxiety.

In that same period of life where I was having meltdowns regularly I also started experiencing intense panic attacks. More than once in a short period I thought I was dying right there on the spot and that no one could save me.

These are among the worst experinces of my life. Anxiety alone does not make one autistic, but it is a hallmark of autism in girls and woman.

Often for autistic women a long road of misdiagnoses starts with a diagnoses of an anxiety disorder.

For the record, I have no official diagnoses from a psychologist. I’ve only seen a therapist. But I’m a smart person who’s done my research, I could fit under several diagnoses, SPD, ADHD, Generalized Anxiety…. ASD?

Intelligence, I hate talking about this one, because it makes you seem like you are just trying to sound better than other people. I don’t think anyone is valuable based on their capabilities or skills. But intelligence plays into all this.

“Giftedness” is another term I hate, but its the one we have. Its a term for people with high IQs, which granted, is a hard thing to measure and controversial way of measuring intelligence. Giftedness is another “diagnosis” that comes with its own flurry of traits. I have zero doubts that all three of us, myself, my son, and my husband, fall into this category. As do many in our immediate and extended families. In my mother’s family, its probably just about everybody. I don’t talk about it much becuase there is no point in talking about it.

Giftedness tends to come with heightened sensory awareness, sensitivity to justice issues, an ease of being able to learn new things, an ability to focus deeply on an area of interest, high levels of creativity, independent thinking, and in the case of a coexisting diagnosis, the ability to create coping mechanisms.

I remember the day I brought up ADHD with my therapist and she said, “I can see you do sometimes struggle to listen carefully to what people are saying, but you are smart and are able to make up for those challenges in other ways.”

I had never heard something so profound about my life before. Looking back on my childhood that could sum up just about everything. Some things, such as language, logic, and the natural sciences, came extremely easily to me. Other things; math, social skills, coordination, and paying attention, were extremely difficult, but I found ways on my own to scrape by.

I could pass classes with no understanding of the material becuase I knew the best ways to game the system, I also knew I wouldn’t actually ever need that skill, so why bother.

Other classes I had mastered before I walked in the door.

At the time I saw myself as average, becuase it all averaged it out. But when I got to college I excelled. It came as a slap in the face when I realized I was actually pretty smart, but no one had noticed or told me. Or if they had told me I wrote it off as something all kids were told.

Last week when my Mom told me I was smart, I believed her. Like everything else, I had to learn it for myself before I could believe someone else.

People who are gifted, autistic, and female often do not look a typical autistic person. There are autistic stereotypes and we don’t fall into those. You have to look closely to see us “stimming”, which I’ve now noticed I do almost constantly with my teeth. Its hard for me to sit completely still, sometimes painfully hard, my body needs to move, pretty much constantly. Its not as obvious as hand-flapping, but its always there.

Growing up I was called wiggly more times than I care to remember. That was the one way I was constantly compared to my cousin who was diagnosed with aspergers. We were both wiggly. They put us in the same bed on vacations so we could wiggle and kick each other all night and our younger sisters would be undisturbed.

I feel like this is getting long. I could go on. I’ve been thinking about this for months and months and watching myself, looking back on my day and the places that were hard and the way I reacted to things, noticing, taking notes, and most days I come to the conclusion that yes I do fit on the spectrum. But I have fears and reservations about coming out and saying it. The biggest being that I’m worried others will look at me and call me “too able.”

I’m verbal, in fact I consider language one of my strengths. I’m often self-employed (which is actually extremely common among autistic woman). I don’t have a lot of the visible struggles that so many autistic people do. This is the trouble with autism being a spectrum, and with that spectrum being wider than ever before. With each new DSM more people are included.

I’m worried because everyone diagnosed in my extended family is male. I’m worried my own family will dismiss me or worse.

But its time I wrote this becuase people are wondering why I post about autism on facebook so much. So here it is, am I autistic? Its complicated, but probably.