Keeping Your Head Above Water: Reflections on Sensory Processing Disorder

It was about this time last year that we got the official diagnosis for our now 4.5 year old’s Sensory Processing Disorder. I had a niggling suspicion almost a year before that this was what we were dealing with, but instead I kept blaming myself for my daughter’s meltdowns. I wasn’t connecting enough. She wasn’t releasing enough stress through crying or through play. Somehow I just wasn’t doing it right. Maybe I had already traumatised her or she had picked up on my anxiety and my poor coping skills (since I was still recovering from my own trauma). Or she had just inherited something in my genes that was just… bad (because how on earth can someone like me have good genes?). Or it was that beer that I drank when I didn’t know I was pregnant? Or the half-strength lattes that I never gave up? Or the fact that I tried to grow a baby as a lacto-ovo-pesco vegetarian with a leaky gut (too much gluten and dairy). I like to solve problems and this was a big one, but I didn’t know where to turn.

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My Name is Angela, and I’m a Chocoholic

Chocolate Cocktail

No really. I’m serious. I have a problem.

I was planning to write about how you can have a healthy relationship with chocolate, and then I realized that is totally what an addict would say. For me there is no healthy relationship to be had.

I do so love being honest with myself. But this – this is hard. Chocolate is the only thing that numbs the pain.

It seems so innocuous that I’m addicted to chocolate. And the fact that I mostly eat chocolate that I make myself out of equal parts organic raw honey, cacao and tahini (sorry for enabling) makes it seem especially innocent. But make no mistake, chocolate has many dark sides even if you do only buy fair trade organic.

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Believing in Believing

A few days ago, I got my amalgams removed by a holistic dentist who told me in a very Irish accent that my spiritual beliefs would get me through heavy metal detox, healing my methylation issues and changing my epigenetic status. So this along with the impending end of the Mayan calendar and a need to make a plan around both the Santa issue and the real Christmas story lead to a lively talk with my husband about where our beliefs are as a family.

I was raised on a mixture of something close to Christian Science and pseudo New Ageism with a little Buddhism thrown in. In the past when I felt that I needed a name for it, I would incorrectly use the term gnostic. This is particularly funny in light of the fact that I married an agnostic. My husband is the son of a physicist, and I (mostly) love the way his mind works. He slightly prefers Buddha over Jesus, whereas I like them both just fine. Neither one of us tolerates dogma very well, but when it comes right down to it, I like having something to believe in. I don’t need much. I just like believing in believing.

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When the real work happens and when it doesn’t…

My husband isn’t usually an insensitive jerk (and let’s face it – there’d be no blog without him since I can barely my use my email without his help).
Unfortunately I almost always take myself way too seriously. Today he jokingly told me that I didn’t really do a full day of work. I can usually tell when he’s joking.


Well, it is true that I didn’t see any clients or teach any classes today. I got to play outside – a lot. My daughter didn’t have too many “meltdowns” so it wasn’t that hard parenting-wise. I didn’t even cook much.
But the presence that I had with her today took eons of work. Lifetimes really… At the very least it took 30 years – the hardest of which were the last 4 years of work I’ve done on myself as a mother.

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