Unclogging. A sneak peak at the puzzle picture.

I felt the transformation on the way out, just as I did on the way back home from the writing conference.

On the way to Albany Airport, to Chicago and then to Vancouver and finally to Surrey, I felt the change from the all-encompassing wrapped-my-soul role of mom, Mrs Gaboury and the woman my husband rolls his eyes at to...me. To Veronica Steiger Gaboury, the writer from New York, the States, with an almost visible parenthesis around my location that apologizes for the horrible election everyone else is watching.

While I was gone, I didn't miss my roles like I thought I would. That surprised me, and probably anyone who knows me. I had said my goodbye's, wrote letters, left behind 3 pages of notes after trying to show for the last few weeks, "this is how I do it." And now it was someone else's turn to take over and I was on my way. For at least a couple of days.

Almost like a symbolic dip into a transformative pool, I stood at security and took off my shawl wrap, my scarf, my bags, my boots and immediately set off alarms, needing further clearance to leave.

For months since I pushed the registration button to the Surrey International Writer's Conference, I second guessed whether I should back out, get a refund, go another year. Despite the fact that I knew so many people who were attending this, so many from so far. Who knew when we would all reconvene again?

I was worried though because a couple of years ago I was asked to present at a National Conference for the National Writing Project in DC. It was a round table discussion with my fellow writers from my local Capital District writing group. At the last minute I let my group down, though they were gracious, and I bailed on them, feeling unable to leave the family behind to fend for themselves.

Because of Kath's disability she can sometimes be a handful for her dad or for others who may not understand her triggers and her rebalancing needs. Right before that trip things flared up and I couldn't imagine how many steps backward Kath's progress would take and how hard seeing the chaos would be on Alex. I bailed.

So here I was planning on going away again, not to present this time, but to attend, meet friends, to learn. The cost was much more. There would be much more traveling. I would be going with strangers I only knew from online. What was I thinking?

All summer I tried to prep everyone, including myself, and in-between I was cloaking myself in fear and doubt, thinking maybe I should cancel. I didn't allow myself to get excited or fully commit to the anticipation of this experience. I didn't think I could handle another huge disappointment if it didn't work out. School began and the girls and my schedules are pretty packed, how could I leave so much on their father's shoulders when he didn't know the lay of the daily land?

I think I may make it look easy. (Alex told me when I returned and she was giving me the play-by-plays of each day, that Roger had said, 'It's hard being mommy and daddy,' but she said, "He was just being daddy." Yet he did keep everyone alive and that counts!)

Finally, I decided to cancel my trip. I hadn't made flight arrangements yet, the hotel was sold out, and I had just hired a math tutor for Kath and signed her up for a science and an acro class. Alex had a comp workshop weekend coming up right after, Kath's birthday party needed to be planned. I went online to the conference's website to cancel and found out the deadline was the day before. I actually considered still canceling (just not going), losing my money and saving myself airfare and hotel, as well as, stress and incidentals.

But a friend of mine, who also has a chaotic home life like mine, told me I had to go. Had to. The family would be ok for 4 days without me, but that I needed this. I listened. (Not about going to the Halloween party this weekend, but to this I did.)

I committed. Then everything started to click, like puzzle pieces when you finally understand what the picture is supposed to look like. I suddenly had two sets of roommate options. Flight plans seemed to work out without too much jiggling. A shared cab from airport to hotel and a ride back to the airport at the end of the conference all worked easily into place.

I made plans for the house (did I mention I wrote 3 pages, many drafts), cancelled some things so my husband wouldn't be overwhelmed by my daily routine, made lesson plans for my 6 classes, discussed at length what the girls should do, how they should handle things, and packed my bags. (The only major thing I ended up forgetting was my inhaler...I didn't actually forget it, I packed one that didn't have enough puffs left to it, but after a day of panic, my breathing relaxed and I actually forgot I needed it, though I did meet someone who lent me her emergency inhaler just in case.)

Once things started to fit, the transformation began. I began to let myself get excited.

I have dreamed of going to this conference for at least ten years. I have followed the stories of online friends who went and how energizing this conference is for writers who do most of their work alone, but grow most by interactions with others.

I arrived at the hotel, checked into the conference and ran with my bags to the first Master Class. It was with Diana Gabaldon one of my favorite authors. The class was on How to Write a Sex Scene. Hmmm. I don't really need to write any scenes like this due to the genres I usually write in (young adult and non-fiction), but I just wanted to be in this class with the woman who helped me to survive some pretty intense times in my life: a divorce, a diagnosis for my daughter, my mom's death, my diagnosis, etc. I tried to absorb the 'what-would-Claire-do' factor (Claire is the main character in Ms Gabaldon's books and one of my role models) and I looked around and found some of my writing friends who always accept me to the online writing world despite how long I am missing.

Meeting up with these people I know through my writing was like a reunion; a coming home.

This experience was one of transformations, one which was the bud of a feeling and thought that perhaps my own words could become strong enough and perhaps I could write my Tabitha/Traveling Trees story and others.

For every person I met, as This-Me, it was like some archaeologically dust was brushed off and I became more uncovered and I loved what I saw. It was in my eyes, my walk, my heart, my head, my energy. I felt like I hummed at a different frequency.

I worried though that not enough dust was uncovered to complete the transformation, or to allow me to continue. It was only 4 day,s after all.

I was partially correct because once I came back it was hard to assimilate this new me with my many other roles. I returned to my old roles+plus, as though I was expected to make up time for daring to step out. Many friends asked me supportive questions about my journey. Many followed my trip on social media. My girls clung to me asking specific questions and wanting to see my pictures and hear my stories. My students were excited for me. My sons contacted me asking me about the journey. Not everyone asked or was excited, but I buzzed for days.

On the way home, after one hour of sleep, I wrote. Ten pages, handwritten. It was a rough draft for this blog, it was letters to my girls, it was a journal, so, not my story, but it was more than I have written in probably a year. I have a lot to do to make sure the dust doesn't gunk the cogs of my brain feeding the fear and self-doubt. Writing is the frequency I need to hum with. That much is evident after this trip.

More to follow....

A year tomorrow. That was my last post- a year ago! That alone tells me how little I have emphasized my own writing time. I know it is my 'sanity' time, I know how important it is but I always put it on the bottom of the 'family's' priorities (even though I know my family does best when I am also a priority) so it does not often make it to the top. And when it does, it takes me so long to return to my Writer's Mind that I waste my time circling and circling and not writing anything of substance.

The problem is...me.

There is always something that pulls me. Pulls at me. Pulls on me. Pulls towards me. Grabs my hand and tries to drag me, but what I am going to work on is my writing-- the 'thing' that strengths my resolve and determines who I will be. I try to always make sure everyone else has Time for their events and activities, but I shuffle myself back in at the bottom of the deck.

I see the Facebook Memories of This Day and I see that many times I have said this.

Many times I have tried to shame myself into writing. I've tried to coax myself. Sometimes I have scared myself into writing and also away from writing. Mostly...I see that some of the same things I said a few years ago are still relevant: I have this story. I have this idea. I want to write. I think I can do it. If I try. Hard. If I give myself permission to fail, fall and time to recover and get back up.

I have finally grasped some form of Control in my life. Things don't always feel like we are flailing...even when I have no idea where the money will come for x, y, z or how I will juggle the schedules of the girls, husband and myself or, how I will handle a regular day in our world. Things are still flailing and out-of-control, but I have found a better way, most days, of dealing better.

I was thinking back, my husband had made a comment about how I was being 'controlling'...like when things were moved or not put back where they belong and I got ansy; or when I said certain things, like meals, had to happen within a time schedule for Kath; or when I got upset about any kind of mix-up in Kath's schedule;...and I realized that I was indeed controlling about many things now, that before, I never was. I didn't have to be once upon a time. Before Kath, life moved along or things didn't get done, no biggie, or just a ripple of a deal. Things got done or they didn't, they didn't undermine months of scaffolding and work. But since Kath, there always needs to be a 'lesson plan' or a game plan or an explanation of Life as We Do It. And since I have figured out a bit more of how Kath's brain works, I have found that my 'whatever, it will all work out' way of being, my very essence of thinking, had to change or she wouldn't have a chance to be able to handle this world and its pacing. It had to be me helping her step from her brain to this world, who else could it be?

I had mostly been the kind of person who didn't stress too much over cleaning, organizing or schedules. I liked the ebb and flow of doing and moving on. But Kath and her stroke-brain gets stuck, her engine will continue to rev and she can't figure out how to get unstuck, unless I show/tell her, unless I explain step-by-step "Ok, so what you should do now is try to think of what you could do next so that you can get the rest of this homework sheet done, and not allow yourself to get stopped here at number 2 for the whole night. What can we do? How about we leave this and come back to it? Or let's go get a drink of water and take a little walk." And then we talk through the process of How and Why. Step-by-step. With me right there. Everything is step-by-step, organized, goal-setting, otherwise everything becomes an insurmountable mountain that immobilizes her and makes her shut down.

That's what I let happen to my writing, it became a paralysis, an insurmountable mountain. I couldn't even jump into conversations with my writing friends. I couldn't figure out my next steps.

I talk about wanting to write. I sit down and tap out a few sentences and then I get called away, and it's too easy to stay revved, distracted and stuck. So I stay on the peripheral and drown in the paralysis, hardly even remembering what I am writing about anymore. I am almost afraid to even try. How did *I* get to this spot?

I have Kath on a tight leash of, 'Ok, go brush your teeth and go to the bathroom, I'll be up in a minute." And then after 5 minutes I call up, "How's it going? Ok, you need to refocus, brush your teeth now." I have to check-in and continue to build small scaffolds so her brain can soon learn to go through the motions and she will know what to do without my check-ins. But I also give her, especially in the summer but also all year, chunks of "go play" time. And each summer I see her unfold slowly, at first she wants to watch a movie, she fears the freedom, then before I know it, I struggle to get her to eat because she has immersed herself in some imaginary play, relaxing into allowing her brain the freedom to roam.

I had to learn and relearn Kath's brain to help her to be able to make a place at the World Table, or at least her classroom and playground. I had to reteach my brain so I could scaffold teaching and learning for Kath...not just for short, 'minor' issues, like how to approach a homework assignment, but all the major Life Lessons too, especially Resiliency. I think I have had my brain on a short leash, always focused on 'what is next on our agenda and how can I break it down to build her up" and now I have to teach and learn how to unleash my brain and let it 'go play' because I appear to be stagnant, revving and not accomplishing what I should be able to do in my writing at this point in my life.

So. This blog looks like it will rebound a bit and be about getting myself back into my writing like I originally intended  (for at least this summer) in addition to our journey with Kath and her brain journey.