Sometimes you just need to lay in the grass and listen to what your heart is whispering.
And it’s always good. (Truth speaks through stillness, after all.)
So in a quiet moment in the sun, here are the words that I needed to hear myself say.
Carlsbad Caverns (and exhaustion)
April 8, 2010 By 13 Comments
Yes, it was amazing. Surreal, actually. A bit like being on a movie set (especially when you walk up on the diner and gift shop 750+ feet underground – seriously?). It *almost* “took my breath away”…but it’s not as if I can live there so it wouldn’t count anyway. 
The formations were incredible and the information we all took away from the day is fairly immense. And we – including Zeb – can tell you the difference between the stalactite, stalagmite, soda straw, popcorn, column, flowstone and drapery formations, how each type was formed, as well as when the park was founded (1930), how our modern culture first discovered it (a 16 year old hiker following the bats) and what mountains of bat guano smell like (wet synthetic baby diapers).
We took one guided tour and walked the rest ourselves. I was much more impressed by the self-guided tours, namely the sheer size of the caverns. I couldn’t help but find the irony in the paved walkways and LED lights when the tour guide discussed how previous generations left burn marks on the rock and how we know better know than to disturb the area now. 
And I discovered just how weak my knees were as we traversed down the switchbacks. Yikes.
I’m still having a hard time at the end of the day. I’m emotionally, mentally and physically drained. And THAT is the exact moment when Zeb needs one-on-one time (or one-on-two time, since he prefers both our attentions). There are heavy moments when I don’t think I’m cut out for this lifestyle, but can’t imagine going back to a home. I know I need to strike a balance between downtime and “Going going going” but it’s hard when there is so much to see and do and we honestly don’t know how long we’ll have to do it. There is also a lot to be said about HOW we’re doing it that I think I’ll save for another post.
Our plan was and still is to find “a home” along the road. We’ve originally given ourselves one year to travel and search, but it seems impossible that we’ll feel “done” or ready to decide in just 11 short months with so much left unseen. I suppose we’ll just finally stumble across a place and not feel like leaving until one day we realize it’s our home. Until then the plan remains for the three of us to reevaluate the whole shebang at the end of 12 months. And maybe somewhere along the road I’ll hit my stride, fall out of “vacation mode” and find this isn’t so fucking exhausting after all.
More photos here and Justin’s account here.
Claiming The First Meltdown
April 3, 2010 By 17 Comments
Bad weather, bad traffic, too much noise, too little space and boondocking outside a casino, for goodness sake…I managed to get through dinner by listening to music that never grows old and pretending I heard nothing else as I made spaghetti and the guys played Mario on the DS. But by the time it came to washing dishes, sticking my hands in cold water put me over the over-stimulation edge.
What do you do when it’s too cold and windy to go for a walk?
You walk 10 feet to the back of your small RV, press your hands over your ears as hard as possible and listen to your breath for 10 minutes. You try not to explode as your RV slowly closes in around you, going from cozy and comfortable to a minuscule sliver of living space. You allow your mind to wander from questioning your sanity, to questioning tomorrow’s plans, to wondering what your friends are doing, to looking forward to an upcoming gathering until you realize your hands are regaining circulation and the noises within the RV aren’t quite so overbearing.
Then you shuffle up to your husband, accept the hug he offers, and whisper a sorry while promising him it will indeed happen again. Then you take his hand and wander inside to see if New Mexico casinos are any different than Las Vegas casinos. You come back to your warm and cozy home, curl up with your 10 year old and some Harry Potter and breath in deep that life – in all it’s sticky, messy, unpredictable, emotional, dramatic beauty – is still so good.
Because it is good. Especially if you’ve read the great news on Justin’s blog…
Our Ideas for Highly-Sensitive Transitioning
February 2, 2010 By 13 Comments
Moving, traveling or any other major changes and transitions are hard enough for kids, but for a highly-sensitive child, they really start to feel impossible. In my last post I explained our biggest part of helping him transition – the emotional aspect. But there are others things we’re trying to do to help him, as well. If you’ve read either The Highly Sensitive Person
Our main concerns are unfamiliarity, overstimulation and nearly constant transitioning during travel, all of which are skills he’s still learning.
Packing and Sorting
We have pretty limited space in a 22 ft RV. But since Zeb forms deep attachments to things that he loves, there are serious accommodations we’re making for him.
He’s surprisingly willing to let go of a lot of things. But there are some things he really wants to take: Yu-Gi-Oh cards, a few Ren Fair items, his bike and most importantly (and space-consuming) his LEGO collection. If you’ve seen what was once called his bedroom you’d understand the challenge; it’s so full of Lego creations and layouts that it’s referred to as The Lego Studio. (No joke. He will correct you if you call it a bedroom. He takes his passions seriously.)
First, and most obviously, while packing up the house we’re saving his room for last. No cleaning, no sorting, no packing, no moving of his things until the last possible moment. While the rest of the house is in various states of disarray, he continues to have a steady, quiet place to center himself and escape the stimulation. (More on this in a minute.) Several days before it’s time to tackle his room, we’ll give him a heads up so he can have plenty of time to prepare himself for it.
We’ve allotted the two bench seats in the dining area of the RV as his own to be used as “toy boxes”. They will undoubtedly be filled with as many Legos as possible. There will also be a few totes above the cab for anything else he’d like to take. Justin and I are condensing our own things as much as possible and finding creative places to store things, so that Zeb can take as many of his familiar things as possible.
Familiarity is the key here. We want him to have resources that give him time to center himself on the road, especially as he can’t do that very well in unfamiliar and overstimulating surroundings. We’re hoping being surrounded by his favorite things will smooth the transition. (If necessary, we’ll find space in the trailer we’ll be towing for anything we can’t fit in the RV.)
His comfort during all of this is just as, if not more, important as ours.
Keeping It Together
Saying he doesn’t handle overstimulation well would be an understatement. It’s a challenge for me with a lifetime of highly-sensitive practice. What I don’t want him to become reliant on is shutting down. It’s coping, not avoiding, that are lasting skills.
But there is only so much a 10 year old can handle, so it’s still our job to maintain some semblance of a routine. Um, yeah. Not easy right now. But crucial to his well-being. So we still gather for dinner. We carve out time for movie nights. We read together before bed. We force ourselves to meet with friends, have dinner with family, play games.
We listen to music during the hectic days. We clean the kitchen daily. We clean the house weekly. We keep plenty of snacks and simple lunches around so that he can help himself whenever he wants something.
Part of his coping mechanism needs a bit of avoidance and I have to remind myself that during these extenuating circumstances avoidance isn’t just normal, it’s necessary. He spends a large amount of his day in his room, playing computer games and Legos and talking on the phone with friends. He even locks his door as a way to ensure fewer abrupt intrusions into his “safe zone”. When he’s not in his room, he’s playing video games or watching Netflix in the living room. It’s constant. It’s sometimes annoying. But I’m reminding myself that it is not only temporary, it’s necessary to his ability to handle everything right now. (He’s also trying to enjoy the things we won’t have in the RV – like rentals or Wii games…or privacy. Just another way he’s transitioning from one place to another.)
Transitioning On The Road
This is something I’ve thought a lot about. It will take a lot of experimenting to find ways to avoid overstimulation, maintain some amount of privacy and respect boundaries in such a small space. And considering how many places we want to visit and things we want to experience on the road, the constant transitioning will certainly be trying.
One serious plus to traveling in the RV is that no matter how our outside environment changes, we’ll always have the same comfortable place to retreat to. Not long ago, I spoke to a self-proclaimed “mild agoraphobic” who traveled in an RV full-time; she said she had no problem traveling because she was essentially always home! We’re hoping Zeb will find similar comfort during the constant change of scenery.
Here are some ideas I’ve had and that we’ll try implementing:
- Fewer timelines: I already know it’s going to be a challenge for Justin and I to remember to slow down. But having Zeb be our main guiding force as to how long we stay or how quickly we move on will help. If he’s overwhelmed or overstimulated, we’ll settle in for a bit. If he’s uncomfortable where we are, we’ll head out.
- Finding peaceful places: We hope to avoid the energy of busy campsites and RV parks as much as possible. We want to find quiet, beautiful places to stay or boondock. Places with views or trails will likely be important so that anytime one of us needs privacy, we have options for hiking or just sitting outside.
- Headphones: With three laptops, numerous computer games, a passion for YouTube and a small space, I’m going to be encouraging headphones quite a lot to help keep things less stimulating (quiet) for everyone.
- Staying connected: Keeping him in touch with family and friends is a must. We plan to shift to one cell phone with unlimited minutes (or a “family circle”), and we’ll have mobile internet, as well as Skype. We’ll also be visiting many, many family and friends around the country.
- Familiar places: Not only will our RV be filled with familiar and comforting things, we’re also attempting to create familiarity wherever we go. We’ll have a membership to nationwide children’s museums, on the rare occasion we eat out it will likely be a national chain with an environment and menu he is familiar with, and we plan to stop to visit family we’ve stayed with, as well as places we’ve seen before. Apart from farmer’s markets, we’re also hoping to find Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods as often as possible so that we can find familiar foods.
- Giving him the reigns: We all feel best when things don’t feel completely out of our control. As much as possible, and as much as he desires, we’ll have him decide things like which road to take, which city to explore, what to have for dinner, where to stay, etc. I want him to feel like an active, important part of this adventure, not a bystander being dragged behind our crazy ideas. As we look for a new community, his input will likewise be essential.
For those wondering about my own sensitivities and the moving/traveling, the easy explanation is that I enjoy change more than most people and I’m also much more adept at knowing what I need and taking plenty of “time outs” away from everything to regroup when necessary. Also a few of the suggestions above are just as much for my benefit as Zeb’s (headphones, peaceful environments…not to mention helping him will really help us all). How I’ll actually do on the road, however, is anyone’s guess.
Note: All of this was written before we left for Death Valley on Sunday. We just got back this afternoon from a two day trip and as soon as I’ve cleaned up, I’ll blog about how our ideals stacked up to actuality, what we need to work on and a whole lot of other thoughts on our first *successful* Maiden Voyage.
Read more: Highly Sensitive Transitioning: Before The Move
Highly-Sensitive Transitioning: Before The Move
January 30, 2010 By 14 Comments
Zeb, making a list of our dreams: places and people we want to see
and things we want to do on the road.
When we first started discussing the decision to travel full-time and eventually settle outside of Vegas, we included Zeb. How could we not? He’s one-third of our family and his experience will be as life-changing as ours.
So, we sat down. We talked over our situation and our choices as best we could without overwhelming him or stressing out an easily-stressed soul. We told him every pro and con of full-time RVing we could think of, we gave him a timeline for being on the road but were honest that it could change, we discussed the potential challenges. And we asked what he thought.
He was hesitant, for sure. Thoughtful and questioning. But after some time, and a promise we’d make room for his Legos, he told us it would work for him.
And then he was excited…for about a week. That’s when his real transitioning began.
Zeb is an emotional, highly-sensitive child. He creates strong attachments to animals, friends and family, as well as things that hold special significance. For years he kept his school reports and certificates on his walls because it reminded him of *something* good from those difficult years. So it’s really no wonder that this transition – away from loved ones, best friends, his hometown, all that he knows, even his pets – would hit him hard.
All at once he was torn between sadness and anger. This isn’t to say he wasn’t simultaneously excited. But he realized how much he would miss his friends and family. He worried that he’d be bored. Truthfully, I think he was a bit afraid of such a Huge Unknown. In his ten years, he’s experienced some pretty difficult stuff and it’s left him leaning heavily toward the hesitant side of life. Now here we were, and he was feeling as if the security we’ve built for ourselves was being stripped away. It’s a big world out there and it’s already proven to sometimes be scary.
This went on for awhile. Some days – many days – I didn’t handle it well. Truthfully, my own excitement was building and I was feeling resentful for his raining over my parade. I didn’t want to be pulled into the emotional upset and away from the budding joy. Internally, I didn’t think I had the energy to handle it.
On those days I tried to rationalize with him, remind him how much fun we’d have, how many more friends we’ll see and make, how many things we’ll have the opportunity to do. I took lots of deep breaths and left the room countless times. It’s not that I didn’t understand him. It’s that I was too wrapped up in my own expectations to react to his needs.
He doesn’t need to be rationalized with or reminded that he had once agreed. He needs to mourn what we are leaving behind, so that he can be prepared to move ahead.
Zeb has always needed a slow transition. He’s slow to get out of bed, slow to stop one thing and start another. We work with this by giving him plenty of notice before we leave, before we eat, before company comes.
And this anger and sadness was the beginning phase of a very big transition. All he needed from me was a place to vent, some validation over what will surely suck and some patience. So I finally stopped rationalizing or talking him out of his emotions. I stopped trying to fix it. (Wait. I thought I learned this one already?)
I allowed myself to be his emotional punching bag.
He needed a safe place to let it all out. And with lots of deep breaths and quiet reminders to myself to keep my mouth shut, I became that place. Sometimes he yelled, other times he cried. Sometimes he questioned and voiced concern. Some days he talked excitedly and made plans. At one point he blamed us for ruining his life and called us names, hating us with conviction. And that’s about when I was suddenly able to see past my own expectations and look with compassion on my son who was grieving a loss in advance.
And as soon as I managed to stay present and compassionate during his storm, it passed. In a matter of an hour he went from total meltdown to cuddling in our arms. In the end he gave us a look that resembled a Thank You, a hug that said I Love You Too and he was off to conquer the day without the heavy emotional load dragging him down.
I’m not about to assume we’ve seen the end. He’s not that kind of kid. And he still has his moments of fear amid the moments of excitement, although they aren’t as explosive now. But if I can remember to breath and not take it personally, I know we’ll get through them, too.
There is plenty more to say on the subject of transitioning/moving/traveling with a highly-sensitive child. You could probably consider this Part One.
I'm Tara Wagner, life coach and creator of the 
