2024 September & October

Rediscover the often-stolen joy in everyday moments with me, plus upcoming events inside the NeuroMom Nest (starts tomorrow!)

Is $11 worth of happiness — enough? 

I’m standing, feet planted in front of my kitchen sink. Hands, following the rhythms of washing: soap, scrub, rinse, dry, repeat. All while gazing at the still life sitting on the well-worn dinner table before me.

On my annual pilgrimage to Target the other day, after spending nearly two hours gathering all the have-to-haves, I dashed over to the home goods section before my little one’s patience completely expired.¹ 

I had my eye out for a tray for the dining table to corral all the little miscellany that, though needed, clutters the table and my brain as my eye grates across it 103 times a day. I came across a simple wooden disc for $11 and popped it into my cart. 

The rest was gathered from home. 

>> Flowers from my husband’s garden.²

>> A mason jar from the cupboard. 

>> The stack of napkins. 

>> The salt shaker. 

>> A petite pumpkin my daughter brought home from the garden at school.³

All united together on my one little tray instead of in disarray at random points, arms crossed and standoffish, strewn across the table. 

I’ve now spent an inordinate amount of time, or maybe just the right amount, examining the hundreds of curling petals of the dusty pink dahlias all nested perfectly together as I eat dinner.

At the wonder of this little bit of nature and beauty suddenly sharing my space while I do dishes.

And then the next logical sweep of my eyes is to glance up, out at the breathtaking view from the living room windows beyond. 

I used to hate it when visitors would walk in and inevitably exclaim, “You have such a beautiful view!” 

I’d stand there shrugging awkwardly, never sure what to say. 

“Thank you,” didn’t seem right. 

I obviously didn’t have anything to do with creating the perfect pasture, stunning in every season, or the clear blue sky, or the lush hillside pine forest. 

Nor with the grace of my sister and brother-in-law letting us break off this chunk of heaven from their property and plunk our house down.

And little to do with even the blessing of my husband and I being able to earn and save the funds to build the house or of being able to move in a breath before Christmas in 2019 before…everything. 

So I’ve always felt like I should be grateful. 

And I am. 

But then the prison camp voice would bleat at me in the tinny loudspeaker in my head, “But are you thankful, ENOUGH?!”

“Do you enjoy it enough, Shannon?!” 

Did I enjoy the summer that just passed enough, I’d wonder? After all, I barely get outside.

Instead spending my time making words skitter across the screen for my marketing clients in ways AI as yet doesn’t have the finesse to do. Or calling in prescription refills, filling in forms, and sorting out insurance issues.

And I’d often admit to those guests who exclaimed at the view, though hopefully, they didn’t hear that shrill voice, too, that I hardly ever had time to sit down and enjoy it. 

And that is one of the most dramatic shifts I’ve noticed since starting to take antidepressants in July. 

The volume of the constant criticism and self-interrogation has turned way down. 

Now I can stand here washing the meat thermometer and then the cutting board and later the air fryer basket, admiring the view. 

Smile as I hear my youngest giggle as she makes faces at the dog. And enjoy the clockwork dance of our morning routine as I lay out everyone’s meds before breakfast.

And it is enough. 

I don’t have to throw off all the needs of my people and luxuriate on the stoop for hours in the sunshine like our lab does. 

It’s enough to take a breath and soak in the golden autumn rays as I ferry the little ball of fluff I call Baci out onto the grass, her spindly old legs far past being able to make her way up and down the steps.

Or listen to the rustle of the wind in the corn stalks as I gather kale, chard, and collards for the day, picking off the fat green caterpillars.

I don’t feel the crush to hurry up and absorb every drop of this fleeting moment before it disappears because I know that I can love this moment and the next and the next. 

And I don’t have to try to do it more or better or perfect. 

It’s a whole lot quieter in here nowadays. 

Now I can feel in every cell the truth of the quote that sits on my computer backdrop, rather than only knowing it to be true in my brain: 

“The happiness of life is made up of minute fractions – the little soon forgotten charities of a kiss or smile, a kind look, a heartfelt compliment, and the countless infinitesimals of pleasurable and genial feeling.” 

Because $11 worth is just the right amount of happiness for me. 

Have you ever felt the pressure to enjoy something enough? What small moments of peace and joy are you experiencing in your busy life this season? 

Share your experience in the comments of this post. I can’t wait to hear from you!

Now, here’s what’s coming up inside The NeuroMom Nest.

The NeuroMom Nest is my paid membership here on Substack offering monthly workshops and a supportive community to help moms of neurodivergent children create a balanced, joyful life in small, manageable steps.

Wednesday, September 25, 2024, at 2:30 pm Pacific: Paperwork Power-up Party! 🎉

In tomorrow’s workshop and co-working session, I’ll walk you through exactly how to set up your own master document 📝 with your child’s health, education, and personal info all in one place. 

I’ll give you my plug-n-play template with everything you need to set up your own, and then we’ll work side-by-side to get it all done. 

So you never have to dig out that insurance card, look up the pediatrician’s phone number, or try to calculate what year your kid had their tonsils out – ever again. 💥

Tuesday, October 1, 2024, at 1:00 pm Pacific: Co-Regulation Strategies Workshop + Q&A

Do you have a child (or several) who are struggling with meltdowns and shutdowns? 😵‍💫 Next week, I’ll be sharing my favorite mom-tested ways to support your kiddo AND yourself during the most difficult moments. 

Most of these strategies probably aren’t in any therapy handbook. But they are what I’ve found has helped my little ones while also being realistic for me to implement as a finite human mama who also gets tired and frustrated sometimes. 

We’ll spend the first half hour discussing the strategies, then we’ll take the last 15 minutes where you can ask any questions you have and we’ll use our collective wisdom as a community of NeuroMamas to support one another. 

I hope you’ll be there!

Here’s what you need to know to join us…

If you’re already a member, keep reading to find the Zoom links below along with a link to the Google calendar with all of our upcoming live workshops. 

I’ll post a replay of all of our monthly meetups in case you can’t attend live. Though please know, we’re not afraid of noisy children or messy kitchens.

Come as you are!

And if you haven’t joined yet, you can unlock all of this goodness by subscribing below. 

Once you’re on the subscribe page, select either the Monthly or Annual (or Founding Member) option. It looks like this…

I can’t wait to see you there!