My brother was about 5 years older than me. I remember being about 3 or 4 years old and stopping him at the corner to remind him to look both ways before crossing the street. I don’t think anyone ever actually told me he was special needs or asked me to look out for him, but I don’t remember ever not knowing. He had Prader Willi Syndrome, severe asthma, flat feet, and was allergic to pretty much everything that breathes. The universe did not do him any favors when it dealt his hand. Those are just some of the things (the ones I’m willing to share, the ones that matter for this story). He loved animals, but the allergies would trigger an asthma attack so we couldn’t have any pets. He wanted so badly to be “normal,” but the world seemed to have other plans for him. It was fairly clear from an early age that he would likely never lead a normal independent life. He would always need someone to help him manage money and bills, someone to remind him of the important things like looking both ways.
Once, when I was 9, he died. My dad was staying with his aunt in San Francisco, and she had dogs. We were visiting, and on Christmas Eve, my brother started having an asthma attack. And nothing seemed to help. He stopped breathing and I watched him turn blue. My dad called an ambulance. It took 5 paramedics to get him up the stairs because he was so strong and was fighting through not being able to breathe. We spent Christmas in the hospital. They were able to bring him back, but that night is burned in my memory.
I always thought I didn’t want to have kids. But I think I just didn’t allow myself to want that life. I knew that one day, I would likely be his primary caretaker, and that life didn’t leave enough time or energy to nurture my own family. After he actually died, I never really looked closer at whether I wanted to have kids – it felt engrained. He wanted so badly to be like the other kids that he got into some less savory pastimes. So, in an effort to help him get back on the right track, I started drug testing him. He knew that I would test him at least once a month, but I’d also show up at random from time to time – usually about once every week or two. We had an agreement that when he tested clean for 6 months straight, I’d buy him the latest PlayStation. The day we agreed to that; I had been having difficulty with some friends and was pretty upset. And while my brother probably had the mentality of a 6-year-old at best, he gave me the best advice anyone’s ever given me. “It doesn’t matter what they think. THEY don’t matter. I love you. And Mom loves you. Everyone else sucks.”
When he went into the hospital the last time, I was 21. He was a week away from earning that PlayStation. He seemed fine, really. Just complaining of abdominal pain. The doctors were running all kinds of tests, and they were going to keep him overnight for observation. I called in to work so I could stay with him. We had one of the only two truly adult conversations of our relationship that day – he was ready to make the changes he needed to make to get healthy. He seemed a little tired, and told me he wanted to take a nap. So I told him I’d go get a bite to eat and make some calls to update everyone, and that I’d be back in less than an hour. When I returned, the lights above his hospital room door were going nuts and there were doctors and nurses running every which way. He had collapsed and fallen into a coma, so they needed to move him to the ICU. I called everyone again (my mom was in Pennsylvania visiting Podunk’s family, and dad was living in New Mexico) and told them they needed to get the first flight home. They all made it back in time to say goodbye.
I don’t remember a lot about the funeral, but I remember talking about how he always tried to find the good in everyone he met – even if the good thing was tiny. Because everyone has something, and it’s worth finding. I’ve tried to live my life by that ever since.
As a teenager, I had a lot of difficulty making friends. I think I’ve got RBF, which tends to deter people from talking to a person lol. I never really felt like I fit in, but I have a few really close friends that have been around most of my life, and they mean the world to me. One of them once said to me: “I thought you were a total b***h when we first met in high school.” We’re in our 40s now, and still great friends, so I guess that proves my point. I might be a little rough around the edges, but I care deeply, love hard, and really do want the best for the people around me.
Unlike my kids, I didn’t decide what I wanted to do by age 4. Honestly, I’m not sure I know NOW what I want to be when I grow up. All I know is I’d rather not grow up – that’s no fun at all! I’ve bounced around several different jobs and industries – shipping and transportation, IT, political activism, construction, renewable energy, accounting, sales, management, reporting analysis, among others.
My last corporate job had a manager who had never managed a team before, and had no clue what to do with me, so he made it his mission to make my life hell. I had multiple anxiety attacks every day. My therapist put me on medical leave for work-related stress. When I was nearing the end of my leave, Ken told me “you can’t go back there. Your mental health is too important.” And he encouraged me to finally become a life coach.
I think this is where I’ll spend the rest of my days, but I’m also open to other options. I love what I do now. This work enables me to finally make a difference in people’s lives by leading them to their own answers – I get to show them how to see themselves more clearly. And it’s fulfilling. Corporate America almost killed me. But life coaching saved me.
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