A Leap of Faith
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Posted on November 14, 2013 by

Dive inI’ve been online dating—or perhaps what could be more accurately described as attempting to online date—for a couple of years now. When I began to tentatively consider dating, back in 2010, my biggest fear was that I would meet (and fall in love with) another alcoholic like my ex-husband. If you spend an hour in any kind of twelve-step program then you know this happens a lot. As in: All. The. Time. I did not—I repeat, DID NOT—want to make that mistake again.

I also didn’t want to meet (and fall in love with) another manic depressive. Again, just like my ex-husband. Or someone suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Again, just like my ex-husband. Or someone … well, you get the idea.

I’ve said this before but it bears repeating: I am an over-achiever in many things, but I am a seriously over-the-top, super duper A+ over-achiever when it comes to dysfunction. My ex-husband was a lovely man in many, many ways but he was a train wreck in the emotional health department. How I, as a presumably intelligent twenty-eight-year-old woman, could have missed the numerous red flags remains, to this day, a total mystery. Or failed to see how a childhood filled with as much trauma and loss as my ex-husband’s might have a few, umm, repercussions later in life. As one of my good friends has said on more than one occasion, “It’s kind of a miracle he turned out as well as he did.”

Yes, it is, but at 28, I was oblivious to all that. Totally oblivious. This is rather embarrassing to admit, which is why I take great comfort in the documentary Catfish. At least now I know I am not the only one foolish and naive in matters of the heart.

Then again, maybe the Universe, or what is known in twelve-step circles as my Higher Power, had a master plan. Because the truth is if I hadn’t married my ex-husband then there is probably no way I would have met my daughter’s birthparents back in December 2003, and even if I had, I never, ever would have gone through with the adoption. It was my ex who talked me into going to the hospital to meet Katie after we learned the birthmother was in jail for a probation violation stemming from a prior drug conviction. He had to work pretty hard to convince me, as I recall. And if I hadn’t gone to the hospital in the middle of the night nearly ten years ago, then I wouldn’t have met my daughter—my beautiful, intelligent, funny, talented, and incredible daughter.

Even knowing how things turned out, I would still do it again. I would. That doesn’t make a tremendous amount of sense to me either, which goes to show that logic can only take you so far. Sometimes life (unplanned or otherwise) requires a leap of faith.

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton

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The Voices in My Head
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Posted on November 12, 2013 by

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Welcome to another Tuesday with TED. This week we are watching psychologist Eleanor Longden describe her experience with mental illness. To all appearances, Longden was just like every other student, heading to college full of promise and without a care in the world. That was until the voices in her head started talking. Initially innocuous, these internal narrators became increasingly antagonistic and dictatorial, turning her life into a living nightmare. Diagnosed with schizophrenia, hospitalized and drugged, Longden was discarded by a system that didn’t know how to help her. Longden tells the moving tale of her years-long journey back to mental health, and makes the case that it was through learning to listen to her voices that she was able to survive.

This is a powerful story about acceptance and overcoming fear and shame. Because of my experiences with my ex-husband, who struggles with bipolar disorder and other mental health challenges, I felt compelled to share it.


Does this change how you think about schizophrenia and other mental illnesses? Do you agree with her viewpoint that mental illness is a condition that can be overcome rather than an incurable disease? How might acceptance (rather than resistance) help you to move forward?

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton

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Story Published in Special Needs Anthology
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Posted on November 10, 2013 by

Monday Coffee AnthologyYesterday was the release party for the new anthology entitled, Monday Coffee and Other Stories of Mothering Children with Special Needs. It contains my story, “Waiting, Still Waiting, For Words.”

InWords Press published the anthology which was the vision of Darolyn Jones and Liz Whiteacre, who are mothers, writers, disability advocates, professors, and now editors. InWords Press is a small, independent publisher affiliated with the nonprofit Indiana Writers Center (IWC) whose mission is to nurture a diverse writing community, support established and emerging writers, improve written and verbal communication, and cultivate an audience for literature in Indiana. Any royalties made from the project will return to the Memoir Project at IWC to give other writers, often marginalized ones, a voice.

As always, it is an honor to have my work published, but I especially love that this anthology will help not only special families but also other memoir writers. Check out the new book on Amazon at the link provided above. A Kindle version is coming soon.

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton

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The Story of a Name
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Posted on November 7, 2013 by

Several people have asked how I arrived at Katie’s name. The short answer is I’ve always loved the name Katie, as well as Kate. You can do a lot with a name like Kathryn, and I like that versatility. I also love Katharine Hepburn and the strong, smart-mouthed characters she played in so many films. I wanted some of that sassy nature for my future daughter.

Like so many things in my unplanned life, the true answer to that question is, well, a bit more complicated.

Summer 2012.

Summer 2012.

My ex-husband’s mother, who died by suicide when he was 19, was named Catherine. On our first date Michael told me he was ready to have children and somehow in the ensuing conversation we agreed that two children were too few but four children were too many. We both wanted at least one, if not three girls, and I said I was partial to the name Katie, which was a coincidence because that was (sort of) his mother’s name. (Michael’s mother actually went by Cay, but like I said, it’s a versatile name.) At the time, the combination of his mother’s name plus his last name seemed like a sign that we were meant to be together. Katie was cute, but Katie Murdoch was downright adorable.

After that rather strange and premature conversation, I didn’t think about names until a few months into our second year of marriage when I had surgery for a rare retinal disorder. It took three months to learn if I would fully regain my vision. During those long, lonely hours sitting in a recliner I imagined my future daughter—a child who, it had dawned on me, I might never see. I named her Katie and for the next eight years as we waited for a real child, this fantasy version stuck with me.

When I finally saw my daughter, an hour after her birth, she looked exactly like the child I’d imagined eight years earlier. So I never considered another name. She was already Katie.

Katie’s birthmother had suggested two names: Sophia (because she loved it) and Frances (after the birthfather’s deceased sister). While I liked Sophia, Robin and I agreed that it went better with her husband’s last name rather than Michael’s. So I suggested Katherine Frances. Given that my mother-in-law was named Catherine, I’d assumed we’d go with Katherine. But when my ex learned that the original Frances had been killed by her ex-boyfriend in a murder-suicide, he insisted we spell Katie’s name Kathryn. “That’s too many violent deaths for one poor baby.”

I was surprised, but readily agreed.

After our divorce, I was glad we’d gone with Kathryn rather than Katherine (or even Catherine), but her last name chafed. Why was my daughter linked to the man who’d refused to adopt her? I needed to change her name. But what should I change it to?

Eventually I came upon the perfect solution. I plan to change Katie’s name to Kathryn Frances Sophia Patton. I know it’s a bit of a mouthful, especially for a child with a speech delay, but I like what the name represents. If anyone asks, I’ll say there are three names to honor the birthfather, the birthmother, and me. Plus one just for Katie.

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton

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Harnessing the Wind
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Posted on November 5, 2013 by

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Welcome to another Tuesday with TED. This week we are listening to William Kamkwamba. At age 14, living in poverty and famine in Malawi, he built a windmill from spare parts and scrap to power his family’s home. Now in his twenties, he speaks at TED for the second time and shares in his own words the moving tale of creativity, determination, and invention that changed his life.

Kamkwamba’s life is detailed in the book “The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind” as well as the film, “William and the Windmill.”


How does William Kamkwamba’s story make you feel about the challenges you face?

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton

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Reflections on a Harvest Moon
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Posted on October 31, 2013 by

Harvest MoonSeveral weeks ago we had a string of beautiful nights with a harvest moon hanging low and ripe in the early evening sky. I’d take Katie to the park after dinner for a bout of high-intensity swinging to help regulate her sensory system before bed, and we’d both watch the moon rise.

Katie has always been fascinated by the moon, starting with the classic bedtime story, Good Night Moon. To be honest, I am too. Maybe it’s because of my name. Years before Katie was born I looked it up in the baby name book. There it was: Cynthia, meaning goddess of the moon.

When I was a kid I hated my name because it sounded prissy and stuck up. On the first day of school I dreaded the moment the teacher would call out Cynthia instead of Cindy and my classmates would snicker. In second grade I read books from the young adult section and wore boy’s jeans on rainy days, traits that branded me like the cattle wandering the surrounding hillsides. I yearned to fit in and my name didn’t help. Why couldn’t Mom have named me something basic and serviceable like Debbie or Karen or Allison?

When I was 22, I changed my mind. Five years younger than the average law student, a sophisticated name seemed a blessing designed to make up for my rural hometown and lack of meaningful job experience. I couldn’t tell people I’d worked summers as a security guard at the Alameda County Fair (oh yes, I most certainly did), but I could flaunt my name.

I told my boyfriend that I wanted to drop my nickname because Cindy sounded like a high school cheerleader with pigtails. He thought this was ridiculous (looking back, he probably loved the image), so I stayed Cindy until we graduated and I moved to Sacramento without him. There I switched to my given name and haven’t looked back—except when I’m at home.

When I told Mom about the change she shook her head.

“You won’t call me the name you picked for me?”

“No,” she said, hands on her hips.

“Why not?”

“It’s my parental right to call you Cindy.”

Parental right? Twenty-five years later, my mother still refuses to call me Cynthia. Is it any wonder I ended up a lawyer?

But maybe my affinity for the moon has nothing to do with my name. Perhaps it’s buried in my genes. I’ve always been a night owl, reading with a flashlight beneath the covers long after my sister Kris was asleep. On the rare nights my two sisters and I are back under my parents’ roof we lounge on the sofas with Mom, our socked feet curled beneath us, and talk until 2 or 3 in the morning. Our laughter echoes down the hall. When Jen and I visited our middle sister in Boston, we stayed on California time so we could watch Elimi-date and gossip after Kris went to bed. Dad has stayed up half the night analyzing statistics for his fantasy baseball league, and my brother Tom’s favorite thing (before kids, that is) was to stay up late and then sleep until noon. So it could be something flowing in the blood that stretches back to Mom’s Swiss ancestors and Dad’s Swedish/Irish roots.

Maybe the name Cynthia just sealed my fate.

What do you think? Are night owl tendencies due to nature, nurture, or something else entirely, such as a name?

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton

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Finding The Story Inside The Painting
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Posted on October 29, 2013 by

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Welcome to another Tuesday with TED. This week we are listening to novelist Tracy Chevalier. When Tracy looks at paintings, she imagines the stories behind them: How did the painter meet his model? What would explain that look in her eye? Why is that man … blushing? She shares three stories inspired by portraits, including the one that led to her best-selling novel “Girl With a Pearl Earring.”

A fascinating look at how one author gets ideas for her work.


Tracy Chevalier looks at paintings and imagines the stories behind them. Would you have imagined the same story or something different? How might another art form inspire your creativity?

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton

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Separation Anxiety–An Update
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Posted on October 24, 2013 by

Balloons_in_the_skyI will admit that when I first thought about starting a blog, my thinking was more along the lines of “I should write a blog” than “wow, I can’t wait to do this!” I knew I needed a blog to help establish my elusive “writer’s platform.” I had no real idea how a blog would help me do this, but it was one of those things everyone told me I needed to have. So I started it, without any clear idea of what I would write about. A writing friend suggested that I write about my life as a single parent of an autistic child. I didn’t think anyone other than parents of special needs kids would want to read about that and told her so. She said she thought I was wrong.

In the end, after several weeks obsessing about the non-existent blog, I started writing about my life—mostly because I couldn’t come up with a better idea. And guess what? Jenn was right. Based on the many comments I’ve received, people enjoy reading about my unplanned life. And in doing so, I have somehow, for many of you, put a “face” on autism. This alone would keep me writing.

What I never expected was that sometimes you, the reader, would respond to my writing in ways that would flip my world upside down, make me look at an issue in an entirely new way. This happened recently after I posted “Separation Anxiety” (you can read it here).

Sheila Pai, a woman I know virtually through my business mentorship group, wrote the following:

Reading this, I feel my experience with my children (one closing in on 4 and the other nearing 2). They are gaining words, skills and wants. They are both on me, all over me. All. Day. I can hear you are wondering what is happening with her, what you might be doing or not doing to bring this on, how to connect with her. It sounds to me that you and she are connecting in tremendous ways, that she trusts you and talks with you openly. I want to encourage you to consider embracing her sudden closeness. To see it as I see my almost four-year-old’s “clinginess”—she is growing up and looking behind her at the baby she was and suddenly feels scared. Will you love her? Will she still be okay being herself? Who is she? She is learning so much. She is realizing how much she did not know. It sounds to me that she might be listing all the things she does to stay safe and she feels safe in your bed, close with you. She is having some big shifts and reaching far out there and she wants to make sure you are still with her, that she can still “come home” when she needs to. That she is not lost when she goes out there and risks it all physically, emotionally, mentally….

I read this and realized sometimes I am so focused on the autism that I lose sight of the fact that my daughter is also, well, a child. That while her development might be delayed in some aspects, in the end, she tends to hit the same milestones as other kids. So maybe this phase is not something to “solve,” but rather something to celebrate and embrace.

I love that idea. Many thanks to Sheila for pointing it out to me.

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton

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What is Home?
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Posted on October 22, 2013 by

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Welcome to another Tuesday with TED. This week we have California-based writer Pico Iyer asking what is home?

Increasing numbers of people worldwide are living in countries not considered their own. Iyer  — who himself has three or four “origins” — meditates on the meaning of home, the joy of traveling, and the serenity of standing still. I found this talk fascinating.

Pico Iyer mentions in his talk how he traveled to a sactuary and immediately began to write, even though that wasn’t his intent. How might travel or meditation aide your creativity?

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton

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Structure’s Slippery Slope, Part 2
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Posted on October 17, 2013 by

MPj03960510000[1]Every so often Katie manages to surprise the hell out of me. The past few weeks were one such time.

Two weeks ago, I discussed how Katie’s in-home therapy team and I had decided to break up some areas of rigidity that were taking place at home. Maia, our case manager, created the plan. Juan, Katie’s awesome behaviorist, and I were tasked with implementation. We both dragged our feet, and Juan assured me that while things would get worse at first, it was necessary and eventually things would get better. “I know,” I said. Like him, I wasn’t looking forward to several weeks of tantrums and aggressive behavior. Juan repeated himself with a pained expression marring his normally cheerful grin, and I said, “It’s okay, Juan. I know.”

Maia’s behavior modification plan started with the seemingly simple task of Katie sitting in the family room for one minute while I faked using the bathroom with the door closed. Both Juan and I were certain this would trigger a lengthy tantrum. In fact, since I couldn’t leave the bathroom while a tantrum was in progress, Juan told me I should bring my smartphone, reading material, and anything else I might need to entertain myself for a prolonged stay. Then we both sighed.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that, at least in the case of this particular area of rigidity (i.e., refusing to let me use the bathroom alone), Katie’s behavior was tied to her recent bout of separation anxiety. (Read about that here.) If this were true, then it felt like we were punishing her for having (and expressing in the only way available to her) feelings. As an adult who sometimes struggles to identify what I am feeling, I hated this thought. So after discussing it with Maia, she modified the behavior plan so we started with a less tantrum-inducing request: Katie would sit in the family room and count to five while I stood in the bathroom doorway.

Juan had me buy special treats to serve as reinforcers for our task. One of the rewards Katie selected was Izze sparkling juice. I purchased a flat of eight-ounce cans at CostCo and they sat in the back of the minivan, waiting.

On the first day, I announced that I was using the bathroom and Katie predictably sprinted ahead of me. When I didn’t follow, she sat for a moment on her stool, confused, and then returned to the family room. We repeated this a few times. Finally I made it into the bathroom first, but she tried to join me. I calmly said no, and we returned to the family room to start over. At last we got her to stay in the family room and I stood in the doorway for five seconds. When I came back to the family room to reward her, Katie kicked at me. “Nope,” Juan said, “No soda.”

Katie pitched a fit over the lost soda. She lost the soda again and pitched another fit. But this was on the scale of normal kid behavior, not an autistic tantrum. Juan and I were pleased.

The second day, as soon as Juan arrived, Katie requested “that bathroom thing.” This made both Juan and I laugh because that’s what I’d called it the previous afternoon. We reminded her that she was working for an Izze. “An orange one,” Katie specified. “I want orange soda.”

“Okay,” I said. “You wait in the family room with nice hands and feet and count to five and you can have the orange Izze.”

Katie nodded grimly, clearly determined to do whatever it took to get the soda.

“You can do this, Katie.” I demonstrated counting to five using my fingers. “This will be easy.”

She gave me a dubious look that broke my heart, then planted herself in the green plaid club chair and began to count. It took me five seconds to make it to the bathroom doorway, so she had to count a second time. When I returned, she slapped me five and said, “Orange soda, please.”

She guzzled the juice and said, “Bathroom thing again. I want blackberry soda.”

Yes, I let her earn a second tiny can. And all those tantrums Juan and I were sure would happen? They never occurred—even when I closed the bathroom door. Like I said, Katie still manages to surprise me.

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton

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