Overcoming My Moments of Jealousy

There are fleeting moments when I get jealous. When a post pops into my Facebook feed or someone tells me of a great thing they’ve done as a family. In these moments, I feel like we are missing out as a result of my son’s autism, and I struggle with the loss of things that we can’t do/struggle with/have never done.

It is not something that I am proud of, as we are happy as a family and have so much to be thankful for. It is just that when I am reminded of some of the struggles that we face, I need a little time to reset myself. Time to get past the thoughts of what we are missing out on, and time to remember the moments we do have and the achievements we have made.

Parties, Friends and Playdates

When I see children with friends or pictures of birthday parties or hear of their playdates, I am reminded of the things my son doesn’t get to experience. I feel the loneliness, but he does not. He struggles with social interaction and his need to control the world prevents him from making friends. He misses the friends he had when he was younger, but in a crowd of people it is his Dad that he turns to for company.

When I feel the loss of friendship, I remember his amazing bond with his Dad and realise that he has a great friend already.

Academic Progress

When I see children getting awards, I am reminded of the fact that he has never received an award or even been designated pupil of the week. I feel his lack of progress compared to his peers but he does not. He struggles in the classroom, requires a lot of support to get through the day and took years just overcome his resistance to writing. He is progressing slower than his peers and is not fulfilling his academic potential, but he loves searching for answers to questions that most children don’t even think about.

When I feel his slow academic progress, I remember his inquisitive mind and realise that he doesn’t need awards or validation from others to make him feel successful.

Participation in Sports and Activities

When I see children’s sporting achievements or photos of the activities that they have taken part in, I am reminded of the sports lessons that did not work out and the things we can’t do. I feel him missing out but he does not. He struggles with team sports and any regular lessons, so our weekends are typically spent at home. Given the choice he would rather run around pretending to be a superhero or playing with his Lego.

When I feel his missing out on sports and other activities, I remember the skills he has mastered to create some amazing Lego creations and his training plan to become a ninja. I realise that he doesn’t need to play a sport or learn a new skill to feel accomplished.

Days Out, Holidays and Special Occasions

When I see families enjoying fun times together, I am reminded of the days spent on edge as I work at 200% to help my son get through the day and avoid a meltdown. I feel the struggles that we go through but he does not. We need to plan our trips carefully and special occasions are often tough, but as a family we are learning what suits us best. We have had unexpected moments when our son has gone out of his way to make us laugh or do something caring for one of us.

When I feel our challenges with family events, I remember our Saturday night dance-a-thons and the summer weekends in our garden. I realise that we don’t need to go away or wait for special occasions to have special moments as a family.

Overcoming My Moments

When I have my moments, I remind myself that other peoples’ lives are not just made of Facebook moments and happy stories, and that each family has their challenges that I don’t always see. I remind myself that everyone has their moments when they deal with their own struggles, and they also likely have fleeting moments of jealousy.

I remind myself that it’s OK to feel sad sometimes and that our family is defined by what we make of the moments that we have together, not by what we can’t do.  I remind myself of how far we have come, and that we are making progress every day. Who knows where we will be tomorrow.

To Find Hope, Sometimes You Have to Start at the Bottom

March Madness is here. Even if you don’t care for college basketball, it’s all over the news. Fun fact: Did you know that this year the odds of the 16th-seeded team winning is 10 million to one? It seems impossible, but the hope still exists. Why else would they even try?

I don’t know about you, but I love a good underdog story. The movie, “Hoosiers,” is one of my favorites. If you are unfamiliar with the film, it’s based on a true story of a rinky-dink Indiana high school basketball team and their washed-up coach. The team and the coach seem like unlikely winners, but the story follows how they start from the bottom and work their way up until they make it to the championship game. I won’t tell you if they win or not. I recommend watching it to see for yourself. Anyway, the point of the movie isn’t about winning or losing; it’s about the struggle and how each of the characters grows in spite of the countless obstacles in their way. For so many reasons, this type of story appeals to me.

As a kid, I struggled to learn and every year in school was a painful uphill battle. My teachers told me countless times that I would never go to college or achieve much in life. Even now, as a successful adult with not one, but two college diplomas, I still carry that feeling of “other” with me.

The fight continued for me when I became a parent of a child with Autism. I know this puts me in good company, because mothers, fathers and grandparents all over the world are sparring with teachers, aides, insurance companies, therapy providers, and mean or even well-meaning people who judge us and our kids. It seems like the war will never end. Once one problem is dealt with, another half dozen pop up in their place.

And so, every year as I celebrate another birthday with my son, I wonder what the future will hold for him. Will he ever be truly accepted for who he is? Will this struggle prove to be too much for him? These and a million other questions plague me daily. Maybe they weigh on you, too.

What worries keep you up at night? How do you cope with the uncertainty? The only thing that seems to help me get through it all is hope. The kind you only find at the bottom rung of the ladder.

My son is a brilliant, thoughtful and artistic child with a lot to offer. He and I talk a lot about his life and how to navigate a world that doesn’t make sense to him. He wants us to write a book together one day when he’s older, so that he can share his experience and how he views the world through the lens of autism. I grab onto these moments and dare to believe that the world will boldly embrace him and his differences.

Because sometimes the underdog does come out on top.

I Am Tired

I’m a special needs mom and I am tired.

It’s the kind of tired that affects a person both mentally and physically. The type of tired that I feel can’t be explained. You have to endure the day-to-day challenges of autism to know what I am talking about.

I’m tired from the lack of sleep because autism doesn’t know how to sleep. Most mornings my oldest is awake by 4 a.m., bouncing off the walls — literally! For years he didn’t sleep. We survived on about two hours of sleep in a 24-hour period for several years. Needless to say, I lived off of coffee. During this time in my life, I suffered the kind of tired that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy: Sleep deprivation.

I’m tired from the day-to-day challenges. I am worn out from trying to figure out what Trenton wants because he can’t communicate. I’m exhausted from making sure I do everything just right in order to prevent an OCD meltdown from Andrew. I’m enervated from all the anxiety Andrew suffers from daily.  I’m ready to drop at the end of the day from preventing sensory overloads and following schedules so we don’t have meltdowns. The list goes on and on. Each day is full of challenges. Each day is mentally and physically exhausting.

I’m tired from all the paperwork. I’m sick of talking with insurance companies. My son needs an AAC device and all the paperwork and signatures to prove that he can’t communicate is out of this world! I’m drained reading the words from therapist and teachers. I know it’s the truth, but it hurts so badly reading about what my child can and can’t do. I am so mentally tired from it. Oh, how I wish I could make it all better for him, now!

I’m tired of the loneliness and isolation I feel. I’m sure being a single mom doesn’t help the loneliness factor, but it’s there and I wish it would go away. It wears me out wishing and hoping for the best daily.

I’m tapped out from having my guard up non-stop. I just want to let it down sometimes, but I can’t with two boys with autism. I just want to be in public and not feel like I have to explain why my son is doing what he is doing to the people who gawk and stare. Oh, the looks and stares get so tiring.

I’m drained from educating others on autism. I am sorry that your sister’s husband’s friend’s cousin has a child with autism and he’s different than my child, but yes, my son still has autism. Yes, actually — both my boys have autism. And yes, they are totally different. It’s all autism; not one person is the same, but it’s still autism! I’m so mentally exhausted by that fight!

I’m exhausted from all the doctor and dental appointments. They are not pleasurable visits for any kids, let alone those on the spectrum. I have one child who needs a group of people to hold down to get any kind of exam done. Then I have my other child who will do the exam, but yells and tells everyone exactly what he thinks of them because he thinks everyone just did “bad” things to him.

To be honest, I’m tired of the challenges that autism brings to my children and our lives daily. However, the challenges are always going to be here. If I am this drained from the challenges, then I know my boys are, too. Therefore, we just take very short naps daily and wake up facing our journey with autism together. We are tired but we refuse to give up and walk away. Instead, we continue daily — we just do it a little tired.

A Diagnosis Is Not a Label

“Why do you want to label your child?” I get asked this question much too often.

I don’t, actually, and I’ll tell you why — I don’t like the term “label” and how it is defined by the people who choose to ask this question. It’s a dig, an insult; like they’re implying I want these “labels” for selfish or unorthodox reasons.

Autism is not a “label.” — My daughter didn’t get a diagnosis so I could make her wear a signboard listing her difficulties.

Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder is not a “label.” — My daughter didn’t get a diagnosis so that I could excuse her behaviors.

Anxiety is not a “label.” — My daughter didn’t get a diagnosis to encourage people to be soft.

I could go on forever, right? Please insert any diagnosis and any theory you may have and then listen carefully. These disorders, disabilities, special needs, extra needs, or whatever other definition you wish to use, aren’t labels, they aren’t excuses, and parents like me whose children have these diagnoses are sick of hearing people call them labels. Professionals do it, friends do it, acquaintances do it without any thought or feeling for how this statement comes across to the people it is aimed at.

It is hurtful, it is judgmental, and it is completely unjustified.

People may say, “Why bother having her labeled when you are doing everything for her anyway?” or “Why do you have to label her when the school are giving the extra support” or “What’s the point in a label? All it will do is hinder her in the future with prospective jobs or relationships.”

Having my child diagnosed (which I sought out and fought for, I might add) wasn’t for my benefit; it was for the benefit of my daughter and the future she rightly deserves. Having a diagnosis enabled her to get access to other services she would not have received otherwise. Having a diagnosis enabled me to help others understand her appropriately and begin to use the correct strategies for her conditions. Having a diagnosis has enabled me to be signposted to the correct support groups, and training courses that I wouldn’t otherwise have been able to access.

These “labels” do not hinder my child’s future — they benefit it. These “labels” are needed for support and understanding. Not having a label will be used against you when you try to get further assessments and referrals. Even though a diagnosis is not legally necessary to obtain support and assessments, you WILL be told it is because funding is critically low and, as a diagnosis is proving more and more difficult to obtain, therein lies the problem of the merry-go-round service.

Have you ever heard a teacher or a person from the local authority say:

“I’m sorry, your child is not diagnosed, so we can’t refer her for this assessment.”

or:

“I’m sorry, but in order to have an educational psychologist assess your child, they need to have a diagnosis of X, Y, and Z first.”

or (and this is my pet peeve):

“I’m sorry, we cannot make an application for your child for an Education, Health and Care Plan, because she doesn’t have a diagnosis.”

This is NOT true!!!!!

But you see, who are we to question these professionals’ rules? On the start of my journey I was told all of these. None of them are true. Nothing is based on a child’s diagnosis, but to access the support and assessments, it seems we need it. Even though this isn’t what it states in the SEN code of practice, it seems that the “label” IS actually necessary.

Please don’t assume that I am labeling my child for any other reason than to help her. Please don’t think that these diagnoses are pointless; they are crucial because they give you the ability to access the correct support, and the referrals and other assessments needed in order to better your child’s situation.

Living Life Lyrically

My younger daughter Zoey is not one of those 4-year-old kids that can talk your ear off or ask you a billion questions all in the span of a few seconds.

Zoey is different. 

We found out that Zoey was different when she was about 19 months old, and in the month before her second birthday we would know why. Zoey was diagnosed with severe non-verbal autism, with “no guarantee of speech.”

Severe non-verbal autism is rough. Anyone that tells you otherwise isn’t telling you the truth. A child that can’t verbally express their wants and needs is a child living in pain. As a parent of a child whose only way to communicate is to scream and thrash around because their words are trapped inside their beautiful minds, I can tell you that it is excruciatingly cruel.

The emotional and physical toll that these tiny humans and their little bodies go through because their voices can’t be heard is heartbreaking to witness day and night.

Zoey has been getting intensive early intervention services since she was 19 months old, and at 3 years old she transitioned into the public school system. She also started receiving outside ABA and in-home ABA, and we haven’t been able to work in music therapy and swimming lessons.

She is a very busy little girl. She works very hard—her schedule is busier than most adults working two full-time jobs and she’s only 4 years old.

Thankfully, I had found a way to communicate with Zoey early on, without words, and it was completely by accident.

It’s with music. I love music, and I found that she does too. I downloaded numerous songs onto an old iPhone and for two years she has been communicating with me via music and song lyrics.

Certain songs on her playlist have eased her frustration and anxieties. Other songs are used to convey a message, with some lyrics played to tell me something. She lives life lyrically. One example of what living life lyrically means…

Recently, we had a two-hour drive to our state children’s hospital. It was a two-hour appointment and then another two-hour drive home. A total of six hours with a non-verbal child. All we had was music between us. She played her songs, while I listened and tried singing along. I don’t think she liked the way I sing because she changed the song every time I sang.

On the ride home, I had to process a new diagnosis of ADHD that I’d been given for Zoey, and I had no one to talk to. I listened to the songs that Zoey played from the backseat as I drove in silence, while hiding my tears as best as I could. I was feeling so very sad for her and this sadness was visibly hurting me. It must have been obvious to Zoey as she sat there playing her music.

The next day, Zoey played the same song over and over for the 25-minute ride to ABA. It was actually just one lyric over and over, for the entire ride. I got out and I tried to hide my tears as I dropped her off. The song had been from Michael Bublé and the lyric was, “Baby you’re not lost.” Played over and over for 25 minutes. Yeah, I broke down after she was gone. How could you not? She was telling me through song that everything was gonna be OK and that she’s not lost and together we will make it through.

Something similar happened just the other morning on our drive to school. She played a song that she’s never played before and she kept rewinding the same part of the song, just as she had done that other day. I knew right away that she was trying to tell me something.

The same lyrics for a 21-minute drive to her school.

I said, “Mama hears you. I get it baby girl. I understand what you’re saying. I will listen to the words that you cannot verbally say to me and I will make it better. I will change your schedule to fit your needs.”

The song hook she played stung me like a bee. It hurt; it hurt so much.

It was Human by Christina Perri: “I’m only human…I’m only human…JUST a little human…I can take so much until I’ve had enough…because I’m only human.”

I cried the entire ride home for my child. Through the song lyrics, Zoey was trying to tell me that she’s tired and that she’s had enough. She needs a break in her schedule because she’s working hard, so hard. It’s been 2 1/2 years and she’s just a tiny little human that needs a break. And I hear her—I hear her without her having to verbalize a thing.

The original version of this blog post first appeared here.

Speaking Through Our Tears

Sometimes in life there isn’t anything that anyone can say to make things better. At times, there isn’t anything that I can say at all. During those times, the tears that roll down my face speak volumes.

Sometimes, tears are the only words that need to be spoken.

My son speaks with tears when he can’t communicate his needs. I watch the tears flow down his precious, rosy checks until they fall completely off his face. And right behind those tears are many more. The tears of anguish, frustration and sorrow flow down that face that I love so much. Within an instant, the tears start to speak from me in answer to his. My tears of empathy, love and hurt glide down my face, too.

No words need to be spoken—just tears—and that is perfectly OK. Sometimes we need a good cry. Sometimes there just aren’t the right words, in any language.

The tears are right there, speaking to me from my son’s eyes when he isn’t included by his peers. His beautiful brown eyes look up at me with the tears welling up and soon they explode out of his eyes. In those moments, he doesn’t need to speak; I know exactly what his tears are telling me. We simply hold each other, crying and expressing our feelings through our tears.

Our tears speak at other times. They are there with us during his meltdowns. They are there when anxiety takes over. The tears pour out during sensory overloads and when he can’t sleep. They are around us, speaking daily, through our struggles with autism. They have become a huge part of our life.

Of course, there are also the tears of loneliness and isolation that come with autism parenting. By all means, the tears of frustration from being judged and from the lack of understanding from others must be added to our list.

Thankfully, we do speak more than just through heartbroken tears. Our spoken words through tears can be very magical and exhilarating at times, too. I often have tears while I am admiring my boy’s small accomplishments. There is nothing better than celebrating our goals with tears of joy. I will never forget the tears the first time I heard my son say my name or the first time he peed in the potty. Some moments just leave us speechless, so the tears speak instead.

There are so many spoken words from the tears that fall in an autism household. Autism parenting, or special needs parenting for that matter, simply comes with its silent moments where tears are the only words that need to be said. There is no shame in admitting it. We all know our children with autism speak that way at times, so by all means, we are allowed to, too!

Throughout the past few years, as I have gone through the most difficult times in my life, I have cried a lot! The saying that big girls don’t cry can be thrown out the window when it comes to special needs parenting because big girls (and boys) can (and do) cry. Sometimes we simply have to relieve the pressure that our eyes feel from a stressful special needs world. Sometimes we just need to speak tears. There are those moments and days when, no matter what words we speak from our mouth, no one would understand, and those are the days that we just speak through our tears.

While you are speaking through your tears, please know that you aren’t the only one. Somewhere in this world, there is another autism parent also speaking through their tears. Somewhere there is another individual with autism speaking through their tears, too. It is a language most of us know.

Confessions of a Special Needs Parent

Parenting is hard. I think we can all agree on that. You are raising a tiny little human from birth to adulthood without an instruction manual and silently praying they turn out sane and loving.

Now imagine if that tiny little human has a diagnosis of some sort. Autism. Cerebral Palsy. Traumatic Brain Injury. The diagnosis could be physical, emotional or neurological. It could be obvious. Or maybe it’s invisible to the outside world.

Scary, right?

You aren’t a doctor. Or a therapist. Or a physiologist. There is no instruction manual. It’s just you knowing in your gut that something is wrong. It feels like a roller coaster. It feels out of control. And just like parents of typical kids, you have no idea what you are doing. But yet, you are entrusted to raise this tiny VULNERABLE human.

At first, you don’t want to acknowledge it. Then, you don’t want to believe it. But once you get over that hurdle, you want to talk about it. You need knowledge. You need to vent. You need a friend. You need people to understand.

Parent Shaming

You turn to your spouse. Your family. Your friends. Whoever will listen. You need help. You need someone to hear you. But the conversation seems awkward. Strained. The friend looks at you funny. You see judgment. Doubt. They don’t relate. They don’t understand.

You try in the break room with co-workers. You try to vent during Happy Hour. But it never seems right. The looks make you feel shameful. No one gets it.

So, you stop talking. You silence yourself. You start to wonder if you are just complaining. Maybe you are just bad at the parenting thing. Maybe, just maybe, you are making some of it up in your head.

You start to doubt everything.

From that moment forward, you struggle silently. You keep your mouth shut.

When you do mention any of your struggles, you feel the need to put “but I love my child” in every sentence.

I want to tell you that this is wrong and it is an inevitable part of raising a special needs child. It happens to me frequently as a writer and a mother. So, in response, I asked special needs parents to confide in me. I asked for their secret confessions. I asked their deepest, darkest thoughts. I did this because you and I need to know that we aren’t alone. Our feelings are normal. We are human.

Humans who live in a secret world.

My Advice to You, Dear Friend

On your darkest days, I want you to read these words from your fellow parents. And you will know that you are not alone. What you feel is completely normal.

There were 225 of you who sent me confessions. These are my favorites.

“I love my daughter to the end of my entire being. I prayed so hard to become a mom and she is who I got and I love that I was blessed to have her, but sometimes, I really hate that this will be my life forever. I have people who encourage me to see the beauty in autism. But the life I live every day isn’t always beautiful.

“I’m scared I don’t love my son enough. Through the trauma of the diagnosis and the daily difficulties we face I sometimes fantasize about running away. I wish my life was different.”

“The bad days are so bad. And the good days are bad too. It almost seems unreal. Why is this so hard?”

“I’m addicted to over-the-counter sleeping pills. My anxiety is so high over not sleeping that I have to take a sleeping pill just to fall asleep. And I don’t even care.”

“I haven’t told my boys (ages 6 and 4) that they have autism. I know it’s coming. I am terrified.”

I’m not planning for college. Instead I’m planning a way to pay for her care for the rest of her life.”

“I have to message this one because it is so dark to me and the thought scares me and breaks my heart simultaneously. I fear my son will require constant care for his whole life and I’m scared one day I may resent him for it.”

It’s all my fault. #AUTISM”

“I hate people who say it’s a blessing. Autism is a curse. My son is higher functioning, so was diagnosed later (his early symptoms were to subtle to get anyone to listen). No child should have to go to treatment all day instead of playing. I will never consider having another child, I love my kids, and EVERY DAY is a struggle for them, and us. Every time I call their names and get no response, I crumble inside.”

“I fake everything. I am always smiling. I am always laughing. People say I am the strongest woman they know. LIES. I am heartbroken. I love my kids. I love my husband. But I am a different person. And no one understands. I feel like a shell of the woman I used to be.”

“I was telling my best friend I don’t want to have another child because I’m scared they could have special needs or have them worse than my son (even though I want more kids more than anything!) And she said ‘but that’s just hard on you because you have to do a lot for him…would you change anything about him?’And I had to answer no I wouldn’t change him, but the truth is…I would. I would change EVERYTHING!

“Some of the sounds my son makes actually haunt me. I have to wear headphones at times.”

“I relive my pregnancies trying to figure out what I did wrong.”

“I have a ‘sad’ moment every single day about the things that my son will miss out on because of his non-verbal, severe autism. I do everything I can to help him, but it never seems like it’s enough. I allow myself one good, gut-wrenching cry a week. If I didn’t limit it, I wouldn’t be able to function. He was diagnosed 2 and a half years ago, and it hasn’t gotten easier.”

I see no future for my child and it breaks my heart daily.

“I am angry at my husband because he gets to have a job. I have a college degree too and I can’t work because no one else can take care of our son.”

I know my marriage will not survive this.”

“I give up almost every day. Actually that’s a lie I give up every day! Sometimes as soon as I wake up.”

I secretly cry every day. My husband has no idea. He thinks I’m taking a bath or doing laundry.”

“I will never have another child. I actually made my husband get a vasectomy. I could never do this again.”

I grieve over the life I should’ve had.”

“My heart breaks when I think about huge milestones that we will miss. Graduation, Prom, Senior Pictures, College, Marriage, Grandchildren. I’m never going to have any of it. I should’ve had more kids.”

I wouldn’t wish autism on my worst enemy. I cringe and get jealous and emotional when I see a ‘normal’ kid my sons age. When I see them talk or do normal three year old things that mine should but doesn’t it stabs me like a knife inside. It kills me.”

This is a glimpse into the private world of special needs parenting.

We aren’t all that different from parents of typical kids. We struggle. We laugh. We love. We survive. It isn’t always beautiful. It can often be scary. But the world should NEVER doubt the love that we have for our kids. It is fierce.

How do we advocate for something we hate so much? I hate my son’s disability, but I will travel to the end of the world to help him. I am motivated, energized, devastated and heartbroken all at the same time.

The full, original version of this post can be found here.

Questions for an Autism Mama

I thought I would do a series on answering some of the questions that people might want to ask but maybe not know how to ask an Autism parent like myself.  My responses are simply that: My responses! I don’t speak for anyone else and know firsthand that many other parents of children on the spectrum feel very differently and some think the same. Having said that, here we go.

Q. What is Autism?

A. Autism is a very complex, very personal diagnosis that affects every person differently.  There are traits that show up regularly — such as poor social interaction, lack of eye contact, delayed speech, and obsessive behaviour — but these are traits and not criteria for diagnosis. Every diagnosis is different. For instance, my daughter struggles to interact and communicate with the outside world; she lives in her own little bubble and on the whole is pretty content (until it all goes spectacularly wrong!). Other children don’t sleep, at all. Others self-harm, some appear to have nothing ‘wrong’ and only when they collapse in a public meltdown do people see what is going on inside (my son). To put it bluntly, people with autism are wired differently, not necessarily wrong. As long as you work out the ‘glitches’ you can live with it just fine.

Some use the “It’s like being a Mac in a PC world” analogy, which is good for us as I don’t understand Macs at all!

Q. What causes Autism?

A. The short answer is we don’t know. There are theories, hundreds of theories from the MMR shot to low birth weight, probably all the way down to women eating jam during pregnancy. You get the gist — most theories involve pointing fingers at parents. Like many people, I personally think that it’s genetic, as both of my children have degrees of autism and they have cousins on both sides of the family who also have it. They also have a dad with Bi-Polar Disorder, and that is connected quite closely to the spectrum.

Q. Would you want a cure?

A. This is a tough one for me. My children and their Autism are so delicately intertwined that I have no idea where one starts and the other stops. It is not like a tumour, which you can cut away and leave the original child intact (not that I’m comparing ASD to a deadly illness!). I would have no idea who they would be without their quirks, both good and bad. I think a cure sounds quite scary, in all honesty, as it kinds of hints at Hitler’s ethnic cleansing, getting rid of anyone who doesn’t conform. Autistic minds have been moving the world forward for years, creatively and technically. The world would be a worse place without them…however…people with autism have been found to die younger, due to associated health problems and, more scarily, high rates of suicide! The extreme end of autism includes co-morbid mental health diagnoses such as Bipolar, Psychosis, Eating Disorders and more. These can lead to violence towards themselves and others, and I can imagine the people struggling with all this and their parents wish for a cure every day.

It’s a tricky one, everyone is so different.

Q. Do some people use the “Autism” label to detract from bad parenting?

A. Probably, I can’t speak for anyone personally but I am sure there are people who would rather have their child diagnosed the Autism or ADHD than face up to their shortcomings as a parent.  I should probably mention that getting a diagnosis for many people seems near impossible so anyone who actually starts on this route for the wrong reasons need a ‘check up’ themselves.
On the flip-side having a special needs child’s doesn’t mean you can slip into bad parenting techniques and it doesn’t mean that they can’t be naughty. Both of mine regularly do things they know they shouldn’t but the way I deal with them differs to suit their understanding. Autism is a diagnosis not an excuse.

Q. Do Autistic people have a “special gift?”

A. Generally no; being a savant is extremely rare. Autism can often present with a variety of learning disabilities as well as communication difficulties, so asking a parent of these children, “Ooh, are they good at Maths?” may not generate a particularly positive reaction. I personally have two children: one who has severe communication difficulties and is considered at the severe end of the spectrum. She learnt to read at age two by rote and learnt her times tables the same way (clever, yes; savant …p robably not.) I also have a child at the polar opposite end of the spectrum who can talk, interact and, on the whole, doesn’t appear “typically” autistic. He is struggling with the basics of phonics (which isn’t unusual for his age, but it’s clearly not savant).

Q. Will your child grow out of it?

A. No. Hopefully my daughter will grow with it, as will I as a parent and her advocate. If your child grows out of their Autism, I would argue as to whether they had Autism to start with.

Q. Would you be offended if I asked you these questions to your face?

A. No, I’d be offended if you whispered about me and my family to other people. I’ll also be less-than-appreciative if you start telling me about Autism because your ‘sister’s husband’s ex-uncle knew someone with ASD.’ Unless you live with my children day in and day out, you know nothing about their autism.

Some of this might sound harsh or bleak, but it’s not my intention. Knowledge is power, and in order to have real Autism Acceptance we need to be able to have honest conversations. Feel free to comment with any thoughts or questions of your own.

I Hope You Can Read This Some Day

Today you turn 15!

I close my eyes and I can picture you when you were small enough to hold in my arms. Your little blonde curls, your tiny, dainty fingers, your big brown eyes. I can still hear that beautiful toddler giggle you made when you were being tickled or chased, and that “Kee! Kee!” sound you squealed when you wanted a cookie.

Here we are, all this time later. You have outpaced me in height, and in the size of your shoes and your bra.

Baby girl, I don’t know where the time has gone. This journey, our journey down Autism Lane, we’ve done it thus far by focusing on the present, not the future. Each day you wake up with a smile, I smile. Each night you sleep well, so do I. Each day we get through without a tantrum is a success. Even on the not-so-good days, we’ve still managed and overcome.

It has been a privilege and a blessing to be your mommy. You have taught me more about life than I could have ever imagined. I am such a better person than I ever knew I could be. All my best qualities, I learned from being your mama. Courage, perseverance. Innocence, optimism. Appreciation, tolerance. Confidence.

And love. I had no idea I could love someone so much. You and your brother have made my heart swell to a million times its pre-parent size. Every time I think I couldn’t possibly love you two more, I do.

The way you look at the world is so beautiful. You don’t have a mean or judgmental bone in your body. Everyone you meet gets the benefit of the doubt at first. Everyone you smile at is filled with joy. Your aura is infectious, Brielle Rae.

And though you don’t say a word, I know how much you love me back. I know by the way you smile when you see me. I know by the way you come sit next to me on the couch and put your head on my shoulder. I know by the way you lie next to me and snuggle close. I know by the way you grab my hand when we are walking through the mall. I know by the way you come up behind me while I am washing dishes and hug me. 

You do have your moments. This new thing you’re doing lately when you’re anxious, Bree, where you squeeze my fingers so hard I yelp, is getting old. So is this staying up past 10 p.m. on school nights! Mama needs her sleep. And I’m really getting tired of washing your bed sheets almost every day. But we’ll muddle through it. 

We all have our issues. I have my own. I’m stressed and anxious and you sense that. I’m sorry for all the times I lost my cool. I’m sorry when I snapped at you last week for squeezing my fingers. I understand you’re trying to tell me something, we just have to figure out how you can do that without nearly breaking bones! And I’m sorry I’m no longer answering when you make that “Ah!” sound, beckoning me. You have to learn to use your communication device. You’ll never do it if I keep enabling you. 

I had a harsh wakeup call this past year, when I met with your teachers and case manager to discuss your progress. Because, at your age, we also had to discuss your eventual transition into adulthood.

“Where do you see your daughter in the future?” the case manager asked me. And I gulped, baby, and I teared up, as I struggled to give the right answer. 

Above all, what I want most, is for you to be happy. I don’t have all the answers right now. But I promise you I have started to think about your future and will plan for it. I promise you, you will always be loved and cared for. I promise you, I will do everything possible to keep that smile on your face. Because that smile lights up the world.

I hope you can read this some day. Hope is always there. You are the reason I never give up hope, Bree Bree. Because you are so smart!  You never cease to amaze me. At 15, you are doing things I did not know would be possible.  The sky is the limit. I will never stop believing in you. 

Happy Birthday my love! I can’t wait to celebrate with you.

A version of this piece first appeared here.

Things I Wish I’d Known on Diagnosis Day

Receiving a diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Condition for your child is life-changing. Even if you know, deep down, that there is something “not quite right: with your child, and that something is probably autism, actually hearing a qualified medical professional say the words can take the wind from your sails. For a second or two, the world stops turning. Everything moves in slow motion. The words reverberate around inside your head. Autism Spectrum Condition. Autism. Autistic. My child is autistic.

And then the questions begin. Only by then, there’s no one to ask. You have, more than likely, been diagnosed and dumped. We were given a few leaflets and websites and sent on our merry way, blinking into the rising sun of the dawn of our new lives. We had questions about how this would affect her schooling, how it might hinder her speech development (already delayed, but offered no extra help with it), and who we could speak to if we had any more questions. We never really got the answers to these.

But, the answers I really wanted to know were more personal. How will it affect her future? Will it change us as a family? How will we cope? We’re only around 20 months into our post-diagnosis journey, but if I’d have known then what I know now, it might have just seemed a little less daunting. Here is a list of things I wish I’d known right back at the start…

It will be OK! I would have loved for someone to tell me this in those first few minutes. I probably wouldn’t have believed them at that moment, but to know that it had been said and to be able to pluck it from my memory when needed would have been useful. It can take days, weeks, months and possibly even years to come to terms with a lifelong diagnosis, but for all the ups and downs that will happen, it will be OK. It’s nothing to be scared of. Don’t get me wrong–you will feel scared. You’ve just crested the top of a giant hill and now you’re freewheeling down the other side, unsure if your brakes will work. But, when you stop to think about it, it’s just some words on a piece of paper. Use those words to make yourself stronger. Use those words to get the things your child needs. You will have to fight, there will be times you wonder what on earth is happening, but don’t be scared. Be empowered.

It’s not a magic key. People often say that having a diagnosis is the key to getting support and services for your child. Don’t be fooled. Yes, having those words written on official-looking documentation means that there are more options open to you, but don’t think you won’t have to fight to get these at times. Diagnoses are increasing; funding is decreasing. Service providers are limited in exactly what they can give and several families will be fighting for attention. Waiting times are long, appointments scarce, therapies lacking. You will need to shout, and shout loud.

I’ve learned more about me. I’ve always really admired parents of kids with special needs. I used to think that they were superheroes. And they are. But, guess what? They’re just parents, doing what parents are meant to do. They take care of their kids. They do everything parents of typical kids do, albeit in a different way, more often than not. Feeding might be through a tube rather than on a plate; potty training might come a few years later than the “norm”; the sleepless nights may well continue well past the baby stage (and may never end!); schooling may be at home; socialising might be in special group settings… Some children need constant care, 24/7 and their parents just get on with it, because, well, what else can they do? And I have learnt that I can do this. Even in the times when it feels as though I can’t, I can! I have amazed myself with my resilience at times. I am growing a thicker skin and a louder voice, because we have to make ourselves heard.

She will still grow and change. Yes, some things might be delayed, or maybe not even happen at all, but she will carry on growing and developing, just as other children will. Her personality will develop, she will develop a great sense of humour, she will be loving and affectionate, and stroppy and demanding! Because, guess what? She’s a kid!

I’ll find new friends. Before diagnosis, you might know one or two other people who have a child on the spectrum. At the point of diagnosis, you’ll probably never have felt so alone. But, once you start to emerge from your bewilderment and start looking, there’s a whole other world of people in the same boat out there. I find being sociable quite tricky, but I’ve forced myself to get out and go to some support groups. I’ve found new friends online–and, even though I might never meet them in “real life,” I do consider them friends. I can talk to them about things I can’t with my “real life” friends, because they just get it. I’ve even grown some sort of community of my own through my blog and Facebook page. Other parents ask me for advice! You might need to look for them, but they’re out there–your tribe.

She will always amaze me. I often find myself sitting and watching her, playing, singing, sleeping, and I wonder to myself how we created this amazing little being. Yes, her brain is wired a bit differently, but how cool is that? A very wise person said that these children are the ones that will go on to find the cure for cancer, or the solution to our energy crisis. They will explore our world, our universe, going further than anyone before; they will create technology that will revolutionise the world. The world needs people who think differently, who are different. Even if she never achieves the conventional idea of greatness and success, she will always be amazing to me; just to get through each day with the challenges she faces is awesome.

It’s what makes her, her. I get that some people wish there was a cure for autism. I get that life can be really, really tough, and if only we could take away those difficulties… But, for me, to take away the autism would be to take away my child. For me, autism isn’t something she has, it’s something she is. It’s a part of her. I don’t actually like the term “autism spectrum condition” because it implies it can be eradicated with some cream or some therapy. And I don’t like “disorder,” which implies that there’s something wrong with her. There isn’t. She’s living in a world that isn’t geared towards her; it’s not her that’s wrong! If she was “cured” of her autism, she wouldn’t be her. I love her just as she is.