Because y’all, I’ve cried so many tears (even into eggs).
I thought you might like to know what brings tears to my eyes when it comes to my son being diagnosed with high-functioning autism. Well, that’s this year’s label anyway; last year it was still Asperger’s. I’m dropping the label for the most part, but still need it at times. We’ll explore that another time.
Anyway, I was crying the other day and thought you might like to know that you are not alone if you cry too.
And so we’re clear, I wear happy unicorn shoes.
And I laugh a lot and giggle with my kids and we have lots of fun together.
But I also cry.
A lot. Not as much as I used to though. I’ve been in and out of some excellent therapeutic offices since 2003 (the year after Michael was born–not a coincidence).
I want you to know that you are not alone in your sorrow, tears, isolation, whatever you’re feeling and experiencing.
You are not alone with your instant-faucet eyes, your fears, or even your screams.
Here are the reasons I cry in no particular order:
- I forgot to refill his prescription and I need pills tonight and the pharmacy is out of the meds I need and so I have to drive forty-five minutes to the next pharmacy to get them–because we’ll do anything it takes to stop the possibility of the trauma. Oh, taking a ninety-minute jaunt jacks up the routine and bedtimes and alllll the other things we need to keep calm in our home, but next month, I won’t forget (hopes so hard I won’t forget)!
- Our meds doctor didn’t call me to tell me he was moving and won’t be able to have a last appointment with us. We’ve been with this guy for over two years, paying him thousands of dollars. Common courtesy, dude, common courtesy.
- My friend’s son has a breakdown at school. I’m watching my friend hurt, be confused, and literally not know what to do. I cry with her, wondering if he’ll be kicked out of school and have nowhere to go. I cry with her because her story is my story.
- My own son has a breakdown because something is so difficult for him. When will this life be easier? Kinder? Accepting? Quieter?
- My younger son gets hurt way too often and I’m not doing enough to help him . . . or I don’t have the tools or ability to stop the pain.
- I’m tired, y’all . . . so dang tired to my core.
- The stares and glares in the store as my son has a breakdown for no apparent reason except that I’m the very worst mother on the planet. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT, JERK, I’M DOING THE BEST I CAN!
- I’m alone, ya’ll. So very alone on this journey with no resources, allies, friends. That’s not true, but it sure feels like it sometimes, and paying people to be my friends and love my son gets freakin’ old. Note that this is the story we sometimes tell ourselves; it’s not necessarily the truth of the situation. Just sayin’ so there’s no confusion.
- I can’t eat out more than twice a month (well, I used to cry about this so much, but it is no longer my truth). I remember crying because I was barely making it each month. Some nights I just didn’t want to cook. Autism is crazy expensive if you want to do it like I do it (meds doctors, therapists, education, etc.) and the resources just run out.
- This life is chronic.
There are more, but that’s all I can think of now. I know you probably cry too. I think crying is absolutely healthy and necessary for a full life. We have to release in order to hold more. And we do. Because we are parents.
So much love to you and your entire family,
Did I miss anything? When did you last cry about parenting or having a different brain? Why? Let’s share on Facebook. <3
Check this site out: http://afineparent.com/invite I want to one day write for them and I like the information they share that I’ve seen. If you want to have more parenting resources that are kind, solid, relevant, and time tested, check them out.
Know you are loved and sometimes that’s all you need. Hugs to you.