The Walls Are Coming Down.

I didn't want to have sympathy for those who railed against their child's ASD diagnosis (dx). Who talk about their experiences as parents, and their childs suffering in such honest and brutal ways. I wanted to soothe myself by listening to stories of hope, of happy endings, of triumphs over seemingly insurmountable obstacles. That's what I wanted to hear because that's the story I wanted to live also. It was easy to go there because I was still processing Harri's dx, and the full impact and realisation of what this may mean for my son had not completely sunk in. But it's starting to. As he approaches his third birthday and I see more clearly with the marching of time how his brain is so differently wired to my other children, and his peers.

I find myself going back through the pregnancy to consider what environmental 'insult', may have led to his developmental detour. Was it all those stressful episodes? Lack of sunshine? Too many pre natal vitamins? Old ovaries? I find myself experiencing waves of guilty and depressive thoughts about the futility of life. About the selfishness of even choosing to have children, and the legacy my son must now bare because of .....what? I don't know what. At least when it comes to causation. I don't know what when it comes to contemplating my sons future either. What I know right now is the slow dawning of reality. A waking up process that gently moves me away from my overly optimistic space, and one that had no room for others pain and negativity, to a more balanced view that allows compassion for the many children, adults and their families, for whom ASD is taking a great toll. An Autism that is far more devastating in it's impact than that my child lives with.

My son is incredible, both because of and despite his disability. I remain optimistic about his future.  I know how incredibly fortunate we are to have an early dx, to be participating in a wonderful program, that he is verbal, that self harm is rare, and his learning rate is good. So much to be thankful for. Yet no walk in the park. Do I have days of self pity? Hell yeah. Do I worry about my child's future? Constantly.

But there has also been a shift that has allowed me to be honest with myself about my fears, and that has given me permission to let down the defenses that prevented an opening of my heart to the pain of other parents. I can now allow myself to accept their struggles and suffering more mindfully rather than reject them because it challenged the narrative I was desperate to hold on to. I suppose this is part of the journey towards acceptance.