Processing the Disorder
When you have a child with autism, they tell you all about the the generic symptoms. They talk to you endlessly about therapies and triggers. They may have to talk with you about an IEP for academic purposes, a 504 for behavioral purposes, and maybe admission into a SPED program. They tell you about the strange obsessions, the stimming, the aversion to too much stimulus. What they do NOT tell you is that when your child tells you he feels like throwing up, and you hand him a bag, he might ignore the bag and stare off into the distance blankly until the dreadful end. They don't tell you that he might be so very traumatized by the event that he'll accuse you of not driving home fast enough, or that you were trying to embarass him because he has to walk into the house with soiled clothes, and that all of these accusations will come out at the very tip top of his lungs as he flings his hands around trying to shake off the mess just as a neighbor is walking down the street.
Of course, they can't tell you that because with all of its vague similarities, autism is wonderfully unique to each person. Consider yourself warned.
You, as a parent (in general, really), will do what you can to help him move through this storm and remain calm yourself. Our children keep us humble, after all. You will accommodate his intense need to avoid public humiliation and drive right up to the door so he can run in. You will breathe deep and slow to remind yourself that he isn't actually upset at you and that yes, he's touching ALL THE THINGS with his messy hands so you may as well accept that you're going to have to bleach the entire place, from vehicle all the way back to the bedrooms. You're going to have to dig down deep and find the personal fortitude to not lose your cool while you convince him he has to do the one thing he hates the most- shower. Showering is literally painful to him- but son, you will say, if you just take a bath you'll only end up sitting in all of the mess that has you so upset. He will loudly and grumpily concede and kick you out of the bathroom but only after you have turned on the shower for him because no matter how many times you've taught him how to adjust the settings he can't seem to retain it.
As exhausting as all of this sounds, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Once he is clean he will emerge a new child, not quite 100% but far calmer. He'll apologize for his outburst and you will tell him that it's okay, he's okay. See because even though you're spraying bleach in the weirdest places you know no one deserves to feel bad about being ill and you know that sensory issues are going to be an added challenge. Most of all you understand that this beautiful blue eyed love absolutely canNOT handle being wrong and for him, being sick in an uncontrolled environment is wrong. It is "incorrect" and that just destroys him. You don't let him go there. You quietly help him realize that it was just a thing that happened. No one could have controlled it. He tells you he thought the bag you'd given him was tied closed- oh mercy. All the love. All the compassion. When bedtime rolls around he's feeling a bit more himself, and he randomly throws his arms around you and kisses you happily in the middle of your forehead.
And THAT, my friends, is what makes it all worth it. At the end of the day he still feels loved and accepted and safe. They are going to tell you all of the textbook things about autism. They are going to tell you what they can and they will try to remind you that he's still your child. Hearing that last little bit will be hard to remember as you're staggering around with tomes of information in your arms.
He's still a kid. She's still your child. They are not their diagnoses. And they are going to have these sudden and beautiful moments when they remind you. Of all the things you will be told, only your child can tell you the best bits.
Of course, they can't tell you that because with all of its vague similarities, autism is wonderfully unique to each person. Consider yourself warned.
You, as a parent (in general, really), will do what you can to help him move through this storm and remain calm yourself. Our children keep us humble, after all. You will accommodate his intense need to avoid public humiliation and drive right up to the door so he can run in. You will breathe deep and slow to remind yourself that he isn't actually upset at you and that yes, he's touching ALL THE THINGS with his messy hands so you may as well accept that you're going to have to bleach the entire place, from vehicle all the way back to the bedrooms. You're going to have to dig down deep and find the personal fortitude to not lose your cool while you convince him he has to do the one thing he hates the most- shower. Showering is literally painful to him- but son, you will say, if you just take a bath you'll only end up sitting in all of the mess that has you so upset. He will loudly and grumpily concede and kick you out of the bathroom but only after you have turned on the shower for him because no matter how many times you've taught him how to adjust the settings he can't seem to retain it.
As exhausting as all of this sounds, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Once he is clean he will emerge a new child, not quite 100% but far calmer. He'll apologize for his outburst and you will tell him that it's okay, he's okay. See because even though you're spraying bleach in the weirdest places you know no one deserves to feel bad about being ill and you know that sensory issues are going to be an added challenge. Most of all you understand that this beautiful blue eyed love absolutely canNOT handle being wrong and for him, being sick in an uncontrolled environment is wrong. It is "incorrect" and that just destroys him. You don't let him go there. You quietly help him realize that it was just a thing that happened. No one could have controlled it. He tells you he thought the bag you'd given him was tied closed- oh mercy. All the love. All the compassion. When bedtime rolls around he's feeling a bit more himself, and he randomly throws his arms around you and kisses you happily in the middle of your forehead.
And THAT, my friends, is what makes it all worth it. At the end of the day he still feels loved and accepted and safe. They are going to tell you all of the textbook things about autism. They are going to tell you what they can and they will try to remind you that he's still your child. Hearing that last little bit will be hard to remember as you're staggering around with tomes of information in your arms.
He's still a kid. She's still your child. They are not their diagnoses. And they are going to have these sudden and beautiful moments when they remind you. Of all the things you will be told, only your child can tell you the best bits.
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