Autism Talk: Forgiving yourself

I would like to begin this journal by explaining why I started writing one. At first it was to help me with the process of accepting that which I can not change. Adam's condition is by no means a death sentence, but for a first time mom with starry-eyed dreams for your firstborn son, it's not an easy pill to swallow. When you feel that first kick in your womb, your mind weaves out-of-this-world dreams in hyperspeed about your little peanut. You don't think about years of occupational therapy and speech therapy. When you look down at your rotund belly and think about the life forming inside you, you are seeing his future in doe-eyed, estrogen-filled glasses, and all you drink in is a picture of your baby dripping in awesomesauce. My kid is not awesome. He is beyond awesome. He is dope. But rewinding to a few years ago, when we first found out about the news, you understand that it's not the end of the world, but you also don't burst in triumphant song or  fistbump your husband on your way out the doctor's clinic. It's a relief to finally have a diagnosis that explains why your child is different, but it is overwhelming to imagine that my parenting reality will now be so much more difficult. I understand that being a parent is not a walk in the park. I anticipated the sleepless nights, the pulling-your-hairs-out frustration, the boatloads of heartbreak, sweat, and tears that come with being a parent. Here I was, a first-time-mom, who read all the books and did everything right, and now I am being told to put down my rainbow-colored kaleidoscope glasses and steel myself because the world just got much crueler for my son.  My parenting reality will never reconcile with my estrogen-filled daydreams.

Day-to-day living is a production number in this household. It is not easy having two children, let alone having one who is in the autism spectrum. But you do your best. You cut down time on less important stuff to make room for your child's special needs. Some days I get to wear my pajamas until dinner time. And there are days when the laundry pile takes over the whole house. Most days you feel like you want to do so much more. There are things you wish you could've done better, but unfortunately there are no undo buttons in life.

Being a parent of an autistic child is a constant test of patience. I wish I could say I never run out of patience, that I always stay rational, logical, and calm in all circumstances. But I do have moments when I blow up. Moments when I come close to losing faith that I can seriously pull of this momma role.

A few days ago, I just broke. Completely. Shamelessly. I hadn't slept for days because the little riceball had pneumonia. I have been fighting a losing battle with a batallion of ants who are literally taking over the house. And days before that, we have just been delivered more disappointing news about my son's progress in therapy. I was beginning to have doubts if we made the right call when we chose to put him in a regular school. Nothing seems to be going in my favor. I was miserable, tired, crabby. I'm sure every parent gets that way  once in a while. However, I could never justify my ugly outburst with whatever reason that led me to that point. I could never justify screaming my lungs off to a pint-sized boy who barely understands what he did wrong in the first place. But I did. I did. And even while I was doing it, my mind was already whirring a bazillion reasons why what I'm doing is wrong. But I was so caught up in my own emotions, it was easy to brush all those thoughts aside. And when I was done yapping, I felt terrible. I thought letting it all out would help me, but it just made me feel so much worse when I was done. He was looking at me uneasily, with an already-halfway-there smile, groping for any telltale sign that might tell him if it's already okay to crack one. He didn't know. He didn't know. He wasn't even bearing a grudge, even if the noise barrage I did scared him  to tears. Now that the yelling stopped, he stopped feeling bad as well. I wish I could say the same for me. I was wrecked with guilt. I didn't lift a finger on him, but I just blew my head off. I should've known better. I knew better. I did. I just couldn't keep pushing it in and expect every hair to fall in place.

source

I wish I could master not losing my temper, that on every occasion that I discipline him, I will always have a level head. But there is no way I can guarantee that. Being a parent to a special child is not easy. There are truckloads more of heartbreaks. There are lots more opportunities for self-doubt, especially when you think you are doing everything you can to help your child and yet 9 times out of 10 you feel that you're not doing it right, or you could have handled things better. I am a parent, and I am far from perfect. The best I can do is forgive myself and give myself a fresh start the next day. I am by no means saying that it is perfectly all right to lose your temper in front of your child. With or without special needs, it is never a good idea. All I'm saying is, one blowout doesn't make one a bad parent. I sure hope it doesn't. In the end, all I wish for is that the good days I've had with him will trump out those times when I am less than perfect.