Autism – More than Just Awareness

 

April is Autism Awareness Month.  Autism Speaks, an advocacy program, began back in 2005 and created Autism Awareness Month.  Every April 2, this awareness program/campaign/whatever you want to call it kicks off with buildings worldwide lit in blue, people wearing blue, and just blue, blue, blue everywhere to “light it up blue.”  This is great, but as a mom of an autistic son, I can tell you that for many on the outside, it’s easy to celebrate Autism Awareness Month like it’s something fun, like a fad, or because it seems like the cool thing to do.  For those on the inside, it’s a different sort of celebration, a party that you sometimes wish you weren’t invited to.

I get the impression with many of these awareness campaigns that we need to go deeper than just wearing a certain color and creating awareness.  That’s a good start, but for those directly affected by the condition (whatever it may be — there are awareness campaigns for almost anything, like October being Breast Cancer Awareness Month), awareness is not enough.  Some of us are all too aware.  Those who are affected live it out every day of their lives, whether the person has the condition him- or herself or it’s a close loved one.

Let me be clear: There is nothing cool about celebrating Autism Awareness Month if all you wish to do is participate halfheartedly in something that’s widespread.  Autism is serious.  It’s no joke.  While we do want to celebrate those who have autism, I wish to distinguish between celebrating individuals and celebrating as if you were invited to a Super Bowl party.  There is a world of difference.

Before I go further, I would like to direct your attention to my two previous blogs related to autism.  It will help you understanding better my son’s and my own experiences.  They can be found here: Blessings in Disguise – What Raising a Child with Autism Has Taught Me and You Don’t Know What Goes on Behind Closed Doors – Raising a Child with Autism.

Now that you’re back, let’s continue.  There is a popular video on YouTube called Welcome to Holland.  Its purpose is to help you understand that it’s okay to take a different route when raising a child with special needs, even though this wasn’t what you signed up for.  The video goes something like this: You board a plane to take a trip to Italy, but when you step off, you find out you’re in Holland.  At first, you’re confused and angry because you were supposed to be in Italy.  That was the plan.  But as you start to look around Holland, even though it’s different than Italy and not what you expected, it has plenty of its own treasures.  It has tulips and windmills, for example.  So, the point of this metaphor is to find the beauty in your unexpected trip with raising a special needs kid.

There is comfort in this for some.  At times, it brings me peace.  When things are going relatively well with my son, Luke, it’s easy to celebrate the small victories he makes.  I value his differences from a typical child.

But let me be brutally honest.  There are many days when I hate Holland.  I hate autism.  I hate what it does to my son, the hold it has on him.  It breaks my heart to see him suffer where others don’t.  I want to say, “This isn’t the same thing as just stepping off a plane and finding out you’re somewhere else that’s equally beautiful!  I’ve arrived in Antarctica!”

I can only speak from my experience, so please don’t think that what I say applies to everyone across the spectrum.  While high-functioning autistic people are usually able to contribute to society as adults, they will always have their own set of challenges.  I do not dismiss someone who is high-functioning or raising a high-functioning autistic child as having it easy at all.  But my experiences do not deal with a high-functioning autistic child, so I will not be further addressing that.

luke_toothless_smile

Luke was diagnosed as moderate to severely autistic when he was not quite three.  Because he was still very young, I believed he might outgrow the diagnosis.  I thought he could, if not catch up with his peers, at least reach a point where he would be capable of forming longer sentences instead of phrases, that he would be able to answer questions (not just by rote), or that he would be able to tell us how he’s feeling and why.  In those early days, I told people his condition was mild to moderate.  I didn’t want to face the seemingly bleak reality that his autism was
more severe than we thought.

As he’s gotten older (he’s now seven and a half years old), progress has been made, but it hasn’t gone the way I’d hoped five years ago.  There I go again, getting my hopes up as a parent, and coming away with the stabbing feeling that this isn’t going the way I wanted.  It’s hard.  I mean, really hard, to swallow that large pill of a serious diagnosis that scrapes all the way down and then settles in the stomach like a lead ball.

But admitting this as truth to myself and then to others was the first step of my own awareness of Luke’s true condition.  Awareness was the starting point.  Then came the challenge of acceptance.  Acceptance, unlike awareness — at least for me — is a constant journey.  The road is sometimes clear and straight.  Days are going well.  Luke is happy.

But then night falls.  The path makes a sharp, unexpected turn.  Fog sets in.  Sometimes the road even drops out from under me completely.  I’m left gripping on for my life, like trying to keep my head above water and not drown.  Days are awful.  Luke is angry, sad, or any number of bad emotions.

See, acceptance is harder than awareness.  Acceptance is difficult for those who are closest to a loved one who has autism.  It’s a challenge for some who have autism and know it.  Let me be clear: I accept my son for who he is, regardless of his autism.  His condition does not define him.  It’s part of who he is, but it is not him.  What I struggle to accept is him having autism — what it does to him, how it makes him feel or act, the challenges it gives him.

So, imagine how hard it can be for others on the outside to accept autism (or any condition).  It’s easy to say you accept autism, that it’s a real thing that exists, but I’m going deeper here.  People need to be accepting of individuals who have autism.  That’s where awareness only goes so far.  That’s where the party we’re celebrating goes from Super Bowl to something more: celebrating the unique abilities and qualities of people who have autism.

I can take this further by saying that accepting those who have any mental or physical condition/diagnosis or developmental delay is vital.  Raising an autistic child has made me more aware across the board when it comes to seeing people for themselves and not their conditions.  Like we all have different abilities and talents, quirks, nitpicks, tastes, or anything, those are parts of us, but not all of us.  If I say I am a mom, it’s part of me, but not my entire identity.  If I say Luke has autism, it’s part of him, not his whole person.

This awareness has brought more compassion into my heart, a desire to understand as best as I can where other people are coming from.  Instead of judgment, I choose to embrace compassion.  This world has enough judgment.

That child who is freaking out in the store may be throwing a tantrum because he didn’t get the toy he wanted, but he also might be having a sensory-induced meltdown that’s beyond his control.  He might be autistic and overwhelmed by the bright lights or the noises in the environment.  If he’s hungry or tired, the effects of that are far worse than for a typical person.  Think of how irritable you can be when you’re hungry or tired.  Now imagine it for an autistic person, especially a child who has limited (or no) verbal ability to express himself.  All he can do is scream.  He might kick, hit, bang his head, throw things, or scratch.  He can hurt himself and others.  He feels like his world is ending.  Like there is no escape.  All is blackness.  That is a meltdown.  Until it passes, you stand there, helpless.  As a mother, it rips my heart a little every time.

Some days, I hold it together and can handle meltdowns in stride.  It’s part of my life.  It’s nothing new or unexpected.

Some days, those dark ones I described above, I fall apart, too.  I have disciplined my autistic son for having a meltdown, despite it being beyond his control.  I have yelled, cried, screamed.  I then go into my closet and sob, the guilt setting in.  I did it again.  I failed to be a good mother.

But you know what?  I don’t really fail.  Because even when that tough road tries to knock me down, I get back up.  I am a fighter.  My son is a fighter.  I advocate.  I never give up.  Never.  Ever.  Giving up is the only way to fail.

The road to acceptance is taken with every step of advocacy.  Awareness started the journey.  Advocacy keeps you and me going.  I am the voice for my son, Luke, because he can’t be.  I write these blogs to share my experience because I will keep fighting for awareness, acceptance, and advocacy.

We have been down the road of therapies and medications.  There have been unreturned phone calls from doctors.  There have been stubborn employees in the school transportation office.  There have been people who have stared.  I see the judgment in their eyes, but my concern is and always will be fighting for my son.  I have called the right people to get answers and demanded the respect of getting in touch with the doctor.  I have taken my transportation concerns to the special education department and gotten a solution within hours.  I have resorted to begging with a secretary to see what’s taking the doctor so long, because my son is about to lose it in that waiting room, and waiting more than fifteen minutes past our appointment time is not acceptable.

That is empowering.  To fight, to stand up, to be strong even when it hurts, that is powerful.

So, there have been pitfalls.  There have been people who have made our journey tedious, but the vast majority of people we’ve encountered have been kind, generous, and understanding.

The most recent example of this was during spring break at the Y.  I had signed Luke up for the Y’s spring sports camp.  I was unsure of how it would go over because this camp is not aimed at special needs kids, unlike any other camp Luke has previously attended.  The director welcomed him to attend, and if it didn’t work out, that would be okay.

Because we are members of the Y, I stayed and worked out for a couple of hours after dropping Luke off at camp.  The environment was simply too overwhelming for him.  The noise level of twenty kids running around screaming in the gym drove him to the breaking point.  The result was not pretty.  His meltdown was one of the most intense I’ve seen since we got him on a medication to help with his irritability (which had been causing severe, frequent meltdowns for months).  I couldn’t blame him in the least.  After ten excruciating minutes, he calmed enough for me to hold him in my lap, but he didn’t want to leave me.  We sat in the gym for the next hour, but he was done.  The director and the other employees were all understanding and nice.  I was given a full refund.  They were genuine with Luke, too, seeing him as a person worthy of attention and respect.  They high-fived him, greeted him, called him “buddy,” and smiled at him.

While I say that awareness, acceptance, and advocacy are all vital to helping those on the outside to understand autistic individuals better, to value them, to respect them, and to love them, my overall experience has been positive in this regard.  Society has made good progress over the years with opening the eyes and hearts of typical people to those who have some sort of condition.

There is still ignorance, misunderstanding, fear, and disrespect in the community, however.  The simple act of calling someone “dumb” or “stupid” or the R-word is demeaning.  Even in jest, it is not funny.  Anyone who judges a person who has increased difficulty learning, socializing, or with life skills has missed a crucial mark of what it means to have their humanity.

Every person is worthy of love, respect, and understanding.  Their conditions do not define them.

Autism is just one of many conditions.  Let us be more than aware autism exists.  Let us truly accept those who have it and work toward a better future of increased opportunities and happiness for them.

Like what you’ve read?  Want to read more of my stuff?  Please follow this blog!

Also, check out my novel, Hannah’s Rainbow: Every Color Beautiful, now available for only $2.99 on Amazon: Hannah’s Rainbow: Every Color Beautiful

Blessings in Disguise – What Raising a Child with Autism Has Taught Me

In recognition of Autism Awareness Month, I am reposting this autism-related post from a few months ago.  A new post related to autism will be posted at the end of April.

“’Cause what if your blessings come through raindrops

What if Your healing comes through tears

What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near

What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise”

These words speak to me.  They aren’t mine, but they are powerful.  If you aren’t familiar with Laura Story’s song, “Blessings,” I encourage you to check it out.  It’s a beautiful testimony to how God can bring good out of tragedy in life.

I wrote a blog post a couple of weeks ago called You Don’t Know What Goes on Behind Closed Doors – Raising a Child with Autism.  If you haven’t yet read that post, I suggest you do so, as this post is a follow up from that one.

By now, you know I’m a mom of a son who has autism.  If you’re also a special needs parent, you know the extra challenges involved.  There are things that parents of typically-developing children don’t have to think about often, like extra therapies, taking longer with homework, struggling to dress your child, dealing with meltdowns, and trying to figure out what they want when their communication is limited.

Having other parents who understand the struggles I face has been vital to my journey as a special needs parent.  I’ve been a part of a support group for the past four years, and about three years ago, at one of our meetings, talk of faith and God came up.  While this is a secular group at meets in a library, faith plays in important part in many of these parents’ journeys.

faith

Questions arise: Did God really think I could handle this?  Why does my child have to suffer from _____?  Will my child ever get better?  Where is God in all this?

It felt like God was prodding me to lead a study on this topic.  I found a great resource called Unlocking the Treasure – A Bible Study for Moms Entrusted with Special-Needs Children, by Bev Roozebloom.  It was almost too easy how everything fell into place.  I talked to the right people at my church and secured a meeting room and time.  I got a group of about ten women to sign up and meet every other week for six sessions.  The resource was easy to find, and everyone agreed that it was perfect for our needs as a group.

That Bible study was very meaningful for those women and for me as the facilitator.  Every so often, I run into one of the moms who participated, and she shares with me that she still remembers it and how much it helped her.

Many of us have heard the phrase “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.”   This simply isn’t true.  There are times when we are overwhelmed and cannot possibly handle everything on our plates.  That’s when we need others.  God works through others to carry us through hard times.  So, where is God in the day-to-day challenges of raising a special needs child?  Right here, working through other people who are blessings in our lives.  If we feel alone, that’s simply not true.  There are others out there who understand and who can and want to help.

While there are no easy answers for why some children suffer from certain disabilities, I do believe that God works through them to bring good from the bad.  If my son didn’t have autism, I don’t think I would have the awareness I do about all the people out there who struggle because of developmental delays and such.  I do not think I would be as open-minded, patient, or compassionate of a person toward others, in general, who may have any sort of disability, especially the “invisible” ones.

“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

I love this quote because it speaks to the essence that we’re all different.  We all have different abilities and talents, so let’s remember that just because someone has autism or some other sort of special need, that doesn’t mean they aren’t just as important and worthy of love as anyone.

To learn to be a better person by being more accepting and loving is a blessing, so at the end of the day, I can find some peace.  I can see that elusive silver-lining in the storm clouds that sometimes fly in during the journey of being a special needs parent.

I encourage you to find those blessings, too.  They are there.

Like what you’ve read?  Want to read more of my stuff?  Please follow this blog!

Also, check out my novel, Hannah’s Rainbow: Every Color Beautiful, now available for only $2.99 on Amazon: Hannah’s Rainbow: Every Color Beautiful

You Don’t Know What Goes on Behind Closed Doors – Raising a Child with Autism

In honor of Autism Awareness Month, I am reposting my two autism-related blogs during the month of April and will have a new autism-related blog up by the end of the month!  Here is the first reblog:

Many of you won’t know what it’s like, but there are many of you out there who understand what it entails to raise a child with autism or any sort of special need.  For me, it’s the most challenging part of my life that I face every day.  My oldest son, Luke, just turned seven years old, and he was diagnosed with moderate-severe autism just before the age of three.

The first thing we noticed was a speech delay.  By age two, he was hardly speaking, but he was a happy kid.  We started speech therapy and got him in Help Me Grow.  From there, he began preschool in the public school system in a 50:50 peer model:special needs program.  He was on an IEP and was receiving services at school: speech, occupational, and physical therapy.  We were also taking him to private therapies.

We tried one year of preschool at an ABA-based (applied behavioral analysis) school, but it wasn’t the right fit for him.  Unfortunately, that was when we started seeing a big decline in his learning.  He was actually regressing.  Things he’d known for the last couple of years, like his ABCs and numbers, were no longer of interest to him, or he simply lost the ability to recognize them.

We returned to the public school system for kindergarten and had a much better experience.  He’s in the intensive needs classroom with just a few other boys, a teacher, and two aides.  In first grade, he continues to be in the same setting, luckily with the same teacher and aides.

But these are all facts.  Facts are easy to share.  What’s hard is the emotional journey that we travel as a family every day, knowing that this is lifelong.  This isn’t something that will just go away like a cold or the flu.

luke_toothless_smileThere are a few well-meaning people who tell me, “You never know, he might grow out of it.”  While this may be possible, as there are cases where autistic children suddenly make huge progress at later ages, the hard truth is that most don’t.  I’m not being a pessimist here, but rather a realist.

If I’m being frank, progress hasn’t been what I had hoped for when we first began this journey, but I’ve learned to celebrate every tiny victory.  My son loves swimming, for example, and he has shown remarkable improvement in lessons lately.  He has begun to swim on his own, which is huge.

But there is the admission that every parent is afraid to make to themselves: their child isn’t progressing like their peers.  It’s hard, really hard, to see your child struggling where other children seem to have it so easy.  When the child’s younger siblings bypass them in speaking, writing, drawing, reading, and so on, the gap continues to widen as time passes.

There are days when we barely seem to be keeping our heads above the water.  Usually autistic children have other diagnoses, and such is the case for my son.  Earlier this year, it was confirmed that he also has ADHD.  So, he has sensory meltdowns caused by autism and hyperactivity as well.  Trying to find a medication to help with the ADHD hasn’t been easy, for the side effects are often unpredictable in autistic kids.  He’s had more meltdowns when on stimulants, making the lessening of the hyperactivity not worth it.  So, here’s the question: Do I want to deal with a kid who does impulsive things, like unrolling a whole roll of paper towels or opening a jar of applesauce and spreading it all over the floor, or do I want to manage a kid who is melting down every fifteen minutes and trying to find a way to make him calm?

To others on the outside, I may seem to “have it all together.”  Whatever that means.  Let me assure you that this is an illusion.  I don’t know how I manage to keep my house as clean as I do, take care of two other kids, run errands, cook dinner, etc.

There are many days when my patience is at an end and I have just had enough.  I cry in my closet, angry that I can’t be a better mother or frustrated that MY kid has to suffer where others don’t.  I want to rant and rail at God, that it’s just not fair!  Why did You think I could do this?  I feel like the least equipped mother in the world sometimes, especially when I know that punishing an autistic/ADHD child for behaviors that he cannot help is not going to help anyone.

Some people tell me that I let him get away with things I shouldn’t.  Some tell me that he knows better, that he’s testing me.  There are times I believe this, and while there are cases when this thinking can be correct, it often isn’t.  Trying to discern when it is and when it’s not correct isn’t always easy.

For example, let me be clear that a sensory-induced meltdown is not a tantrum.  They may both result in the child crying, screaming, kicking, and flailing around on the floor, but a tantrum is the result of a kid not getting something they want.  A meltdown is caused by sensory-overload (like loud noises, bright lights, uncomfortable fabric, certain food textures, odd smells, etc.), and it may be that we don’t even know the cause!  We’ve all put on a scratchy sweater that we just had to take off.  We’ve all felt our heads spin from being too tired when walking around in an over-crowded store.  Imagine feeling overwhelmed ALL THE TIME.  This is an autistic person’s reality.  Then imagine someone punishing you for freaking out over feeling overwhelmed.

What I can tell you is that in the midst of wondering what good can come from of this, I have found that I am a more compassionate person, a more aware person, because my child has autism.  I understand that everyone deals with something at some time during their lives, whether it be depression or loss of the ability to walk.  Everyone is fighting some sort of battle, and it’s often behind closed doors.  Start talking to anyone, and you soon discover that person has a loved one who’s dying from cancer, that they’re in financial ruin, that they’re going through a messy divorce, or that their grown child has just been drafted overseas.

I also have come to believe that having a support system is crucial to going on this journey.  There are the teachers and therapists who work with my son who have been a godsend, but there are also people in my life who help me get through every day.  It’s often other special needs parents who “get it.”  Sometimes, we just want to commiserate with someone who understands.  We’re not looking for advice or the latest research article on special diets, genes that have just been discovered, or on whether or not to vaccinate.  We’re not looking for someone to come along and give us all the answers.  We just want to say “This sucks right now.”  We need to cry or rant or just be in silence.  I had another mom agree with me once and say “This is our reality, cleaning up poop.”  Yes, that was true, and it was reassuring to hear it from someone who understood.

And sometimes we need to remember to be thankful.  There are victories.  The small things DO matter.  At the end of the day, this child is still mine, and I love him.  No diagnosis can change that.

Like what you’ve read?  Want to read more of my stuff?  Please follow this blog!

Also, check out my novel, Hannah’s Rainbow: Every Color Beautiful, now available for only $2.99 on Amazon: Hannah’s Rainbow: Every Color Beautiful