Last week I was plagued by my perspective on my kids. Do I make everything about autism? Does that drive people away? IS everything about autism? Am I allowed to see their autism? Talk about it? Respect it? Embrace it? And when I say “am I allowed”…what does that mean? Who holds the power of permission?
This week that wave has receded. Autism still plays its background music in my head, but in a way that doesn’t feel overwhelming, deafening. Most of the time I don’t see my kids through that lens, and when I do, it doesn’t feel wrong. Just helpful.
Last week I was tallying the people in my life that both saw that my kids were autistic AND saw that they were incredible people. Not despite their delays…not looking past their delays…but seeing the full, beautifully complicated picture. I craved more and more brave souls that were willing to look autism straight in the eye and see it. Just sit and let themselves see it.
This week, the tally sheet has disappeared. I still appreciate the people that see the full picture, but I also feel compassion and understanding for the people that cannot. I used to be one of those people, after all. Heck, sometimes I still am. I understand that it’s not an easy thing to see. The beauty and mystery of autism.
Last week I loved my kids so dearly that I couldn’t believe my luck. I couldn’t believe what wonderful little munchkins were living in my midst.
And this week too. THAT feeling has stayed with me. Gosh I love those rascals.
I mentioned that my kids were autistic to someone once and she shrugged and said, “yeah. I sort of like autistic people.” Hmmm…I guess I do too. ;)