I See You Momma

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I see you, momma, giving your all. Staying up into the wee hours, researching symptoms and indicators, both hoping and dreading a possible diagnosis.

I see you, all alone, as your mommy gut screams something is wrong, to the disbelief of your husband and family…listing all the “absences” and “lack” of symptoms, hoping the silent missing parts will prove to others there is, indeed, a problem.

I see the world you’re living in. Where bell curves taunt and intimidate and are rendered useless for you.

Where, diagnosis or no diagnosis, all the assurities of the “next stage” and “what to expect” lists fall lifeless into your hands, a hopeless tease of what will never (or might?) be.

I see you living on the edge of what might, or might never, be – scared to dream and scared not to, always wondering what is possible. Always wondering….

I see you watch your own careers aspirations and personal dreams go up in smoke, giving full time needed care to your child.

I see you as you once again swallow your embarrassing embarrassment as your eyes so easily find your child’s paper displayed at school on program night, not because of your astute eye, but because you’ve come to know his will be the most messy, short or incomplete.

And I hear you as you secretly, internally scream at the other parents, “But this is the best he’s done all year!”

Stuck between a world of joy and sadness simultaneously.

I see you as you squirm when people ask what grade he’s in as you try to fathom how to explain, “8th in science, 5th in math and 2nd in spelling/handwriting” so you just smile and say 5th.

I see you as you sit with your friends, listening as they fret about the best ways to get their child into college, knowing that is not an option for your child.

I see you as you cry over the short, ever so short, secretly made lists of his current and foreseeable future skills, and the jobs that might be available to him

I see you as you pray for a friend, any friend, to come play hopefully accepting your child’s idiocincrocies in stride.

I see all the hard lessons you’ve had to learn so early. That no matter how much you try, you cannot “will” them or “love” them enough to illicit change.

I see you finding the good, the buried treasure amongst the rubble of disabilities, and bringing it to the surface for all the world to see it shine, opening their eyes to the beauty instead of ashes.

I see you, Momma, as a mighty warrior.

Selflessly forsaking your own interests as you slay the demons of fear and doubt, therapies and paperwork to blaze a trail for your child to walk, less encumbered, less burdened.

I see you.

Written by, April Estes

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Finding Cooper’s Voice is a safe, humorous, caring and honest place where you can celebrate the unique challenges of parenting a special needs child. Because you’re never alone in the struggles you face. And once you find your people, your allies, your village….all the challenges and struggles will seem just a little bit easier. Welcome to our journey. You can also follow us on Facebook and subscribe to our newsletter.

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Kate Swenson

Kate Swenson lives in Minnesota with her husband Jamie, and four children, Cooper, Sawyer, Harbor and Wynnie. Kate launched Finding Cooper's Voice from her couch while her now 11-year-old son Cooper was being diagnosed with autism. Back then it was a place to write. Today it is a living, thriving community of people who want to not only advocate for autism, but also make the world a better place for individuals with disabilities and their families. Her first book, Forever Boy, will be released, April 5, 2022.

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1 Comment

  1. Joanna Eccles on December 17, 2018 at 6:43 pm

    Thanks so much for your words of encouragement. We all want to be seen and known and appreciated. How beautiful to know that God sees all we do and allows our labors of love to not be in vain.