Dear Family, Friends, and Even Strangers
Thank you. Thank you for pouring positivity into my life.
Thank you for the kind words. Thank you for trying to supply me with hope.
On my days when I post, comment, or even mention in conversation how I long for normalcy and desire making memories often associated with raising children, I know you mean well when you reply stating how happy my son is and offer the encouraging words of “Don’t worry about what others do!
Just enjoy making memories and special moments with your little family!”
I know you mean well.
But it hurts my very soul.
Because I see you posting your beach trips. Your dinner outings. Your movie nights.
I see your Disney photos with cute ear headbands and the castle behind you.
I see you post your camping trips and enjoying a fire as a family.
And my heart shatters.
My heart shatters because you don’t see that my son will no longer get in the pool so now the one thing we looked forward to in the summer is no longer a possibility.
You don’t see him cover his ears and cry because the breeze dances through the trees and he wants me to make the trees stop moving and the winds to stop blowing.
You don’t know that we can’t take a walk as a family because having to change direction to go home results in epic meltdowns and potential injury.
You don’t realize that while your children are in summer camps, visiting relatives, and going on even the simplest of outings that we are spending hours a week in different therapies.
You don’t see my beautiful sweet baby boy hiding under chairs to get away from people, including kids his own age.
You don’t hear him calling “Mama” while sobbing because he can’t bear to not be right next to me all of the time.
You don’t see me holding him, rocking him, snuggling him for 3-5 hours almost every single night to get him to sleep.
You don’t hear his terrified screams because I have to pick something up from the store or drive to therapy and it begins to rain as I am driving. The sound of the rain hitting the car along with seeing the rain splatter on the windows is so overwhelming my sweet little boy can’t cope.
You don’t see me in Home Depot or Lowes holding him as safely as I can, trying to walk away from the riding mowers he caught a glimpse of as he flails, slaps, kicks, and screams because he cannot control his desire to be touching and climbing on them.
You don’t see me crying inside as I fight down my anger as I’m followed by judgmental people who assume that my child is either super naughty and bratty or worse-that I beat him or in some way cause him harm because nothing will settle him or silence his ear piercing screams.
So I know you are coming from a good place, from a loving place, when you encourage me to just make our own memories.
But you don’t see how terrifying this world is for my sweet little boy.
Written by, Angel Smith
I’m a mom of three. My youngest, Fox, has autism. We live in Georgia and our blog is The Autistic Fox which can be found at http://theautisticfoxblog.
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