Category Archives: fear

Statistics and Parenting

Posted on August 26, 2014 by | 16 comments

Fear.  I have grappled with fear my entire life.  I’m 54 years old.   You’d think I’d have figured out a magic formula to ward off fear by now…  but I have not.  However I have figured out some things that used to frighten me, but that no longer do.  Things like this:

“Among all autistics, 75 percent are expected to score in the mentally retarded range on standard intelligence tests — that’s an IQ of 70 or less.” ~ Wired Magazine 2008

“Roughly 25 percent of people with autism speak few or no words.” ~ SFARI 2013

These two quotes had not yet been written when my daughter was diagnosed, instead there were countless other “statistics” spoken and/or written as though fact, that terrified me.  I had not yet learned to question everything we were told about autism.  I had not yet realized that almost everything people said to us about autism and our daughter would turn out to be untrue.  I had not yet understood that it was these types of things that caused me fear, not my daughter.

Often someone reaches out to me and they are filled with the same fear I once felt.  They remind me of all those predictions, the “statistics,” the warnings, all the things people said to us that caused me to stay up at night.  Terrified because the way autism was spoken of was filled with dire predictions, awful statistics, and because I did not yet know what autism would mean for my daughter.

It is one thing to read statistics that make you feel terrified and another to live with a person these statistics claim to represent.  A lived life, a human life, a living, breathing, feeling, human being who also has fears and thoughts and desires.  So many parents need help figuring all of this out so they can help their children flourish.  Parents who hear and read all the terrible things people say about autism and Autistic people and then are faced with their child and find all those things being said distance them from the genetically closest human being they will ever experience in this life.  (This was something Emma wrote to her brother not so long ago – “the one closest genetic person to you.”)

Statistics do not help us parent better.

One of the single most important things Richard and I began doing was to talk to Emma as though she understood, even when we were not sure she did, even when she walked away, even when she seemed uninterested, had her back to us, closed her eyes, said words that seemed completely unrelated, wandered off to some other part of the room, even then, we kept talking to her, including her in whatever conversation was going on.  And now.  Now we are so glad we began doing that, because, as it turns out, we were right, she understood it all.

She understood it all.

August, 2014

August, 2014

16 Comments

Posted in Autism, fear, Parenting

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Finding Hope ~ By Emma

Posted on June 2, 2014 by | 15 comments

“Finding Hope

It cannot be found in fear, anger or when overwhelmed.

Hope must be cared for. It has to be nurtured and fed yummy treats.  Hope needs love and trust to grow.

Many people give up on hope because they are told it is not realistic and they need to face reality.

But what is reality?

Do you prefer living with hope or without it?

I prefer to be hopeful.”

*This post was written by Emma, including the title and she chose the accompanying photograph.*

This photograph is what Emma chose to represent hope. It is a pine cone resting atop her great grandfather's tombstone.

This photograph is what Emma chose to represent hope. It is a pine cone with a metal heart, resting atop her great grandfather’s tombstone.

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Posted in communication, fear, hope

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“Love Not Fear”

Posted on February 13, 2014 by | 11 comments

“You thought my autism was hurting me and that you needed to remove it, but you did not understand that it is a neurological difference and fear caused you to behave with desperation.”  ~  Emma on the topic of the three stem cell treatments we did in 2010

Fear.

This post had to begin with Emma’s words.

I’ve written enough to fill a book on fear and where that took us.  Stem cell treatments, spending all night on the internet searching for the next great “miracle” cure, taking my child from one specialist and doctor to the next, this is where fear took me.  I’ve deleted a great many posts where I express my tortured fear, but if you go to the first post, the post that began this blog almost four years ago, you will see in excruciatingly slow detail where fear took me.  Fear caused by those “alarming statistics” used ad nauseam by organizations like Autism Speaks, drives many like me to go to incredible lengths to “help” our child.  Blinded by abject fear we pursue things that can cause our children real harm, both physical and emotional.   The toll our fear can take on our children cannot be overstated.

I abhor Autism Speaks.  As the single largest organization claiming to know what autism is and is not, and worse, suggesting they “speak” for autism and those who are Autistic, Autism Speaks does more damage to my Autistic child than any other.  They have done a brilliant job marketing fear.  For transparency’s sake they should rename their organization ~ Fear Autism.  Donations pour in, large companies lulled into believing they are “helping” give their support.  Autism Speaks uses so much of their vast resources to hurt my child and Autistic people with that fear; what little good they accomplish in other areas in no way can counter the long-lasting and devastating damage they have done and continue to do to families who live in the kind of fear we once did.

I’ve written a great deal about fear on this blog, such as this post where I wrote about what I once believed:

“What did the future hold for my daughter?  How was she going to get through life?  How would we be able to keep her safe?  How would she fend for herself?  Would she be able to fend for herself?  Who would take care of her once we were gone?  Fear.  Fear.  Fear and more fear.  And then, without even realizing it, I would find myself furious.  Enraged.  And my rage found the perfect target.  Autism.  Autism was what I was furious with.  Autism was what the problem was, so it stood to reason that if I could remove it, all would be well.  So this is what I set out to do.  Except that my daughter happened to be Autistic.  But if I didn’t say it that way I could continue to separate the two.  I could continue to tell myself I was fighting the autism and not her.  I could continue to believe that my anger with autism would not affect her.”

And this post where I wrote:

“When my daughter was diagnosed with autism, my fear of  institutions was the one fear, outstripped by any other, that brought me to my knees.  For years it was this vision, that horrifying gothic institution, dark and forbidding that I became convinced would be the inevitable conclusion of not my life, but hers once my husband and I died.  It was this looming image in my mind that made me hurl myself headlong into various remedies and treatments.  For years I felt sure that anything we could do to save her from such a bleak future was surely a worthy goal.  It just never occurred to me that what I thought was inevitable was not. And this is where I thank my Autistic friends for courageously sharing their stories with the world.  Because of them, their lives, their stories, I no longer believe this is my daughter’s inevitable future.”

Richard and I live a very different life than we did just three years ago and it is all because we stopped being afraid.  If you think, even for a second that we stopped finding ways to support our daughter, encourage her, cheer her on to be all she can be, then I encourage you to read the last six months of this blog. These last six months, specifically, show how Emma has increasingly taken over this blog, just as I once did not dare dream possible.  It is her voice that sings out, every day a bit louder, every day more powerfully, every day…

A few more posts on Fear:

The Impact of Fearing Autism
Where Fear Leads Us
How My Fears Drove Me to Pursue a Cure
Murder, Fear and Hope

Love Not Fear.  Tomorrow is the Love not Fear Flashblog.

For submissions email:  info@boycottautismspeaks.com

Love. Just a whole lot of LOVE! Emma's Halloween Costume ~ The Love Monster

Love. Just a whole lot of LOVE! Emma’s Halloween Costume ~ The Love Monster

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Posted in Autism, fear, love

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Traveling Without A GPS

Posted on September 24, 2013 by | 21 comments

I’m traveling with Em.  We’re doing a kind of mother/daughter trip together, though not, as Em would like, to a spa where we sit around getting our nails done, (Em has fallen in love with the joys of a good pedicure) go swimming in heated pools that are like massive bath tubs and doing nothing else… that trip will have to wait.

And I made the mistake of opting out of the GPS system for the car I’ve rented, which means every few minutes Emma can be heard saying from the back seat, “Oh no!  You’re going the wrong way!”  And because I have no sense of direction, am driving in a state I’ve never been before, let alone city, she is correct.  We have been here less than 24 hours and have gotten completely lost, despite thorough directions from google maps (which suck, by the way, I’m totally blaming google maps) FOUR times!  This is not an exaggeration.

It seems I cannot drive more than a few miles without taking a wrong turn, end up inexplicably going in the opposite direction from where I meant and wanted to go.  So I’m like one of those annoying drivers who’s leaning forward, peering out the window, both hands nervously gripping the steering wheel and driving so slowly I’ve got a line of cars in back of me, pissed off and trying to get around me. But I won’t pull over because I don’t know where the hell I am and… Yeah.  That’s me in that car you’re honking at.  And that GPS system that I turned down, because really, at an additional 20 bucks a day or whatever it was, who would think that was a good idea?  Um…  it’s looking like a bargain, right about now…

This was not always the case.  When I was in my late teens and all through my twenties I lived and drove all over the place.  I lived in LA for three years, a city where you spend more money on your car than you do on your home.  So yeah, I’ve driven a lot.  But as I have grown older and my eyes are not as they once were, requiring glasses, my sense of direction (not that I ever had one) has gotten worse, not sure how that’s actually possible…  but it has…  so a GPS system, it turns out, is less an “option” and more a necessity.

But last night when we arrived, I was still thinking of the me that I was thirty years ago.  The me that took on New York City traffic without a second thought, the me that spent hours a day navigating Southern California’s freeway system, the me that drove all over the place, every day without hesitation, yeah, that me.

Turns out?

She’s gone.

Image representing Google Maps as depicted in ...

21 Comments

Posted in fear, mother/daughter, Parenting, travel

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Justifying Actions

Posted on September 9, 2013 by | 20 comments

I just wrote an angry rant.  As I was getting set to publish it, someone tweeted me about something unrelated.  They wrote that in order for people, who may be feeling desperate, to hear what you (the universal/general you) have to say, there is a need for kindness, and it stopped me in my tracks.  Kindness…  In my fury I had forgotten all about kindness and I felt like a balloon that had just been popped. Pfssssst…  All that lovely anger that was protecting me from all those other feelings I have, oozed out.  Pffffffssssst.  And you know what I was left with?  Sadness.  Overwhelming sadness and something else.  Fear.  Tremendous fear.

Sadness and fear do not make me feel powerful.  Instead they make me feel vulnerable.  I don’t like feeling sad and vulnerable.  I want to feel powerful, but all of these things are illusions at best.  Just because I feel powerful does not make it so.  Just because I feel vulnerable does not mean I am.

Someone wrote on a public forum that they were heart-broken over a mother who tried to kill herself and her child.  They followed that thought with this, “she was given a burden she could not bear” and I felt like someone had kicked me in the solar plexus.  You see, I take those words personally.  They may as well have said that they believed that about one of my children.  Please, please, do not say a child, any child is a burden.  Even if you believe this to be true, do not say those words in public.  Do not.  This is what private support groups are for. This is why people see psychiatrists, psychologists, counselors, this is why we call close friends whom we love and trust and who we know will honor what we say in confidence and keep what we say confidential.  In moments of terrible pain all of us can and do say things that upon further reflection we wish we hadn’t.  We think things we do not really believe in moments of upset.  We may even act on these things that we think and say, these are the times we wish we’d said and done nothing.

Not every feeling must be acted upon.  Not every thought needs to be said out loud.  Please, when you say someone’s child is a burden and that it was too great to bear and that this was why they tried to kill that child, it places a stigma on all our children.  This kind of language terrifies me.  I am terrified someone who believes Autistic children are a burden will come into contact with my child and treat her accordingly.  Please if you believe Autistic children are a burden, if you feel their neurology makes them inferior, do not go into the field of autism.  Do not convince yourself that you will be able to help that person, you won’t.  Feeling sorry and pity will not help or make that person’s life better.  In addition, when we believe another person is a “burden” it is being suggested that there are situations when it is acceptable to not be held responsible for what we say and do.  It is being suggested that, to hurt someone we believe is a burden, or worse, take that person’s life, is a reasonable thing to do.  It’s not.  It’s not okay.  We cannot, in our desire for compassion, allow this to ever be okay.   It is not okay.

Finally, if you truly believe someone, whether it is your child, someone else’s child or just in general, is a burden, please talk about these feelings and thoughts with a professional or someone you trust who can help you work through these beliefs with compassion and care.  If you do not know where to turn or do not understand why this kind of thinking is problematic, email me privately so that I can try to better explain or can find someone who will be able to explain this in a way you can hear.  My email is:  emmashopeblog@gmail.com

20 Comments

Posted in Autism, fear, Parenting

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Memories Evoked

Posted on August 30, 2013 by | 18 comments

I enter the subway car.  To my delight there is an empty seat near the door.  I sit, rummage through my bag for my book and begin reading from where I left off, but the words are blurry and I cannot concentrate.  I am aware of a powerful odor emanating from the person seated next to me.  I close my eyes and try to concentrate on breathing through my mouth.  My stomach clenches and my eyes begin to water.

I’m five years old.  Mrs. Williams is rustling about in the other room.  The pain in my chest is as much from the ache I feel because my parents have left on their yearly trip as it is from my fear of the woman who has been hired to take care of us for the next few weeks.  Mrs. Williams with her coiffed hair and antiseptic smell, everything about her is no nonsense, business like, a kind of grim resignation that oozes from her every pore.  When angry she uses her hand, like a paddle, it comes down swift and seemingly without emotion, as though the pain I feel upon contact has nothing to do with anything: arbitrary, remote, senseless.

I hate Mrs. Williams and my anxiety and sadness that my parents have left us, even for only a few weeks adds to my hatred of her.  She crinkles and rustles when she moves, her skin hangs from her body like an ill-fitted suit, she smells of soap and perfume that make me nauseous.  She is stocky and seems well rooted to the ground, her movements are steady and purposeful.  She rides out the time my parents are gone like a convict doing time.  I can find nothing pleasant about her.  Just thinking about her fills me with fear.   Her dislike for me and my sister is all the more apparent when my brothers are around as she obviously dotes on them and shuns us.  If ever there is a dispute, it is my fault, no matter that I am the youngest with siblings a full eight and six years older than me.   

We are told she had a son sent to Vietnam who never returned.  We are told it is because of this son that she adores my brothers.  I take this information in stride.  It is fact.  I am representative of something unwanted, something I do not and cannot understand.  She is particularly concerned about my bowel movements.  She takes note of them, even going so far as to stand guard outside the bathroom listening for sounds of success.  As I sit on the toilet I imagine her ear pressed to the door.  Why this is important is something I can’t figure out, but that it is, is evident by the reports she feels compelled to give my older siblings.  Now my brothers and sister are on high alert.  My bodily functions are examined, discussed, they have become a topic.  The more I am closely observed the more  anxious and fearful I become.   

I grip my book tightly and try hard to breathe out of my mouth. I glance over at the woman next to me.  Her eyes are closed and I realize she is asleep.  As the train careens through the darkness, her body sways with its motion.  The train turns.  She leans into me, the smell of soap, antiseptic, and some other odor I cannot identify, but that reminds me of those weeks once a year when my parents left us in the hands of someone who should not have been caring for small children, is over powering.  She is unaware of me or the memories her presence has evoked.

I think of my children.  I see the look of anxiety on my daughter’s face when she says, “No, not going to Katie’s class.  That is the old school.  Emma goes to new school.  Emma goes to new school with Mommy.”  And all I can hope for is that her new school will not be staffed by anyone whose presence gives her cause to remember them decades later with anxiety and a feeling of plummeting through an endless darkness.

Visiting the new school

New School

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Posted in fear, Parenting, sensory issues

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There Once Was A Girl…

Posted on August 13, 2013 by | 28 comments

There once was a girl who was in tremendous pain.  Her pain was so great she couldn’t manage it.  She tried, believe me, she tried.  She immersed herself in books, particular those dealing with people’s neurology, but also dabbled in science fiction, mysteries, thrillers, horror, romance, this was before the age of memoirs, so she devoured studies of other people written by psychiatrists, therapists of every ilk and doctors.  Losing herself in reading was thrilling, but it didn’t help her sort through the intense feelings she had.  All those books couldn’t begin to heal her often overwhelming feelings, anxiety, sadness and fear.

She thought that moving away might help so she did that, and then she moved farther and farther still and eventually she found herself living in another country and all those intense feelings moved right along with her.  By this time she was using substances to quell the pain, on a daily basis.   She knew she could zone out and for a little while anyway she would feel nothing at all and it was a great relief.  But as soon as the substance wore off she was left, once again, with herself.  She went from seeking relief, to needing relief, to feeling that if she didn’t do those things that gave her even momentary solace she might die.

There is no other way to describe what she went through when she could not indulge in certain behaviors.  SHE WOULD DIE.  She did not know this for a fact, but she felt sure that she could not exist without the things that changed her consciousness.  She was convinced that these substances helped her cope and that without them she would not be able to, and all those feelings would overwhelm her, suffocate her.  She lived in terror of this.  Years went by and she did the best she could, but her need for calm and peace was never satiated.

As time went on she knew that if she was going to continue living in this world she would have to change, she would have to find other ways of coping, of just being.  And again her fears both mesmerized and caused her to stay stuck doing the same things again and again that now did not give her the relief they once did.  She knew in her heart she would die if she continued doing what she had been doing.  She knew it was only a matter of time now.  The thing that she once thought was keeping her from dying, was the very thing that would kill her.  Still, how to change?  What could she do?  How would she stop?

At first she sought help from doctors and therapists and the medical profession.  She tried the various things they told her to do.  She made charts and ate specific foods and took supplements and lots and lots of vitamins, but nothing she did made a difference.  She went to psychologists and talked and talked, for years she talked, and while that helped her understand some of what ailed her, all that talk didn’t help her stop hurting herself.  One therapist, someone who loved her very much and had been trying to help her for many years said to her, you must find others who do what you do, they will help you.  So she found them.  Hundreds of people just like her who did the same things she was doing.  They listened to her pain and shame and they nodded their heads and told stories of their own and they said, “Here. Grab our hand.  We will help you.  We will show you the way through because you cannot do this on your own.  This isn’t about will power, this isn’t about desire, this is about needing help.”  And so she did, though she was filled with abject terror and was not at all sure she would be able to follow them, she did.  They taught her to breathe when she was scared and they took her calls in the middle of the night and they came to her when she was too frightened to leave her apartment and they sat with her when she was too overwhelmed to move.  They taught her that she alone could not help herself, she needed others.  This was both a great relief and also her greatest fear.

Over time she learned to tolerate all those feelings she once believed would kill her.  It was incredible!  She could not believe she was able to sit with feelings!  This was a revelation and she grew stronger and more able to be in the world.  She learned to ask for help and she found some people were safe and others were not.  She learned to be in a relationship with another person and to respect them and to honor their boundaries and she experienced the joy of kindness and acting in kindness for no other reason than because it was a part of who she was – to be kind.  She experienced the joy of helping others who were in pain and came to believe there is no greater gift in this life than to offer a hand to another being who is in the depths of despair and pain.

(To be continued)

28 Comments

Posted in Addiction, fear, Gratitude

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A Recipe For Living a Good Life

Posted on July 3, 2013 by | 55 comments

Last night Richard and I had one of our conversations.  It’s the conversation that starts with, “If only we’d known what we know now…”  The conversation that continues with, “If only we’d known our friends, particularly the ones whose neurology we don’t share, the ones who are Autistic…”  It’s the conversation that ends with both of us looking at each other and shaking our heads until one of us says, “We would have done everything differently…”   And then the other joins in with, “Literally.  We would have literally done everything differently!”

One of the biggest motivators I have for continuing to blog about autism is this idea that everything would have changed had we known what we know now.  How different our lives would have been had our introduction to autism not been abject fear, but to adults who are Autistic.  How different our approach would have been had we not reacted to the news of our daughter’s neurology with terror.  How much money, time, energy, not to mention pain would have been avoided had we not listened to all those non-autistic people who greeted our daughter’s diagnosis with, “Here’s what you need to do…”  “Here’s the name of a therapist/neurologist/homeopath/nutritionist/DAN doctor, call them now!”  “You should try…”

I’ve written about all of this before, but since I typically blog Monday through Friday, many of you may have missed those posts, so here are just a few…

What I Wish I’d Been Made Aware Of When My Daughter Was Diagnosed With Autism
How Fear Drove Me To Pursue A Cure
We Are in This Together
A Fantasy For Parents of Newly Diagnosed Autistic Children
To The Person Who Googled “I Don’t Know if I Can Handle Autism”

What we were told about autism was WRONG.  Everything we were told during those first few years after Emma was diagnosed have NOT proven to be true.  Having an Autistic child does not mean the entire family will be dragged down.  No one need “sacrifice” their life to support another, in fact, our lives are enhanced by each member of our family.  Each of us brings something unique and special to the family. Having an Autistic child is not the same as having a child diagnosed with cancer, this comparison is incredibly hurtful to my child, to your child, it is offensive to all of us.

We have been told all kinds of things about our daughter by non autistic people.  Not one of their predictions has come true.  NOT ONE!  Read that again.  Nothing we were told would happen, actually has!   Think about that.  Being given an autism diagnosis for your child is like listening to an anchorman predict the weather a year from now.  But we believed every single one of those pronouncements and then behaved as though each dire prediction was fact.  If I’d known all the people I know now, the people I’ve interviewed, whose blogs I read, all the people I am fortunate enough to call my friends, who have changed my life and helped me understand autism and what it’s like living in a world that doesn’t accept them, growing up with parents who believed they were doing what was best for them, but who were being told the same sorts of things we were told… Had I known all those people when Emma was first diagnosed, our response to the pronouncements and predictions given to us would have been to laugh and walk away. Literally.  We would have laughed and walked away.

We would not have hired the agency who provided us with round the clock therapists.  We would not have shuttled Emma from one doctor to the next.  We would not have spent all those nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling fearing what would never come to pass.  We would not have lost all those years, years we could have spent actually enjoying and loving our child, but that were spent in fear, engaged in a war on her neurology.   All those years when Richard and I felt beaten down, could have been spent embracing this amazing being who has taught us so much.  The challenges any parent faces, exhaustion, sleepless nights, worry, these would certainly have been a part of our story, but the terror… the terror did not have to be a part of it.

So here’s the truth about my Autistic child:

She is a human being with desires, wants, needs, emotions and feelings, just like any other child.  If I treat my (Autistic) child the way I would want to be treated, with unconditional love, respect, encouragement and support, I will have been a good parent.  If I can be kind, patient, vulnerable and willing to examine my preconceived beliefs about what it is to be a human being, while making amends for my mistakes;  I will have led a good life.

Emma and Nic ~ 2003

Em & Nic - 2003

55 Comments

Posted in Autism, fear, Parenting

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The Tug of The Unknown

Posted on February 21, 2013 by | 12 comments

Ever since Em was first diagnosed I have looked to others to tell me what was best for her.  I have read countless opinions.  I have read hundreds of articles written by self-appointed Autism experts, educators and therapists.  I have listened to organizations, I have consulted doctors, neurologists and developmental pediatricians.  Emma has had quantitative EEGs, hearing tests, vision tests, colonoscopies, endoscopies, x-rays, and more hospital visits than any child her age should have to endure.  She has been prodded, poked, examined, questioned and discussed.  She has had more “professionals” come and go in her short life than I have in my entire 52 years.

A year ago I began meeting Autistic adults and what they were saying and describing first hand wasn’t what all those experts, doctors, educators and therapists had been telling me.  In fact what Autistics were telling me was often in direct opposition to what all those other people said.  The more I listened to what Autistics said and how they experienced their childhoods and life now as adults, the more I saw how wrong most of the professionals were.  It’s not that any of the Autistic people tried to predict what my daughter would be like as an adult, or that I came away believing I’d just met an older version of my daughter, but I’ve gained a clearer picture of autism and I am not as afraid as I once was.  As a side note, I have yet to meet a single Autistic adult who has assured me my daughter would be just like them, quite the opposite in fact.  Each and every person I’ve personally been in contact with has made a point of saying they are not representative of any Autistic child.

When I went to the Autcom Conference in Maryland last fall I met a great many older Autistic adults.  People who are in their 40’s and 50’s, some had been institutionalized, others lived in group homes, some lived with their aging parents, others lived independently, but all were Autistic and while it was surprising to meet so many (the hidden Autistic adults that our society knows almost nothing about)  it was a relief too because the fear I had and to a lesser degree still have about autism falls away the more time I spend with those who are Autistic.

My fear is about the unknown.  My greatest fears are those I create in my mind.  I have to remind myself of this on an almost daily basis.  I have tremendous fear.  I have always been fearful.  Long before I had children or got married I have lived with fear.  Fear of failure, fear of success, fear of relationships, fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, fear of being hurt, fear of hurting others, fear of saying the wrong thing, fear of life, fear of being.  You name it and I can figure out a way to fear it.  I have mornings when I wake up and feel fear like a second skin shrouding my body and mind.  There are days I cannot shake it.  There are days when the best I can do is get up and just put one foot in front of the other.  There are days when I cannot even acknowledge how scared I am.  A good day is when I keep doing the next thing that needs to get done and not say or do anything hurtful to anyone who crosses my path.  Those are the days when the image of myself is that of being covered in a thick cloak.  I keep my head down, keep to myself and do my best to not cause others pain.

Then there are the days when even that is too challenging a task.  Anger is almost always the result of tremendous, debilitating fear.  This is just one reason why I so vehemently object to the way in which autism is depicted in the general population.  Just about everything that is currently written by non-Autistic people regarding autism is fear based and increases fear.  And where there is fear, anger is not far behind.  Fear and anger cause many to behave in ways they wouldn’t, were they not feeling terrified and/or enraged.  Fight or flight.  I do both, sometimes within minutes of each other.  Neither is particularly helpful.

I know I still have a tendency to look to the “next thing” that will help my daughter.  I know this is what I have a tendency to do.  I am trying to trust myself and her more.  I am trying to remember that I don’t always know what will help and, as it turns out, neither does anyone else, but I can make sensible, informed decisions.  I am trying to accept that no one can predict with absolute knowledge what will occur in the future.  I am trying to parent my children with respect for who they are, what their interests are and not what they may or may not become.  I am doing my best to be present, to enjoy the moments of joy.    When I go off into future, fearful thinking, I try to gently pull myself back to the present without admonishment and judgment, but rather lovingly and with kindness for my own faltering, uneven progress.

Em – 2002

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To the Person Who Googled “I don’t know if I can handle Autism”

Posted on December 4, 2012 by | 28 comments

I have three things I need to say to you.

First.  Come.  Talk.  Find a safe place where you can talk without being judged, somewhere private, somewhere and with someone(s) who will understand and listen.

Second.  Fear.  Feel the fear.  It’s impossible for me to talk about autism without talking about the abject fear I used to feel, every single day, every moment.  They say fear can be informative.  This was not my experience of it in the beginning, I was running too fast and doing so much to avoid it.  Fear drove me to do a great many things I regret.  I wish I could tell you I have no regrets, but I do.  So, so many regrets.  Avoiding the fear is just one of them.  I wish I’d sat with it.  Leaned into it and listened to it, without believing what it whispered to me as though it were fact.  Listen to it, but don’t believe it.  Who knows what I might have learned all those years ago.  Who knows had I done that, what mistakes I might have avoided.  Who knows?

You see, fear was the driving force behind my relentless search for a “cure”.  Fear is what made me think anything I did was better than doing nothing.  Fear drove me to rationalize some dangerous and very risky “interventions” because I thought to do otherwise was wrong.  It was my fear that kept me up at night, on the computer, typing one more search word into Google’s vast engine, hoping I would find the thing, the remedy, the treatment, the pill, the tincture, the doctor, the nutritionist, the biomed doctor, the QiGong Master, the homeopath, the naturopath, the GI specialist, the thyroid specialist, the speech therapist, the occupational therapist, the cranial sacral doctor, the shaman, the Zuni chieftain, the psychic, yeah you read that right, the psychic, each and every one of these people I put my faith in.  I convinced myself that this person, finally would be the ONE.  They would reach out their hand and show me the path I needed to take.

All those words used to describe autism and Autistic people, our children or parents or siblings, all those words like, “burden”, “epidemic”, “crisis”, the war terminology evoked telling us how we must “fight” and “combat”, all those words like crumbs left in a dark forest were words I believed and used and never, never once during those early years did it occur to me to question them.  For those who did, well, they obviously didn’t have a child like mine.  You had a child who was less profoundly affected by autism than mine.  This was my thinking, this is what I believed in my heart.  (This is my story, it may not be yours, but it is the only story I can tell.)

Third.  There is a documentary I love.  I have watched it many times now.  It’s called Wretches and Jabberers.  I’m not going to tell you more, you just have to see it for yourself.  It’s available on iTunes, Netflix and Hula.   You can purchase a copy from Amazon.  Even if you ignore every other thing I’ve written here, just watch it.  It is a documentary that every human being on this planet should see, because it is about more than just autism.  It is about our beliefs and how our beliefs make us behave in ways we might not otherwise condone.  It is about prejudice and fear and ingrained thinking and the inherent limitations all of that encourages for those who are different.

And finally remember this – just because someone does not speak, does not mean they have nothing to say.  Just because someone cannot make their needs known, does not mean they have none.  Just because someone does not tell us they love us does not mean they do not.  Just because someone does not look at us, does not mean they do not see us.  Just because they do not seem to understand in a way that we recognize, does not mean they do not and cannot.  Just because we think they are ignoring or cannot hear us, does not mean they are or do not.  Just because we think someone cannot write or read does not mean they can’t or never will.

Just because we feel, in this moment, we cannot handle something does not mean we can’t.  With support, we can and we will.  And so will our children.  They can, they do, and with help, they will.  Believe this and you will not only help your child and yourself, you will help the world and all human beings who inhabit it.

Choose to believe.

Emma on her 4th Birthday – 2006

Em - 2006

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