I remember the very first day I admitted to myself that my children were struggling. They were both 18 months old and neither of them were walking. One never gave eye contact not did he interact much and he had no language. The other could not crawl or roll or even pull herself up. Both relied on routine for everything!
I remember one Friday late afternoon making a call to my health visitor and leaving a tearful message on his answer phone.
Looking back that afternoon epitomises the entire point of this blog. Here was I in tears worried about my children while they were happy sitting on the couch watching TV.
They were happy…it was me who was sad.
As time went on and appointments started piling up for them both it became quickly apparent that I needed to do every bit as much as my children. Occupational therapists gave ME exercises to do with them, speech and language therapists sent ME on a course while the children were happy at home in their routine with babysitters. The paediatrician gave ME advice while only briefly examining my twins. Early intervention support relied on ME doing more with the children to ‘bring them on’. It felt clearly that I was to blame.
While my son scanned object after object across his eye line repetitively, happy doing his own thing, I was silently breaking my heart. When all the other children ran into nursery while my daughter needed carried in, I was the one who emotionally struggled.
When my non verbal, not toilet trained, highly delayed son started full time school years later he settled much quicker than I did. He assumed everyone would look after him while I knew otherwise. He had no awareness of the danger of getting into a taxi without mum (he hardly acknowledged who I was) nor any concept of what school was and just went with the flow. Meanwhile my anxiety rose to a whole new level knowing I was unable to know anything about his day, who he was with, what he had eaten or wether or not people were looking after my vulnerable baby.
I needed support to help me with that constant anxiety.
When my son has extreme meltdowns lasting hours and he is unable to communicate why, that affects us both. The fact I now have an 8 year old who I still can not communicate with on any meaningful level has damaged me.
I need help to work through my feelings of failure.
When I see other children riding bikes, playing with friends, going to dancing or any other of hundreds of ‘normal’ things both my children really struggle with my heart breaks.
I need people to understand that some times I need to mourn for the things my children will never achieve.
My body is carrying a heavy load. I am on full alert 24/7. I have professionals watching our every move, quick to point out if they feel my children’s struggles are down to my parenting. My mind is constantly alert thinking of our next appointment, the next thing I need to prepare my children for or the next person I need to chase up. After years that affects your body and your mind in ways you can not control.
I have had counselling and also have to take tablets to keep depression at bay. My thyroid is whacked and my blood pressure keeps rising. My adrenal glands are failing.
My doctors tell me to ‘rest’ but autism never rests. As a parent to two children with autism I can not afford to rest. There is no time off.
My children are generally happy. The world they live in is safe and predictable. I need to keep it that way to protect them. They need me. The reality is they always will.
They are perfect the way they are. They don’t even see themselves as different. It is because I am NOT autistic that I see things differently. I see how they could be mistreated and abused. I see them struggling to get jobs. I see my son requiring support all his life and never living independently. I see their vulnerability. I see their lack of social understanding. I see their need for constant routine. I see their naivety.
They don’t need therapy to help them cope with any of that. But I do.