There’s a piece of me that often flees to a sunless pit. . .cold but oddly enough safe & familiar. Insecurities, loneliness & doubt are regular members of the support group that never fail to be present. Rarely do surprises exist in this space for they are already known. Mishaps have been on display and judgements cannot even compare to the reproach I have carefully positioned on my head. Anything lost is not expected to return. Peace is outside, being held hostage. And tears of uneasiness has become the norm, where the river cried always shakes the very likeness of any still cliff. On this journey, I have my moments, where I wonder how life’s battles have seemingly outweighed any fortitude. I feel aged with the heaviness of life, and I need a shoulder of relief from time to time to weep and a heart to hold. From there, fly me on eagles’ wings to “once upon a time” where I can regroup and see a little light from above.
Sometimes I think there’s a misconception that we, as autism parents, feel if we cry or become frustrated & angry, these emotions portray negativity on our part or maybe a lack of strength & depleted hope. . . when instead it simply represents the much needed release you need. . .to exhale. Initially I strolled down a road less travel, at least that was my first encounter, and any pain visible was ok because no one knew my name, no one knew the source from which the pain came, and frankly no one cared. You’re free to expose it all without repercussions. It’s not until pain becomes recognizable and is formally introduced to the world, that freedom is replaced with the absence of expression, and the “known” that was once your security blanket is vacuumed and swapped for uncharted waters. We’re not always in the state of melancholy & despair. Our children’s faces sing joyful notes. Their view on life has revolutionized our way of thinking. And celebrations occur with the happy dance any & every time an achievement is made – big or small. But we have a right to have our hurt revealed and not be considered any less strong or less loving or less of a fighter or less supportive just because we finally got the nerve to climb Kilimanjaro and shout, “Yes, I hurt!” “Yes, I’ve felt like giving up!” “Yes, I’m angry!” “Yes, I’m confused!” Yes, I’m scared!” “Yes, I’m tired!” and “Yes, I’m imperfect!” I am human. . .and we want to be respected not only for when we flex our muscles, but when we cry out “Yes, I’m weak too!”
Thanks for listening,