On really hard days, meltdowns, scratches, house flooding, poop everywhere, yeah— that all happened… all in one day.

I’m consumed with fear, anger, and frustration.

Is Autism forever?

God are you even there? How can this be an abundant life? Is this really what you want from me?

To mother these children? To have to deal with this mess? Is this all that I am called to do? Day in and day out?

When you’re a special needs parent, it’s never “just for a season.”

We don’t have a clear developmental model for our kids, who often times are still toilet training into adulthood. Who sometimes aren’t able to speak, and even then it may be gibberish that comes out. The blending of seasons is frustrating– when you see your other children outpace your autistic child.

When the seasons aren’t clearly defined. When your child regresses or plateaus. We want so much to have a clear vision of what our child’s future will look like, and in that moment of frustration when all is wrong, and unpleasant words slip our tongue, it’s so hard to see past the anger, and address the fear that is hidden underneath that anger.

It’s the fear that this season will never end, and this season may have been 10 years, 20, whatever that is for you. Autism doesn’t go away, and in a lot of ways, it didn’t get easier– or some of us, it gets a whole of a heck lot harder. And we’re left wondering, when this season will be over, or if it will ever end.

I honestly have no idea, but from our own journey, I can confidently say, no it hasn’t gotten much easier,

BUT we are NOT where we were when we first started on this journey.

We’ve made a TON of mistakes, and have (hopefully) learned from them. We are slowly learning more about Jacob’s personality underneath the autism– The Autism hasn’t gone away, but the way we view it (on easier– hahahahaha anything less stressful than a truly hard day) is different. We took tidbits of everything we’ve learned from all the knowledge we’ve acquired from all spectrums of therapies, and are doing what we feel is best for our son.

When I look at our little boy, especially on hard days, I remember that there are so many things beyond my control….

I hate that I can’t protect you.
I hate that people make assumptions about you.
I hate that people look at you in a demeaning way, and I’m not there to defend you.
I hate that people aren’t kind.
I hate that I can’t always be there.

But, I love that you try.

Each and every single day.

You try.

You get up, and you trust that God is faithful, merciful, and good.
That for every person who ignores you and mistreats you,
there are others who greet you and tries to be your friend.
That for every time your heart is broken,
that God fills you with His comfort and love.
That for every person who assumes the worse about you,
That God knows your heart and intentions.
That for every act of unkindness,
you encounter others who are filled with compassion.

That for every person who thinks you can’t,
That you trust that there’s a God who says,
yes, you can.

Despite all the challenges– he has taught me a different level of love and patience I didn’t phantom existed. He taught me how to be a mom– truly. Instinctively, I’m not maternal. Caring for another human being is downright scary.

Just like my other children, he’ll choose his own path– for now, I have to do what I can– to teach him, and help him hone in on his communication skills. My son is incredibly intuitive and picks up quickly on how others view him. He drains me and leaves me completely empty, but his laughter and smile fill me in a way that only he can.

When he accomplishes the most mundane of things, I celebrate it like the heavens have opened up, and Jesus is smiling down on our little family. I love our little man– the good, bad, and poopy ugly. And I’m humbled and blessed to be his mom.

Always rootin’ for you,

Michelle

Related: Embracing Your Child with Special Needs

P.S. Are you just getting started on this Autism adventure? I wrote a letter just for you.

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