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There is freedom
that comes with acceptance. I wish I had learned this earlier in my sons’
lives, but I am grateful I have stopped fighting. When it came to their
autism, acceptance meant failure. I thought if I accepted the autism then
I was giving up. Surrender meant losing. For years, I fought this
opponent over which I had no control. I am saddened thinking about all
the ways I did not accept my sons, focusing more on fixing them, on treatment,
on making them conform to what society expected. Letting my own
insecurities about what other people would think cloud moments I should have
embraced. Despite all the therapy, all the doctors, all the modeling behavior,
and all the love, my children still have autism. And yet, we have far
from failed.
A few months ago, I
went to the park with Austin. At 15, he still loves the park. This
playground had a large, tall slide. Austin climbed the stairs excited to
try the slide, but froze when he got to the top. Puberty has hit and
Austin is now taller than me, he has to shave and has a deep voice. Boys
his age are not going to playgrounds with their mothers. Boys his age
usually don’t want to go anywhere with their mothers. This is a blessing
not lost on me, to have an almost sixteen year old who enjoys my company.
So, there he was at
the top of the slide bobbing his torso up and down as he often does when he is
excited or nervous. In this case, both. I gave him some words of
encouragement. He yelled down to me, “Are you sure? I am
nervous!” The fact that he can express his apprehension is yet
another blessing. I reassured him and asked if he wanted me to hold his
hand as he slid or would he rather I wait at the bottom to “catch him”.
As if I could actually “catch” this almost full grown man.
Minutes passed,
Austin bobbed, I reassured, and a line formed behind him. Several children well
below Austin’s age anxiously waited to use the slide. In the past, before
I waved my white flag of surrender, this situation would have triggered a fear
inside me. It pains me to know I would have let my fear come out as anger
towards Austin. Watching all those children and their parents waiting for
Austin and watching this teenager bob and shake and call out to his mommy for
help would have made me snap. My fears of what other people might think,
my fear of being judged, my fear of Austin’s vulnerability, my fear that he
would never be able to care for himself, my fear that I would die and no one
would care for him, advocate for him, or protect him as fiercely as me would
manifest themselves in this one moment.
All these fears
would come out as venom…venom not towards these people staring, but at my own
son for simply being himself. I would have yelled at him to hurry up or
get down most likely scaring him and paralyzing him at the top of the slide
even longer. The fear and disappointment about Austin having autism would
follow me home. It would ruin what could have been a pleasant outing to
the park. The venom would then be turned inward and I’d spend the rest of
the day admonishing myself for being a horrible mother.
Thankfully, on this
beautiful day at the park, I had already learned the freedom of
acceptance. I patiently offered Austin some help and words of
encouragement waiting as long as it took for him to decide he was ready.
Not one child or parent complained. He took me up on my offer to hold his
hand and he slid down hanging on tight as I ran along side him…big smiles on
both our faces. Next we ran to the swings and swung side by side trying
to see who could get the swing pumped higher into the air. With love, and
patience, and surrender, the sky is the limit.
Acceptance gives me
the freedom to focus on his strengths. Instead of always worrying, always
measuring him against his peers who left him in the dust years ago, always
focusing on the challenges, acceptance let’s me enjoy him. Give up?
NEVER! I will be teaching him, nurturing his independence, advocating for
him, and loving him until my last breath. Acceptance is just going to
make it a lot more fun.
