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Autism and the #ActuallyAutistic community I usually keep controversy off my blog but tonight I’ve decided to use my platform to speak up and shed some light on a dark side…
Browsing Tag
actuallyautistic
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Let’s debunk a few myths about autism. 1 – Autistic people lack empathy and are incapable of feelings. False. It’s a common misconception that people with autism aren’t capable of feelings…
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Why I love the Montessori education model When Jude was 18 months, he was delayed in his development. Because his only peer model was Charlie, his severely autistic big brother, he…
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This is a snippet from my book, All Across the Spectrum, that you can pre-order here. “You’re torturing your child with ABA therapy” Just like society at large, the autism community…
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This is a snippet from my book, All Across The Spectrum. Coming Soon! “It’s okay to grieve” When my therapist said those words, “It’s okay to grieve,” I felt like…
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What’s an autism martyr mom? In the eyes of the #actuallyautistic community, an autism martyr mom is a mom who expresses negativity about autism and complains about how it has impacted…
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Autism and political correctness I’d be lying if I told you that it gets easier. Autism doesn’t get easier, not really. You just learn to deal with it better. You learn…
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Autism checklist for adults I was diagnosed with high-functioning autism as an adult. Read my post about it here. I often get asked what the signs are and if I knew…
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Autism Jargon: say that again? One thing I wish they had given us after Charlie was diagnosed with autism is a little book with all those autism acronyms we were going…
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Home Sweet Home We’ve just been on the road for two weeks and as much as I love road trips, it feels good to be home. I’ve been looking forward…
![[Snippet from my book about autism and grieving/Link in bio]
When Charlie needs something and I’m unable to understand what it is, it’s the most powerless feeling. I usually spend a few minutes showing him various objects and food items around the house in hopes that he’ll want one of them. When I’m wrong—and that happens often—he gets frustrated.
Cereal? Pushes it away.
Juice? Pushes it away.
Toast? Pushes it away.
You can feel the intensity of our growing frustration as I fail to comprehend what he wants to eat. He gets infinitely more impatient with each wrong guess. The restlessness, the grunts, and then the quiet whines. Believe me, Charlie. I’m trying as hard as I can to get you what you want, but I can’t because I don’t know what it is. Eventually, we’ve exhausted all our options, and this is usually the moment when tears slowly start rolling down his face, and he resorts to screaming. I feel sad and frustrated too. Powerless too. Once we’ve reached that point, there’s nothing else I can do. I’ve failed, and now we just have to wait. I wait until I hear the silence. Not the kind of silence you want to hear. It’s a silence full of tension. A silence that means that Charlie has given up because that’s the only thing he can do. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t communicate and he can’t make himself heard. The only thing he can do now is surrender.
Still, I love Charlie. All of him. I’m not grieving him. I’m grieving my dreams of him. I’m grieving the dreams of Charlie as a seven-year-old, sitting next to me outside, at sunset, debating which Pokémon is a better starter option in Pokémon Blue. I’m grieving my youth, the naiveté that led me to believe that all moms get to hear their child call them mommy in a purposeful way, the innocence that tricked me into believing that all children love and cling to their parents. I’m grieving the dream of speaking French with Charlie, and secretly laughing at the first putain he pronounces. I’m not grieving you, Charlie. I’m grieving my dreams. �](http://scontent-frt3-1.cdninstagram.com/vp/949748cae8dba4ebeaa2330943a1e957/5D1AECC1/t51.2885-15/e35/c22.0.1035.1035a/s320x320/52762732_282700752662877_556964404511934262_n.jpg?_nc_ht=scontent-frt3-1.cdninstagram.com "[Snippet from my book about autism and grieving/Link in bio]
When Charlie needs something and I’m unable to understand what it is, it’s the most powerless feeling. I usually spend a few minutes showing him various objects and food items around the house in hopes that he’ll want one of them. When I’m wrong—and that happens often—he gets frustrated.
Cereal? Pushes it away.
Juice? Pushes it away.
Toast? Pushes it away.
You can feel the intensity of our growing frustration as I fail to comprehend what he wants to eat. He gets infinitely more impatient with each wrong guess. The restlessness, the grunts, and then the quiet whines. Believe me, Charlie. I’m trying as hard as I can to get you what you want, but I can’t because I don’t know what it is. Eventually, we’ve exhausted all our options, and this is usually the moment when tears slowly start rolling down his face, and he resorts to screaming. I feel sad and frustrated too. Powerless too. Once we’ve reached that point, there’s nothing else I can do. I’ve failed, and now we just have to wait. I wait until I hear the silence. Not the kind of silence you want to hear. It’s a silence full of tension. A silence that means that Charlie has given up because that’s the only thing he can do. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t communicate and he can’t make himself heard. The only thing he can do now is surrender.
Still, I love Charlie. All of him. I’m not grieving him. I’m grieving my dreams of him. I’m grieving the dreams of Charlie as a seven-year-old, sitting next to me outside, at sunset, debating which Pokémon is a better starter option in Pokémon Blue. I’m grieving my youth, the naiveté that led me to believe that all moms get to hear their child call them mommy in a purposeful way, the innocence that tricked me into believing that all children love and cling to their parents. I’m grieving the dream of speaking French with Charlie, and secretly laughing at the first putain he pronounces. I’m not grieving you, Charlie. I’m grieving my dreams. �")