I feel like I am failing my son. It is my job as his parent to fix what is wrong and I don’t know how. I wonder if the puzzle piece that represents autism doesn’t also apply to those of us who love someone with autism. Sometimes I picture my heart as being made up […]
Today marks the eight year anniversary of when I brought my son home. One month and one day from the day he was born. He did not have an easy beginning. I was 32 weeks pregnant. I had never been so bloated and uncomfortable in my life. I will remember the day for as long
COVID has been hard on everyone. Life has changed and routines have been altered and in some cases completely taken away. People with autism tend to be even more routine-oriented than the rest of us. I have seen so many changes in my son and my heart hurts for him because I can’t fix it.
Today is Mother’s Day. My journey of motherhood has been far from what I had expected. So different than what I had pictured when I found out that I was going to be a mother. Although my path is different than I thought it would be I love being a mother more than I ever
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I am broken. It took me a long time to admit that out loud. I used to cry alone, afraid to show anyone my weakness. We live in a society where we are supposed to be capable of handling a lot of things, and handling them well. I always thought that I had to pretend
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What I remember most is the bottomless pit of fear. I woke up and my son was not in bed. I assumed he was playing in the living room. I went into the kitchen and the first thing that I noticed was the front door standing wide open. I don’t recall what happened next but
Autism. It was a word I had heard many times, but had never truly understood. At least until about five years ago. That was the first time that someone had ever told me that my son might have autism. He was two. I was floored and offended. How could anyone think that my son was