Here we go….

Yet again, my words have languished in a drafts file. It has become my routine- I am beginning to find comfort in it rather than irritation. My little breadcrumbs of predictability. The themes of these musings all seem to want to go to the same place- a destination I have been avoiding. Not due to shame, rather awaiting further evidence- conclusions. Again, my patterns revealing themselves. I thrive in concrete verdicts. Understanding the “why” of things brings order to the chaos that is existence.

The problem currently- I cannot obtain the confirmation I desire. Access and finances stand as obstacles that cannot be overcome just yet. Therefore, I simmer in purgatory. Hyperfocus causing other ideas to languish in the shadows. So, fuck it. Here’s where we are in the journey.

To understand the here and now, we have to travel back a bit, to the Before Times™- the interval before I was a mother. It’s funny, I think we all have moments of demarcation in our lives; benchmarks that help us place events along the timeline. Undergrad, Graduate school, the like. However, I have two life altering events which create the Before Times™ and consequently After™- becoming a mother, and in rapid succession, a divorcé.

The recurring theme within my brain throughout my adolescence and into adulthood was that of searching. Seeking an elusive place in the world that was accepting of the whole of who I was. One that didn’t require suppressing portions of myself, where embarrassment wasn’t my constant companion. I eventually reached a place of accepting that this magical land didn’t exist. Then the Great Succession of my demarcation events occurred- forever altering me for the better.

I have made it no secret that traversing the world with my offspring in tow was terrifying for the first year of his life. Anxiety gripped me inflexibly. I succumbed to the terror it filled me with- I did not challenge it often to venture outside our home without reinforcements. And then, suddenly, there were none. I had no idea at the time how much I would come to appreciate this particular hardship. You see, Moose and I had to band together. Learn how to navigate the things that overwhelmed us as a team. I made the choice to face my demons head on- to become a better version of myself for him. Over time, I learned how to step away before acquiescing to the emotions threatening to engulf my sanity- regulating myself before I spoke. Setting boundaries. And probably a million tiny other emotional milestones in between. These were intentional and magnificently important to me. While I focused on my therapy and parenting philosophies, something else was happening. Moose was teaching me.

In so many ways, the early years of the After Times™ was mostly a mindset of survival. My limbs moving swiftly below the surface, never resting, working tirelessly to keep my head above water- which allowed the remainder of my focus to rest solely on my offspring. The delightful duo we had become. I didn’t have the spoons left to worry about what the rest of the world thought as I sat in the middle of a lobby floor or grocery store line extracting soul restoring giggles from my tiny human- this miracle that my body somehow created.

Over the years, he and I encouraged each other to grow into ourselves. To laugh with our whole bodies. Explore our fleeting special interests. Adorn ourselves with whatever accoutrement felt right. Allow the judgement of the outside world to blur in the periphery as we found our joy.

As it turns out, the more I embraced the more eccentric parts of me, the more I found my people. The ones that not only supported the various facets of me- but encouraged them. That place wasn’t so elusive after all.

The last statement is a lovely place to end. I could wrap this up and leave on a uplifting note- continuing my circumvention. I won’t lie, I thought about it. Alas, we forge on.

I have an urge to over explain. To provide unnecessary stops on the timeline. I am not sure if this is a delay tactic or an intrinsic need to provide all possible information for a given subject. Probably, a mixture of the two. Balls. I shall resist said urge. Here we go.

About six months ago, Moose’s father requested I have him evaluated for Autism. On the outside, I calmly listened to his reasoning and assured him I would take the next steps. Internally I was aghast. Offended even. Defensive on behalf of our amazing child. I handled these feelings of discomfort the same as I do all others- I cloaked myself in investigation. Descending into the depth of research papers, neurological studies, and any other information I could unearth.

What I found was unequivocal evidence that my son was neurodivergent. The subsequent pediatric appointments, referrals, and evaluations supported this information. Once I received the report that my startlingly intelligent, extravagantly empathetic child is Autistic and ADHD, it was almost anticlimactic. I had engrossed myself in a magnitude of research at that point, I was confident of what the report would say. Though there is comfort in the detailed report confirming my months of meticulous research.

Learning of my son’s neurodivergence was not difficult. It wasn’t scary. It had no bearing on my opinion or knowledge of the extraordinary person he is- no alteration to the betterment his presence is to our lives. No, the struggle was that of my own feeling of inadequacy. That fortuitous drop-off, when my ex-husband pulled me outside to request an evaluation, that bristly emotion that ran up my spine was not in defense of the jubilant human that bounded on the opposite side of the door. It was my inefficiency as a parent. I am the primary parent. I missed it.

I still wrestle with the ugly sense of deficiency- thinking that had I known to get him evaluated sooner, I could have equipped him with coping strategies sooner. Helped him more. Been a better mother.

I rely on doing the right steps. Respecting rules. Following instructions. In all aspects of my life. Motherhood has been no exception- I don’t miss wellness exams, I researched milestones and best practices. So, this whole experience felt sudden and unexpected- he had met all milestones. “Passed” all pediatric questionnaires. He was my mini me. What had I missed?!

And here is where we journey into uncomfortable (for me) territory. Had his father never requested we embark on this journey, I would never have thought to. Because, he is just like me. Let that sink in for a moment. I’ve had six months with it. Oftentimes, autism is genetic. In our case, it is highly probable. I do not say it with certainty because in my case, I am only armed with reams of research and a clear example in the brown eyed progeny I share a home with. Reading his report was like perusing a write up of my own brain and experiences. Accessing an evaluation as an adult woman is not the easiest- or inexpensive– feat on the planet. And I am a person that does not say things with utmost certainty until I have it- so my current reality is that I am most likely autistic.

It’s been a wild journey- autism has become my new hyper focus. I research it incessantly. Learning more about myself and how to help my kiddo regularly. Better understanding how my brain works, allowing me to communicate my needs more clearly to my husband- whom has been an exceptional sounding board on this unexpected ride.

I think the biggest reckoning working diligently to take place in my brain is the realization that I am not a failure. That a lot of my struggles over the years have not been due to a cataclysmic dysfunction of my fortitude or ability- but a lack of proper understanding of my brain composition. Autism in women is vastly underdiagnosed– particularly from my generation and earlier. We just didn’t know what we know now.

Here is something I do know- something that a descriptor of neurological brain type doesn’t alter in the slightest- over the last seven years I have cultivated a cocoon of people that celebrate me. The woman that laughs loud- and wears weird sweaters that are even louder at times. I often feel confused and that I was ‘built wrong’. That I am missing a set of instructions and wander into detrimental mistakes due to that lack of programming. It can be isolating and bewildering. But the people that have chosen to surround me, remind me what grace looks like. Acceptance. Love. And growing up watching that profound, unconditional appreciation has allowed my child the freedom of growing up in a world where he knows in his soul who he is- and that who is he is wonderful. For that, I am profoundly grateful.