Gratitude

I am currently sitting in the dark, crying. That sounds a lot more dramatic than the reality- but it sure is a great hook. I am inhabiting the shadows, nestled in a rocking chair, watching my child drift off to sleep- my presence a comfort to his nervous system. An honor I take for granted at times. One which the inverse is also true- his proximity is a balm to mine.

Typically, during this time spent in the darkness, I read on my kindle. The gentle illumination allowing me to nourish my love of books while also forcing myself to abstain from doom scrolling. On nights like tonight, I don’t have the spoons to focus on a book- no matter how riveting it is. So I give in to my lesser demons and open social media.

The land of the internet is a fickle place. It was once filled with photographs of food cloaked in interesting filters. It was a place where I saw lovely updates from individuals I adore. That aspect of the arena hasn’t disappeared- however it is diluted by anger, fear, and judgement. It often makes my heart heavy. I am weary. I miss a world that had less division- hadn’t yet succumbed to fear mongering and click bait.

There are so many things that tear at my soul. One of the most egregious is the rhetoric surrounding autism. I refrain from engaging in any sort of commentary on current events. In an odd way, it is my rebellion. My actions reflecting my staunch belief that social media was its best self when it was merely personal updates and fluffy creatures. However, reading quotes from official speeches about autism ruining families- thus by extension myself and my son ruining my family– cracks something inside me. The declaration that my existence needs to be cured. Purged. It breaks me.

As a late diagnosed person, I have spent the majority of my life feeling isolated. Misunderstood. Mischaracterized. Feeling as if I didn’t belong. Believing I was built wrong. I often prayed (and worked tirelessly in therapy for decades) to be someone else. Anyone else. For the comments made about me- the judgements- etched into my sense of self worth- my self image. I just wanted to be ‘correct’. To be worthy of the love and acceptance that others seemed to get. To be part of the world I felt I merely witnessed as an observer.

Even as I began the process of shedding the weight of expectation- a gift my son bestowed upon me without his knowledge- I wasn’t sure anyone would love me. See me. Accept me. Rejoice in me. Thankfully, embracing who I am rather than struggling to fit a mold, allowed me to meet the people that do love me- see me- rejoice in me. On many days, it’s still terribly difficult to navigate. To release the self judgement. To understand that my brain is built differently- not wrong. That I see the world from a unique perspective. The way I see the world enhances my life and those that love me.

These feelings- the isolation, the fear, the loathing- they aren’t specific to me. I witness these same emotions in others on a similar journey. A video of which I stumbled upon in my nocturnal ambling through the Instagram wilderness. I thought this video may bring a feeling a connection- or validation. Surprisingly, it brought astounding gratitude. Overwhelmed with the joy of being my son’s mother. Knowing he won’t have to begin a journey of learning to understand his brain in his late thirties. He won’t struggle with acceptance of how he experiences the world. For he is developing in a home that understands his brain. His struggles and his strengths. A home that meets him where he is. He loves himself. He has a confidence I will envy until I no longer exist on this plane. He’s so damn amazing- and he gets to flourish in that, instead of attempting to hide it. Be ashamed of it.

The world will provide its own traumas for him. And perhaps I will give him one or two before he’s an adult. I know I am imperfect as a human and a parent. But he will have this bedrock to lean on. He will know he is loved. He will know exactly who he is. He will know that he brightens my world- and so many others. I am so grateful to be his mother. To have the ability to provide a safe place for him to land. To knit an invisible armor around him in order for him to withstand the cruelty the world can provide at times.

Selfishly, through the process of raising him- I am teaching myself. My words to him echoing within my own broken pieces- attempting to replace the etchings given to me previously. The lessons bestowed upon him allowing me to see the love in our home does not merely extend to him, but to me as well. The safety of our home not only encouraging his development- but also allowing me to bask in my own eccentricities.

There are still a lot of places I don’t feel part of. A lot of unlearning I am still working on. Language I am practicing to advocate for myself. Concurrently- I also have a beautiful network that I fully belong to. Most notably- I have a safe place to land. A home. A family. An environment I yearned for but never believed I could have. And the child I share this darkened room with while I pen this essay- he slumbers in a world where he doesn’t know the inverse. He only knows love. He only knows acceptance. He only knows belonging.

The internet- and the greater political stratosphere- can be merciless. But within these walls, we are safe. Celebrated. Supported. Loved. And for that, I will never fully ascertain the words to detail my gratitude. In this moment, tears will fill the void and communicate on my behalf.