A Mother’s Love

One of the hardest things about being a parent with anxiety is concealing that anxiety for the benefit of your anxious son.  The past few months have been difficult.  I’ve become obsessed with the possibility that something is wrong with him.  Does he have autism?  Does he have ADHD?  Does he have selective mutism?  Is he just a developing young boy who needs time to adjust and be a kid?  I don’t know.  The not knowing is making me crazy.

Every day that I pick him up from school I have to deal with his teachers telling me that it was another rough day.  He ran from them.  He didn’t engage with other children.  He didn’t listen.  He acted out.  I don’t know what to say to them anymore.  I have no idea what to do.  As much as I hate that they have to deal with his misbehavior… I hate even more that this could be due to anxiety or some other condition and none of us know how to deal with it.  I never want my son to feel anxious.  I don’t want him to act out because he doesn’t know how to express himself. I have such an ache in my heart for him.

Today I put him in his carseat and I kissed his cheeks.  I stared into his beautiful blue eyes and I tried so hard to read them.  I felt myself pleading with him telepathically almost.  I tried to feel what he was feeling.  I wanted to know so badly.  “how was your day love?”  “fine and good.”  Sigh.   I never get a direct answer. I just love him so much.   I want to fix anything and everything for him.

I know he knows something is up.  I’ve tried so hard to get him to talk to other kids.  I’ve scolded him about listening and not touching other children.  I’ve tried so hard to help him… and maybe I’ve done too much.  I know he’s heard me talking about it.  He’s seen me cry.  I know he knows more than we give him credit for.  I feel so guilty.  Each day I struggle with letting my emotions show too much in front of him.  I am desperately trying to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself.  It is so hard.

Why isn’t a mother’s love enough?  It is the strongest emotion I feel.  I feel like it has the strength to fix any problem.  How can it possess so much power yet still not make everything perfect?  No matter what I hope he knows that I love him yesterday, today and forever and ever and ever.  I would do anything for that child.  I will do anything for him.  I don’t want him to suffer… ever.  I’m always here to help him.  I think I’m telling this blog because I don’t know that he understands when I tell him.  I can only hope he does.

If you pray, pray for me and my family.  My head and my heart need the love and support.

 

 

He is perfect.

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Last week I took my son to a local organization for a screening of his behavioral issues.  We were to tell him it was a fun special school where he would go play games.  He was excited to go and he did really well– at least in my opinion.  He hopped on one leg and balanced, did vision and hearing tests, identified objects, drew a circle and scribbled other things, answered questions, etc.  I watched my sweet boy having so much fun and a single tear fell down my cheek.  Then another and another.  I felt silly… but I loved watching him be happy.  I also felt so sad because I knew they were just observing him to see if he had developmental delays.

Long story shot, they think he shows signs of being on the autism spectrum.  He has to go for another long observation.  I heard the words come out of the PhD, whatever his official title is  and couldn’t breathe.  I felt such anger.  I was mad at him for labeling my son.  I was mad at him for thinking anything was different about him.  I was mad at him for saying that social skills could be challenging for him.  I was just mad.  My son was and is perfect.  As soon as he said the words I felt the same way I’d felt nearly 11 years before when my friend called to tell me that one of my best friends had passed unexpectedly.  I threw the phone in anger.  I couldn’t bear to hear another word.  The words seared my face.  Then the tears took over.  I thought about that because I was feeling the exact same way — but no one had died.

Thinking about it…I realized that something did die.  The plans I had for my son.  The ones I made when I delivered him.  These words… autism spectrum… suddenly meant that my son couldn’t have everything I wanted for him …or be who I imagined he would be.  I started to grieve.  I was so sad.  I had a panic attack in front of the observers and excused myself to the bathroom.  I felt so much pain.

I’ve thought about this every second since that day and in my gut, I still don’t feel like he has autism.  I don’t think I’m in denial.  I can see there are certainly things that stand out as interesting.  He can talk to adults but isn’t great at talking to other children.  He hand flaps.  He’s smart.  My husband thinks he has selective mutism.  I have no idea if he does or doesn’t.  I know that social anxiety and generalized anxiety are VERY prominent in my family.  My father never talked to other children when he was a child.  When he did start talking he stuttered.  So the biological component is there.

No matter what happens, I love him so much and feel so blessed to have him exactly as he is.  He is healthy… he is happy. He loves school.  He loves us.  He loves his sister.  He loves to sing and make up stories.  He loves playing outside and loves his extended family.   He is so incredibly precious.  I feel almost guilty for having the emotional reaction that I had.   I am not perfect.  I react to things like anyone else and then I have to step back and think about them.  After this week I know this…

I know my kid.  He is the epitome of love.  He is hilarious.  He is precious.  Every single day that I’ve been his mom has been a day better than all of the days before it.  He is perfect whether he is on the spectrum or not.