Hi. I hope you don’t mind me coming over, but I noticed you from across the room and knew I had to come over and introduce myself. We’re part of the same team, you and I. We’re both parenting children with special needs.
I don’t know what your morning looked like, but I’m going to take a guess. Did it happen to involve a breakfast made much more complicated than it ought to be because of diet restrictions or sensory issues or a feeding tube? How about getting that kiddo dressed? A meltdown over the seam in the socks, or lifting 50 pounds of unsupported weight in one arm while maneuvering hypotonic limbs into unforgiving pants? I’m guessing the car ride was fraught with some sort of peril or another. My personal circle of Dante’s Special Needs Inferno is the fact that my son can basically tie every single knot an Eagle Scout knows in his car seat straps. Don’t ask me how he does it. I have no idea.
And then you got here and yeah… pretty much any social situation is essentially a mine field, isn’t it? Let’s not even think about the germs circulating around here and all the really sweet folks who decided to show up today even though their kid spent last night puking. No. You and I both know that’s pedestrian stuff. We’re more worried about whether or not there are food options that are gluten-free, dairy-free, dye-free, and sugar-free. Will the music be too loud? Are the toilets self-flush (please say no)?We’re caught up in trying to make sure our kid doesn’t strip naked and drop to the floor, writhing, or have a seizure, or lick a little girl’s tulle skirt because it looks… edible? We’re wondering if anyone else’s six year-old is in pull-ups, or if our kid is going to be able to play the games with everyone else since he’s non-verbal. We’re worried about seeing if we can get five minutes of actual, real, adult conversation while still maintaining that essential 24/7 line of sight surveillance.
I see you.
I see you doing all of these calculations in your head, and wondering if you’re getting this special needs thing right. At the same time, I see you guiding your child with a real, raw, and very present love that tells me that no matter what the voices of doubt are saying in your head, they’re wrong; you’re doing just fine.
I see you looking around and asking yourself if anyone here gets it. If anyone is safe enough to share your story with, if anyone even cares.
I see you. I’m safe. I care.
So, hi, again. I’m Heather. It’s truly an honor to meet you.