Last time I wrote to you, darlings, about your bravery, the bravery it takes to raise a child in a world not made for them. As I sit here typing, just last night I had to slowly convince my child that Crest only changed the character on his toothpaste, not the flavor. “Why,” my second born often asks, “is the world being so difficult?!” I like to think he reminds us that the world can be both a beautiful and an uncomfortable place. He is a wise child who also has his hill to climb.
It is not easy raising a child. Period, full stop. I’m certain in years past I’ve written about this to you. The pain of not knowing what to do and who you can trust to help your child borders on agony. It is a pain I know too well, both in my own life and sitting next to every unsung hero.
Years ago when I started the practice, I met a little boy who at age six still could not communicate and so he bit his finger for everything – excited, angry, hungry. “Hey Mom, look! I feel something,” he said. As I sat next to his mama working on new ways to communicate, she asked me how to take her child to the park. “He loves the swings, but I can’t stand the stares.” Gently I squeezed her hand and shared that we would then have to change the views of others at the park, not her child’s love of the swings. The world was perfect to him; it was time for the world to meet him where he was at.
This is quite easier said than done. Most of us desire the world to be a loving and kind place. If I didn’t believe this, I don’t know that I could go on seeing what I have seen and living what I have lived. I have hope daily for a world that stands beside all beings as equal. And I have learned the hard way that on life’s journey not everyone is where you are on your path. Not everyone understands what you or your child need. And if they are further behind on their journey towards a loving world, they may in fact make your journey more difficult, your journey and your child’s journey, that is.
A Path for Change
I often imagine myself on a wooded path holding my children’s hands. We are walking through a grove of trees into a meadow of light. In the meadow is a space for us where we are free of all that binds. In the meadow we are real and equal. In the meadow we lay side by side with those who have made this journey before, the journey to live our truths with a strong back and soft front. Behind us in the woods are all the paths we have taken and people who have diverted us along the way.
The truth that I am speaking about is knowing in your bones what you and your child need. In knowing that truth you do not pretend not to know it (Glennon Doyle). And you sacredly present that truth battle after battle until you are no longer wielding the sword alone but walking alongside your sisters.
I know what it is like to be doubted and to scream for what you need. I know that screaming isn’t well received. I know what it is to like to tell the truth and for people you have entrusted your child with to turn a blind eye. They aren’t there yet on the journey to see the truth. And I have learned that silence often goes much farther than screams. I have learned to turn away from those who are not ready to see the truth in front of them and continue walking towards those who hold the truth between their hands. Ready to see it, to honor it, and to lift all beings towards freedom.
Becoming Truth Tellers
My children and I read a book called The Sad Little Fact. It is a children’s story about how truth can be buried but that in the end the truth is always available for those who choose to see it. And you, mamas? You know your child’s truth. I believe you.
This is the work. To close out the noise of the outside world, to tune into your knowing, and to push aside anything and anyone who doesn’t support your (and your child’s) right to thrive. To build a table of trust so that you are not walking this journey alone and instead are sitting with your honored companions basked in love and support. We all need this. We all deserve this.
I used to believe that you could trust everyone. My young heart couldn’t see anything but love – the forever hopeful romantic. As time has walked me further on my journey I have learned that trust is earned and that you get to decide who sits at your table. If you and your child have needs above the status quo (and don’t we all), getting those needs met should lift your burden, not create a new one.
Honored to be at Your Table
At my company we do not take lightly that you have invited us to your table. Your autistic child needs a team, you need a shoulder, and we are beyond grateful to be here. We are not perfect, and yet we are real. We are a team of BCBAs who have led this company together for almost 15 years holding countless hands and saying time and time again, “Mama, I believe you.” The world often isn’t built for those who are different. That means we have a long way to go to bring others to the meadow where all beings are free to be who they are.
Long ago, our first client at IABA loved the wind. You couldn’t talk to him when the wind was blowing because it was too beautiful to interrupt. We didn’t change his love or ask him to stop. We asked his world to listen to the wind. As you build your table of trust to support your child, settle for nothing less than those who see your child and their needs as equal, as real.
Xoxo,
Jessie Cooper