There’s a small moment from years ago that has always stuck with me. Even now, it makes me feel sad and a little guilty. But I also think it perfectly captures where I was in my journey through motherhood at the time.
My husband and I had taken our kids—our son, about five, and our daughter, around two—to a playground. I never did outings like this alone because my son, who is autistic, would elope (run off) often. The second he took off, someone had to be ready to chase after him before he reached a street, a pond, or another dangerous place.
By the time we even arrived, I was already exhausted.
Everything was hard. Getting both kids dressed, getting in the car, getting out of the car safely. I was constantly on edge, trying to keep my son regulated while also pushing him—gently—to experience new things and just the regular things. I had to strike this impossible balance of not overwhelming him but also not shielding him too much.
That day at the playground, there was a rare moment of peace. Both kids were playing in their own ways on the equipment. My husband and I stood close, always on alert, ready to intervene if needed. But, for once, nothing had gone wrong. No eloping, no screaming.
A mom with kids around the same ages as mine stood next to me. I gave her that awkward, polite “we’re both here with our kids” kind of smile. She smiled back and said something I’ll never forget:
“They are so cute. Isn’t this life just the best?”
I forced a smile. “So cute,” I said. And that was it.
But inside, I remember thinking, This is not the best. My life is exhausting.
I wanted to tell her that this calm moment was an exception, not the norm. That I spent most of my time anxious, worried, and terrified for the future. That I felt isolated, overwhelmed, and heartbroken. That I wasn’t happy.
Looking back, I feel sad—and guilty—that I felt that way. But the truth is, life was hard. Parenting was hard. Autism was hard.
I wish I could go back and tell that version of myself that it was okay to feel that way. That the exhaustion, the fear, and the isolation didn’t mean I was failing. It just meant I was carrying more than most. And maybe, if I had let myself say it out loud, I would have felt a little less alone.
The post A Moment That Stayed With Me: Motherhood and Autism appeared first on Finding Cooper's Voice | Welcome to the Secret World of Autism.
