Unveiling Ignorance: The Other A-word. Chapter 1

Sometimes ignorance isn't bliss. Sometimes ignorance is just......ignorance. It was almost a year ago that we walked into a tiny room with life as we knew it (parents of a frustrated, speech delayed, extremely shy boy who needed lots of re-assurance), and walked out with a diagnosis that would change our lives forever (parents of a child on the Autism Spectrum). 

My perception based on limited past experiences with this disorder was lined with grim thoughts, and it was most definitely something that could never happen to my own child. To me, autism was a dirty word. It was life behind invisible bars without parole. It was scary, intimidating, overwhelming (which, ironically, is probably how Dillon was feeling about life every day in general). I didn't handle the news gracefully. I was rude to the messenger, and to be completely honest, it's because I was angry. Angry and fearful and sad.

I was angry that I felt judged when they asked why we hadn't had Dillon evaluation sooner. I was angry that I had to listen to a woman label all of my son's short comings, and overlook all his amazing qualities. I was angry that I felt like she made some things up, and twisted other things into something negative instead of just quirky. I was angry at myself for not biting the bullet and scheduling an evaluation sooner.

I was fearful that my son would be robbed of experiencing what I considered a "normal childhood". I was fearful for what this might mean for his long term future. I was fearful that this would be a label that haunted him forever with stigma's and associations.

I was sad that my hopes of Dillon "outgrowing this stage" were completely shattered. I was sad that his frustrations with life were stemmed out of being misunderstood and that this might be the case his entire life. I was sad to think that my boy, my sweet cuddly handsome boy, would struggle with things beyond what neuro-typical children already struggle with. I was sad that so often, my boy was sad.....or mad......or confused.

I was also motivated. Motivated to make his life and his future better. While trying to process my feelings, I also knew my boy (not even 3 years old yet) needed me to pull my head above water and teach him how to swim. But what the hell did I know about autism and how to raise a child with a neurological disorder, communication impairment, and social interaction challenges?? Nothing. I basically knew nothing. I was ignorant to my own son's learning needs and it was anything but bliss. It takes a lot of guts to admit that, by the way. We all want to think we know how to raise our children, that our gut will lead us in the right direction, but sometimes our gut should stick to things like digesting pizza, and being the best parent means putting our ego's aside to listen and read and seek and watch and learn from our own and other people's mistakes and be moldable.

Despite my inadequacies, the two things I knew I was still good at was loving Dillon unconditionally, and utilizing my resources to seek help. This is how our new chapter in life began.