Something that has always been very important to me as I walk this path of parenting a child with autism is that I want to be authentic about what we experience. That means being willing to sometimes tell the hard stories, because the hard stories are still our stories, and there is no shame in them. Shedding light on the experience without embarrassment is part of acceptance. If I am going to ask for acceptance from others, I have to require it of myself.
But Cheeks’ communication difficulties means that he can’t always tell me what’s OK with him to share. I always tell him what I’m writing about, because I know he understands me. But we can’t have long, thoughtful conversations about what it means to have an internet presence, or whether he feels comfortable with people knowing some of his behavior. I can only assume that an 11 year old boy would want his mom to edit herself carefully about what she writes on a blog like this. Being respectful of him is one of the highest values I hold.
Unfortunately those two priorities are sometimes in direct opposition to one another. I want to share our difficulties, of which there are many, but I also want to protect my son’s privacy. In those moments, protecting my son wins. Every time.
Because of that, as you read this blog, you may sometimes be left with the impression that living with autism is easier than it is; filled with victories and discoveries, and peppered with amusingly awkward social situations. It can often be those things.
It can also be indescribably stressful. One study done by the National Institutes of Health measured cortisol levels of autism mothers, and found it to be present in levels comparable to that of combat soldiers, holocaust survivors, and parents of kids diagnosed with cancer. (Cortisol is a hormone released in the brain during acutely stressful events.) At any given time, autism parents may be thinking about our child’s self-injurious behavior (estimated to occur in 50% of individuals with autism), elopement (~54% of people with autism), interaction with law enforcement, seizures (possibly as high as 38% of people with autism), inappropriate trust of strangers, lack of personal safety awareness, inability to verbally communicate a name or phone number if lost, bullying (3x more common against autistic kids than their neurotypical peers), and more. Don’t even get me started on the many ways we have to fight for our kids to simply be offered the same opportunities in schools and communities as their typical peers, and the judgmental stares and comments from strangers about what they observe in us.
I’m not complaining, because I love Cheeks more than anything, and autism is part of who he is. But I am explaining that what you see here is not the whole picture, and with good reason. When the day comes that Cheeks has a fluency level to communicate his own story, I will help him with that any way I can.
For now, think of us as an iceberg, and I’m only able to show you the part that sticks out above the water. I hope you understand why that is, and that you always know there is more to our story. For us, “keeping it real” doesn’t mean full disclosure, it means remaining true to our values.
Cheeks and I still welcome your questions about him, our family, or our experience with autism. Even if we choose not to be completely transparent in our answer, we’d rather you ask than wonder.