Tomorrow is a New Day, but the Struggles Remain
Our house is dead silent.
It’s the middle of the day and everyone is sleeping.
Not just because it’s nap time, but because our entire family has to decompress from what just happened.
The hour-long meltdown that just occurred on the drive home.
This always happens. We can’t go anywhere anymore, without a meltdown on the way home.
Even when I give warnings before it’s time to leave.
It doesn’t matter if I warn him 5 minutes before or 5 times for 30 minutes.
There will always be a meltdown.
But this started way before we had to leave.
It began the moment we got to our destination.
The attitude, the back talk, the impulsivity.
Who knows why? I never know why.
I couldn’t give warnings this time. We had to go immediately.
We always have to leave early and on the spot.
Our time with other people usually ends abruptly.
In the car the inevitable started.
The uncontrollable screaming, kicking, yelling, anger. The inability to voice what he actually needs despite knowing how to talk.
The disconnection is heartbreaking.
This makes my other kid start wailing, because he can’t handle it: the noise, the tension, the yelling. Pretty soon he’s louder and more inconsolable than the first kid.
This is our Autism.
It’s different for each kid.
One is screaming because he doesn’t get his way. He doesn’t understand how to act in social situations. And then he can’t control his emotions so in the end he can’t stop.
The other is upset, because he’s very empathetic and doesn’t like when his brother is crying. He also has sensory processing disorder, so he can’t manage the noise or the intensity of the situation.
As a parent there’s nothing I can do. I feel helpless and hopeless in these situations.
I can only ride it out.
I can’t talk them down. It doesn’t work.
It doesn’t matter if I whisper or raise my voice, it always makes matters worse.
I just have to be quiet and stare at the road in front of me.
I remember when they were babies, my voice alone was enough to calm them down.
That doesn’t happen anymore.
I could feel the silent tears running down my face. I have to cry quietly to not upset anyone even more.
Not being able to help my children is the worst thing about motherhood.
Watching them feels like something else is taking over their body and emotions.
And that’s the hardest thing about Autism.
I just have to wait until it stops, which is usually not until we reach our destination.
At home it’s quiet. The meltdown is over. The only noise comes from the popcorn I’m stress eating. I’m not hungry. It’s how I deal with things.
When they wake up it’ll all be forgotten. Literally forgotten.
It’s almost like they have no idea what went on.
But I’m sure it’ll happen again soon.
Tomorrow may be a new day, but the meltdowns remain the same.
Written by, Kate Anderson
Hi, I’m Kate Anderson. I live in Colorado with my husband and three kids. You can follow my blog at thisspecialjourney.com or find me on Facebook at This Special Journey or Instagram This Special Journey
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