Grateful

Dear Addie,

Nobody warns you about that moment when you suddenly feel like you can breathe. When a life that felt like standing in quicksand at far too many turns somehow starts to feel lighter.

Allow me to explain.

You see, Addie, when I was younger and envisioned my future, nowhere in it did I see a life that included special needs. Not because I imagined some extraordinary version of perfection, it simply wasn’t part of the picture.

Fast forward to the day you were born. Along with all the immense joy we felt, there was also a quiet feeling in the back of our minds that some things seemed different from your siblings. Later, those suspicions would be confirmed, and our journey was officially set.

It’s a journey that often feels like there’s no map, no lights, and somehow is filled with people who have never stepped foot on the path trying to give you directions, or tell you why you’re even headed this way. It’s a lot. It can feel incredibly isolating because you start to believe no one truly understands.

The ticket we were given was for a party of five, and it shaped all of us into the people we are today. For better or worse, that is the truth. We may not have a clear path, but we have each other, and that is enough. One team, one dream... right? I mean, it is, right?

Not everything was quicksand. Sure, the first five years, when language wasn’t there and communication was minimal, brought challenges we never expected. In your case, many of those challenges came from trying to communicate your auditory sensitivities. We also had a very difficult experience with the all-too-encouraged ABA therapy, which led to PTSD and regression in toileting skills. It took years for us to realize that not all ABA is the same and even longer to trust again. Not to mention to unbelievable lack of sleep...I'm still convinced there's some Truman Show happening to see just how much sleep do you actually need to function, but I digress. 

But in between all the chaos were smiles. And my goodness, girl, you had, and still have, the most infectious smile. Even now, in this unfortunate illness era, there has never been any mistaking your joy. It shines through everything.

Now, I can’t speak for every autism family, but for us, there were, and still are, times when it all feels entirely isolating. You crave moments of camaraderie, moments when someone outside your home truly understands. Friendships that existed before the journey began start to change because your life takes on a different shape. Over time, though, you meet others walking a similar path who have felt many of the same things. Those connections are incredibly important, at least in my opinion.

The thing is, Addie, no one tells you that those quicksand moments will pass. You won’t escape new challenges as life continues to evolve, but there will be people who were once strangers and somehow become part of your story. People who make it feel as though your paths crossing was always meant to happen. Suddenly, in what once felt like an introverted and lonely world, you find yourself surrounded by a tribe, a dream team of people who choose to walk this path beside us, with us, helping pull us out of the sand when we need it most.

Addie, I started writing you these letters ten years ago this month, during a time when I felt utterly alone and abandoned by society norms. What I didn’t know then was that nobody warns you about that moment when you suddenly feel like you can breathe. When a life that felt like standing in quicksand at far too many turns somehow starts to feel lighter. And it wasn’t only because of the growth we would all experience on this uncertain path. It was also because of strangers (therapist, teachers, neighbors…) who were somehow destined to walk it too. Strangers who would gladly be in your dream team starting line up.

At this very moment in our journey, I am incredibly grateful for those who chose to walk with us. Because sometimes the greatest gift isn't finding the path…it’s finding the people willing to travel it beside you.

Love,

Mom