I haven’t been writing as much about my son and his special needs. There are a lot of reasons for that. Part of it is because as he grows older I have come to realize that it is his story to tell and he deserves to have that right to share when and if he pleases.
At the same time, I have a story too, and I think it’s important to share my story and be honest about what it is like raising a child with special needs. This story hasn’t ended even though I share less about it. This story is part of who I am now.
The end of May marked the end of school for my children and they are out for the summer. Their Dad and I both work so they are home alone and are probably loving that we aren’t there making them get up before noon as they are teenagers now.
About seven years ago, we started using doorknobs with key pads. At that time our son was really struggling. It was for safety so that when things got out of control his sister and I could escape to a room to be safe. We also use them on our pantry because he cannot control his eating. He has access to plenty of food, but having a place he cannot get into ensures there’s some food left over for the rest of us. These doorknobs have worked REALLY well for us.
As I said, my children are home for the summer, and my daughter didn’t want to get out of bed yet and get the Cheerios out of the pantry that my son wanted for breakfast. So she told him the code.
SHE TOLD HIM THE CODE!
We started using these doorknobs when the doctors were telling us to send our daughter to live with someone else so she would be safe. During a time when she was thrown into a coffee table with glass that broke and had bruising all over her torso. During a time I had to go have X-rays to ensure my back was okay after being kicked right after back surgery.
This has not been our story for the last couple of years. He’s much calmer and more in control. Food is still very much an issue, but safety is less so at this time.
But what I didn’t realize is the psychological comfort those doorknobs provided me, knowing there were places he couldn’t get to, where we could be safe. This loss has triggered my anxiety big time. It really caught me off guard. Add to that, it was during a time when my husband was out of town, the one person who could control our son when he got out of hand.
I DID NOT FEEL SAFE.
Nothing in my son’s manner caused this. He was doing his usual things and not being threatening in any way. But this was my response to the situation.
Because of trauma.
My trauma response was to immediately feel threatened. For my anxiety to spiral out of control quickly.
This is my story. My response. It isn’t wrong or right, it just is.
Knowing this, I can name my reaction for what it is. I can understand that my reaction is a normal reaction due to my experiences.
I give myself grace.
That being said, it’s also okay to know that I might have to take more of my emergency meds for a while. That things that normally don’t trigger me anymore may start triggering me again. It’s something I have to work through. Whether we get new doorknobs that he doesn’t know the code to, or I learn to let go and breathe, or something else. I will work through this.
This is my story and I choose to tell it.
