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My Son’s Not Graduating This Year, Be Gentle

The journey of a special needs parent is both stunningly beautiful and utterly heartbreaking. Often with one coming closely on the heels of the other or at the same time.

I have made my peace that our parenting journey doesn’t look like everyone else’s.

But it doesn’t mean this year is an easy one.

Be gentle with me.

This year my son should be in his senior year of high school with senior pictures, parties, and all the fun senior things to look forward to. It should be a year of celebration.

But our year isn’t going to look like that. Be gentle with me.

Instead, he started 10th grade over again because he didn’t quite have enough credits last year completed to finish it. He was already behind, but he was one point away from being able to pass his Pre-Algebra class after taking the class for the 4th time. The good news is that we switched tutors to one who specializes in learning difficulties and after taking it for a 5th time, he passed with an A.

We tried to get him a summer job last summer to start edging him into the adult world. But that didn’t happen between state funding being cut so they couldn’t do the job placement program we had been working toward, and mom only having spare minutes here and there to help him learn how to fill out applications. He got a call back from one, but when he called them and spoke to them, they brushed him off.

I have learned that I need to work at his pace, and his pace isn’t being a graduating senior this year. The fact that he has made it this far despite literally sleeping through his entire middle school experience is honestly a miracle.

But it doesn’t mean that I won’t be grieving what could have been this year.

Be gentle with me.

When I see the senior pictures, when I see the graduation invitations, my heart is going to hurt. He won’t be leaving for college in the fall or getting his first apartment.

Be gentle with me.

I’ll be over here cheering him on. Cheering that he FINALLY passed his pre-algebra class. Cheering because he finally had a semester where he passed every single class! Cheering he made it to 11th grade mid-year. Cheering that if he continues he should (fingers crossed) graduate next year.

Our journey isn’t the typical one, but it will make the celebration all the sweeter once it gets here.

*This previously appeared on Her View From Home.

Will It Be My Fault?

I sometimes think back to the early years of my kids lives. They were born in 2006 and 2007. Until 2015 I dealt with debilitating back pain. In 2013 I had my first back surgery which didn’t work. In 2015 I had my second surgery and almost 8 years later I’m still doing well.

But those early years meant a lot of mom laying on the couch or bed, trips to doctors, emergency rooms, and chiropractors. When we were preparing for my second surgery my daughter was terrified what would happen to her and her brother. She remembered that after the first surgery I couldn’t do much. Who was going to take care of them? Who was going to feed them?

As I remembered this today, it struck me that my husband and my roles are reversed now. He is frequently in hospital, or at doctors when I can drag him there (men!)., in bed and not feeling well. Now they worry about him.

Who is going to be there for them when he cannot?

Parents are central to a child’s survival and psyche. It is from them a lot of our self talk comes from. It is from them often we learn to rely a lot on others or be very independent.

I worry that because of all the physical pain I was dealing with, which in turn greatly affected my mental health, I was not enough. Add to that dealing with other people in the family’s mental health and the strain it put on me.

Did I raise children who will sit on a therapist’s couch one day because their mother ruined them? Because she wasn’t emotionally or physically available?

As they are teenagers now, I wonder through these years of their hating me one minute and breaking down to tell you they love you the next. Did I fill their needs? They were fed and clothed.

Be Brave, Give A Second Chance

“Sometimes, letting your guard back down and giving someone another chance is one of the best decisions you could make.”
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We Have Trauma Too

A friend’s child is in the hospital right now due to a heart condition. As I visited for a moment with her, I was brought back to all those times my child was in the hospital. How hard that is. There are so many maybes, and what if’s, and no guarantees. A mother’s worst nightmare.

This is a nightmare those of us in the special needs community are all too familiar with.

Mental health practitioners are recognizing more and more how medical trauma affects the children being treated. But what I don’t hear about is the vicarious medical trauma that parents suffer, and a light needs to be shown on it. Because it is real, and it is important.

An acquaintance recently posted about how she was having issues with her pregnancy and was being kept at the hospital for a while. But it was bringing back so many memories, triggering so much trauma from when her three year old was being treated for cancer and then later died.

In my work as a social work case manager, I remind parents daily about self care. I remind them how important it is to take care of themselves, I recommend that they seek therapy and healing.

So I’m going to remind you today too. The trauma you have experienced as you have shepherded your children through these illnesses and disabilities? It’s real. Don’t question it. Invest the time in yourself and your care. Seek out therapy, a listening year of a friend. Practice good self care. Your children depend on it.

But even more importantly, so do you.

Will My Kids Say I Was Enough?

“Did I fill their needs? They were fed and clothed.

Did they know they were loved? I tried to spend quality time with them.

Was it enough?”

Earthquake Preparedness: What You Need to Know

” It is just the three of us in the office in the quiet, cold, morning. I go back to my emails and a few moments later, there is a low rumble, I look up, thinking it must be one of facility’s trucks rumbling by. The sound increases. Suddenly there is a loud BOOM! as the ground begins to shake and roll. I am nauseous from the rolling of the ground as I stumble towards my door.”
Read more…

Triggers: Because of Trauma

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.

From One Person To Another, God Said

“I just want you to know you aren’t a bad mom. I’ve been listening to you, and I felt like you really need to hear that.”
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Take Your Medicine And Other Self-Care Tips

“As parents of special needs children, we are preached a religion of self-care. We are told repeatedly we have to make time to take care of ourselves or we won’t be able to take care of anyone else. That’s all well and good, but when I was in the thick of the worst of special needs parenting having no idea what I was doing or how to make it through?
I wanted to punch every person who said that to me.”
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Judging A Right To Life or Death

“A couple of years ago, I took a college class entitled Death, Dying, and Bereavement. It was a fascinating class. We talked about different types of death, bereavement, and the act of dying. One of the topics covered was whether people should have the right to choose their death when they are terminally ill. I learned something really important from that class.”
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