AutiMoms Unite!

With over a decade of parenting on the Autism Spectrum under her belt, Joy Blackburn has learned a thing or two about finding what works for her children. We’re pleased to feature Joy’s writing in our special blog series, “Tales from an AutiMom.” You can find these stories and more in her upcoming book, Wait! My Seat Belt is Broken! (A mom boards the autism bus and hangs on.)

Joy is the CEO of Ad Infinitum Communications and mother of Jack, an amazing young man with autism. Jack’s sudden and dramatic path to language at the age of nine was told in the 2010 documentary, “Jack and the Video Camera.” Joy is on The Arc Pikes Peak Region’s Board of Directors.

AutiMoms Unite!

I’m a fellow mom of a child with autism, and I know what you’re going through. Between physical therapy, speech therapy, occupational therapy, feeding therapy and behavioral therapy, autism discussion group-monitoring, medical and homeopathic specialists, IEP meetings and meal planning (got one or more kids on a specialized diet? Woo-hoo! Bonus!), plus housework, homework, floor time and government forms. . . it can be hard to get to work on time! Ha-ha-ha, sigh.

This is Year Twelve for me, and I’ll confess I’ve gone a little ditzy. I do stuff like put the phone down to look for a pencil and paper, then pick up a few toys and whatnot as I move from room to room. I might notice that Jack’s bed isn’t made, so I’ll quickly do that. Ew, and the fish tank needs cleaning. At every turn, there are dozens of undone tasks in my path, so I just keep powering forward. Eventually, the caller realizes I’ve forgotten all about him.

And I tend to do two things at once while thinking about a third, a habit that is rarely productive. You know, I once found my wallet in the refrigerator? I stared at it for a few minutes before it clicked that maybe some fridge-worthy item of similar size had gone into my purse by mistake. Checking, I found a stick of butter. It had softened and skewered itself through the paper onto my hairbrush.

Today I started a load of laundry only to find one of last week’s loads had never gone into the dryer. This happens to me a lot. When the kid’s bathroom ran out of fresh washcloths mid-week, I should have known why. There they were; a good 15 washcloths still in the washer, spun up along the drum wall. And what was this larger, dark lump, all ripe with mildew?

Oh.

“Sweetie! I found your Brownie uniform!”

I’m not disorganized, alright? I’m just… overloaded. If my life had a dashboard, there would be two or more warning lights flashing at any given time. I know you know what I’m talking about. The home of an AutiMom is in a constant state of alert because every moment our kids are awake, they are physically, emotionally, socially and psychologically stumbling along the edge of a cliff. Our job is to run behind them all day screaming, “Look Out!” until our lungs are sore and our voice is gone.

But there’s something about the autism mindset that produced amazing kids. Noble, honest, charming. I enjoy my children more every day. I finally know what I’m doing. I’ve figured out what they need from me and how to push them forward incrementally while keeping life in a reasonable balance. They are thriving, and they’re at that point where I’m secretly starting to suspect they’re superior to other kids. (Shh! Don’t tell people I said that or they’ll stop bringing me casseroles!) Whatever you’re going through right now on your own journey with autism, trust me when I tell you it’s going to be worth it.

The Margarita Dilemma

The one thing I’m really craving, though, is the chance to sit down with other moms and engage in the classic trifecta of Girls Night Out: Complaining, laughing and drinking margaritas. I really miss the comradery I used to have with my other mom-friends. I’ve tried to maintain that connection, and my friends, bless their hearts, have been really good sports about it. But as you’ve probably already discovered on your own, it’s hard to swap tales with friends that have neurotypical kids. They’re stopped cold by our stories as they calculate the socially proper response to them. Should they laugh, and if so, are they laughing in the right places? Does a loud laugh prove that they’re laughing with us and not at us? Or does a soft chuckle say that better? They might glance at each other for help, or nervously close your topic down with a shake of the head and a sad, “I don’t know how you do it.”

Watching our friends grapple with Response Anxiety can be painful. I’ve thought about bringing one of those mood charts: “Okay ladies, I’m moving the magnet frame over to bi-i-ig happy face. See? That means my story is funny!”

And what about complaining? Our friends are supposed to gasp and growl and slap the table with, “D@#% right, sister!” But now our friends seem unsure that this classic response is appropriate. They may have decided that their own gripes are petty, leaving them feeling guilty or uncomfortable venting as they used to. The drama-log and Greek chorus of Girls Night complaining have become calm, civilized exchanges separated by periods of quiet chip-munching.

It goes without saying that our friends are doing nothing wrong. But the success of friendship hinges on the things that we have in common. Let’s face it: A central chunk of our lives no longer has anything in common with the lives of our friends. We’re now foreigners in our own social circle. After a while, even our best friends start getting together without us. And you know it’s true, so go on and admit it: You’re glad to be rid of the pressure.

But that leaves us alone with our stories; stories that deserve an audience equipped to meet them head-on without discomfort. Our stories are rich and funny and shocking, sometimes heartbreaking or infuriating, but always huge! Our stories are more worthwhile than most Girl’s Night get-together tales. So let’s bring it in right here and forge ourselves a new Girlfriend Pact! For the next however-many-posts-this-turns-out-to-be, we will complain, laugh, drink margaritas, slap the table and shout, “D@#% right, sister!” Let’s begin by toasting to our fabulous kids!

Read Tales from an AutiMom: Let’s All Coexist.