The pause.
It's a period of time every parent facing a diagnosis for their child finds themselves in.
The pause is this purgatory of denial, and research, and blame.
You wonder if this is real or if you're misinterpreting symptoms. You wonder if you caused this, somehow. You wonder what this would mean for their future. You wonder if the answers might be even worse than the questions.
You pause.
For me, the pause started pre-diagnosis when I had to check an entire row of "not yet" boxes on a developmental questionnaire.
I wore my insecurities and fear like weights tied around my ankles, and I drug my feet through the long process of seeking help. Seeking help, then turned into seeking an official diagnosis, and that added yet another weight to my body; The weight of other people's opinions about autism. Some people built me up and commended my efforts. But some, even to this day, don't believe this is a real thing and that I was just looking for an excuse to let my son misbehave.
My pause fully ended the day I got the phone call that his evaluation team had come to the conclusion he was on the spectrum.
That call lead to so many emotions, but it also released the weight I had been carrying around. I had a whole team of people encouraging me, and we were working together to get my son on the right path. His improvement was undeniable and knowing without a doubt that I had done the right thing, brought me peace and confidence.
My husband had a very different experience, though. He was skeptical about the autism possibility from day 1, and his skepticism continued for months after the official diagnosis.
Wyatt was lacking most of the classic autism symptoms and was even advanced in a few skills. His doctor was citing things like toe walking and delayed speech as reasons to seek therapy. To my husband, these were weak excuses at best to think he was anything more than a difficult kid. He really wasn't THAT different from other 2-year-olds.
My husband took time to reflect and analyze from his common sense view. He took time to see how Wyatt grew in therapy. He took time to be sure this wasn't something our son would snap out of.
He paused.
His pause ended when he was able to talk with his dad about Wyatt's diagnosis, and his dad met him with genuine support and understanding.
The pause was so hard on both of us. I felt like I was shouldering this entire thing on my own. He felt I was making a big deal out of something that our son would grow out of.
We were stuck in this is-he-or-isn't-he loop, and it consumed my every thought and our every conversation.
The words "he might have autism" would uncontrollably flow from my mouth every time I felt I was being judged for my parenting.
My husband is not a man who believes in making excuses, and he was less than enthused about me word vomiting all over strangers everytime Wyatt acted out.
I'm not sure there was a single day of that pause that we were on the same page. There were days I was petty sure we weren't even in the same book.
I thought the pause might break us.
My husband and I sat down together to write this because we know we aren't alone.
We want people to know that this pause is completely normal and you will work through it in your own time.
I need partners to see that you can't bully your spouse into accepting what they arent ready to.
I need you to understand that your family and your friends will pause too.
I need you to know how important it is that you support your loved ones through their pause, even if you aren't feeling supported yourself.
The pause is normal.
The pause is necessary.
This is a lifetime gig, folks.
Take your pause.
Feel your grief and your fear.
Don't be ashamed of the emotions a diagnosis leads you through.
Get each other through it!
Because on the other side of the pause, there is magic.
You realize your kid is freaking hilarious and that they are the most genuine little human there ever was.
You will find joy in small things like two sentence words spoken for the first time and giant carefully constructed towers.
You'll have this kid that brings adventure to your life in ways that other parents might not understand.
Through all of that, you will have each other to celebrate with.
The two of you will be the ones setting the expectations for your child instead of allowing the world to set the standard for what they can achieve.
You will do great things as a team.
But first, you have to get each other through the pause.
It's a period of time every parent facing a diagnosis for their child finds themselves in.
The pause is this purgatory of denial, and research, and blame.
You wonder if this is real or if you're misinterpreting symptoms. You wonder if you caused this, somehow. You wonder what this would mean for their future. You wonder if the answers might be even worse than the questions.
You pause.
For me, the pause started pre-diagnosis when I had to check an entire row of "not yet" boxes on a developmental questionnaire.
I wore my insecurities and fear like weights tied around my ankles, and I drug my feet through the long process of seeking help. Seeking help, then turned into seeking an official diagnosis, and that added yet another weight to my body; The weight of other people's opinions about autism. Some people built me up and commended my efforts. But some, even to this day, don't believe this is a real thing and that I was just looking for an excuse to let my son misbehave.
My pause fully ended the day I got the phone call that his evaluation team had come to the conclusion he was on the spectrum.
That call lead to so many emotions, but it also released the weight I had been carrying around. I had a whole team of people encouraging me, and we were working together to get my son on the right path. His improvement was undeniable and knowing without a doubt that I had done the right thing, brought me peace and confidence.
My husband had a very different experience, though. He was skeptical about the autism possibility from day 1, and his skepticism continued for months after the official diagnosis.
Wyatt was lacking most of the classic autism symptoms and was even advanced in a few skills. His doctor was citing things like toe walking and delayed speech as reasons to seek therapy. To my husband, these were weak excuses at best to think he was anything more than a difficult kid. He really wasn't THAT different from other 2-year-olds.
My husband took time to reflect and analyze from his common sense view. He took time to see how Wyatt grew in therapy. He took time to be sure this wasn't something our son would snap out of.
He paused.
His pause ended when he was able to talk with his dad about Wyatt's diagnosis, and his dad met him with genuine support and understanding.
The pause was so hard on both of us. I felt like I was shouldering this entire thing on my own. He felt I was making a big deal out of something that our son would grow out of.
We were stuck in this is-he-or-isn't-he loop, and it consumed my every thought and our every conversation.
The words "he might have autism" would uncontrollably flow from my mouth every time I felt I was being judged for my parenting.
My husband is not a man who believes in making excuses, and he was less than enthused about me word vomiting all over strangers everytime Wyatt acted out.
I'm not sure there was a single day of that pause that we were on the same page. There were days I was petty sure we weren't even in the same book.
I thought the pause might break us.
My husband and I sat down together to write this because we know we aren't alone.
We want people to know that this pause is completely normal and you will work through it in your own time.
I need partners to see that you can't bully your spouse into accepting what they arent ready to.
I need you to understand that your family and your friends will pause too.
I need you to know how important it is that you support your loved ones through their pause, even if you aren't feeling supported yourself.
The pause is normal.
The pause is necessary.
This is a lifetime gig, folks.
Take your pause.
Feel your grief and your fear.
Don't be ashamed of the emotions a diagnosis leads you through.
Get each other through it!
Because on the other side of the pause, there is magic.
You realize your kid is freaking hilarious and that they are the most genuine little human there ever was.
You will find joy in small things like two sentence words spoken for the first time and giant carefully constructed towers.
You'll have this kid that brings adventure to your life in ways that other parents might not understand.
Through all of that, you will have each other to celebrate with.
The two of you will be the ones setting the expectations for your child instead of allowing the world to set the standard for what they can achieve.
You will do great things as a team.
But first, you have to get each other through the pause.
Comments
Post a Comment