You have stopped
me feeling completely isolated. You were the first people to make me
feel like the things we are going to face are okay. Would be okay.
Will be okay. You saved me from asking the questions I wasn't ready
to ask, didn't want to need to ask, because I could scroll in near
anonymity, and find the answers. Not in yet another book, but in
posts from a community of people who knowingly or not, may have saved
my sanity in those earliest days.
Before I was ready
to talk about the bad days. Before I heartily understood, not just
logically, that the bad days were just that, bad days. Before I had
the courage to believe people would understand I meant that my child
was having a bad day, not that I had a bad child, you were there.
Sharing. Comforting. Reaching out.
When your child
had a bad day, you shared. I wanted nothing more than to hold your
hand, reach out, hug you, comfort you. I also felt just a little
better. Seeing that other moms, other families had the hard days too.
Especially in the beginning, before I was quite ready to speak about
it.
When your child
hit a milestone, smiled, talked, got a job, wore shoes, potty
trained, I cheered, often aloud. Your triumphs and celebrations were
palpable and infectious. They gave me hope. They showed me that all
this work could be worth it. Would be worth it. Is worth it. I also,
though I never dared say it until know, felt the tiniest twinges of
envy. When will my child get there? Will my child ever get there? Are
these all “high functioning” children? This too, proved to be
amazingly helpful to me. The bittersweet feelings evoked in each
celebratory post gave words to unspoken fears. Helped me to sort out
what to prioritize for my child. Helped me set clearer goals.
Now I speak a lot
about this. 4 years after our official diagnosis. Now when I feel
like I am over sharing, I remember what your sharing did for me, for
us and I share again with the hope that our story may help someone
the way yours have all helped me.
Thank you. Keep doing what you do.