Learning I was autistic gave me insight into my childhood fixations and hurts, into how those things have stayed with me over the decades.
I’m not looking for a cure—not for my kids, and not for me. Any treatment we choose is merely a tool to help us enjoy our lives.
I think about the many invisible struggles, the empty places I have had to fill for my kids. The bridges I’ve had to build.
Unwritten social rules might as well not exist for me. The only reason I can read them at all is because I’ve forced myself to learn them.
We hate surprises. What we need is to be able to set our expectations properly.
So many people have suggested I stop taking medication for my bipolar disorder, anxiety disorder, and panic attacks. The stigma is strong.
I have such immense anxiety. It sweeps me up into its furious winds. And my kids are at the middle of the storm.
Every day, when my kids come home from school, the first thing I ask them—like most parents do—is about school. But unlike most parents, I do not expect my kids to say that school was fine.
My kids have been kicked out of many, many places for being different—just like I was.