I know the world is a different place for you. I wish I could change that.
When I was seven months pregnant for you, we were in a serious car accident. It probably has nothing to do with the challenges you face now, but I think it made me hyper-vigilant; constantly watching you, studying your every move, for signs of danger or concern. As with all my kids, you had your own quirks. But we know now that you are unique, in ways that very few can understand.
Whenever I asked other people they would let me you were "just a lot of boy." And that you definitely were! It was scary and exciting at the same time. You had so much enthusiasm for learning and experiencing the world around you. It was tractors, super heroes, and mud, day in and day out. You just wanted to be into everything, you wanted to soak it up.
You're incredibly smart, you always have been. From the time you were in preschool you could educate adults in life science, the knowledge you had was fascinating. Outside of the classroom, though, you've struggled. Struggled hard, to comprehend everything going on around you. The quirks have revealed themselves as symptoms, and for two years we've fought for an official diagnosis to what we already know to be Sensory Processing Disorder.
Suddenly, the chewing, the outbursts, the aversions to texture, the difficulty managing basic tasks. It all made sense. Ironically, it made sense why it didn't make sense.
As your mom, it's been a frustrating journey. For you too, I'm sure. I've been too quick to lose my patience, or to put the blame on you when I know are doing your best. I'm sorry for those times I've broken down out of frustration. There's been nothing more heartbreaking throughout this experience than the moments, when out of exhaustion, I've collapsed and started sobbing because I couldn't find a way to make you understand. And through the tears, you stood staring back at me. Still not comprehending why.
Two years we've waited for merely a label that would secure support to help you. Coincidentally, two years ago was also a medical milestone for me. It was the year I was officially diagnosed with Fibromyalgia. It's been a hard two years for both of us. But oddly enough, our two completely unrelated disorders have helped us to understand each other more than before.
Since my symptoms of Fibromyalgia began, around the same time yours did, I've had problems with my memory. My comprehension is low. Some days are better than others. On my bad days, it's as if the brain train between my mind to my mouth and hands has derailed. I forget what I'm doing 30 seconds into a task. I stutter, unable to say the words in my head, or sentences jumbled in my brain. I'll read a common word and stare at it for several minutes, trying to remember what it says and means. Relationships have failed. My anxiety has heightened. You've probably noticed it and just think your mom is old, but one day, you'll get why it's happening too.
I want you to know that when I cry or get frustrated, I'm not angry. I'm sad. Because now, as you've begun your seventh year of life, I'm starting to realize what the world is like for you. It's a frightening place. Listening to people talk and not knowing exactly what they're saying. Looking at a task and not even understanding how to begin. And it's something I can't fix for you. It's something I don't even know how to solve for myself
You've had days when you can't bring things into focus and you start to lose control of your emotions. You act as though you're coming out of your own skin, you become unhinged and lose all sense of your surroundings. It's become less frequent now, but there are those moments. I'm sorry buddy. I want to do more, I so want to take it away.
But I want you to know, it's this journey that makes you so amazing. I can have a pity party for myself, but you've never known a day different from this. And you don't complain. You keep trying, over and over again. When I start crying, you comfort me and tell me that it's going to be okay. Since Daddy moved out, you've tried so hard to step up and be the man of the house. You've certainly struggled too, but in our struggles, we understand each other.
We know we're both going to have more bad days, and there'll be more tears, and frustration. But I promise to be there for you. I'll likely have more apologizing to do. I'm far from the perfect mom you deserve. But I promise I will be there. To try to understand. To try to help you understand. And when neither of us understand, I'll still be here for you.
Take a deep breath kiddo, we'll get through this. Keep being you, don't lose your wonder or enthusiasm. Don't lose your kind heart, or your ridiculous humor. You have so much awesome to give the world. And I can't wait to watch you leave your mark on it.
Rock it out, boy scout.
Love you always, Mom
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