Autism isn't pretty—neither is ADHD.
Combine two people with two different neurodiversities, and well, sometimes sparks fly.
Sparks flew today over the stupidest thing, and Badger has not emerged from her room.
That left me to entertain myself, which, you know, I do most days anyway.
So it was a TV, TV, TV day.
And yeah, most days are like that, but at least Badger watches with me or pops out of her room to chatter a bit.
Today, she's given me the old silence treatment.
Eh, 🤷🏻♀️—it is what it is.
Realizing your parents are human, make mistakes, and have feelings of their own is part of growing up.
Badger is 23 now.
Most young adults her age have stepped out into the world—made mistakes, learned from them, separated from their parents, and started becoming who they’re going to be.
But when the pandemic hit, she had just turned 18.
That timing mattered.
The world shut down right when she should’ve been stepping out.
No job market. No social life. No safe way to explore or fail or grow.
Then came the disability paperwork, with rules that don’t bend.
She can’t work. She could live away from us, but if she does, they’ll slash her check.
And Covid hasn’t gone away.
She’s still scared of a third infection, so she’s not willing to get out there.
We’re stuck in an unhealthy pattern.
She needs more independence.
But the rules can’t be changed, and I don’t know how to navigate a path that gives her the freedom she deserves without risking everything she depends on.
I’m not so stupid that I don’t see how miserable her life is.
She has dreams of her own—real ones.
And I don’t know how to give them to her.
As a mother, you want to give your child the world.
As an autism mother, you’re left clueless about how to do that.
I don’t have a solution.
I’ve busted my rear end trying to get Badger the help she needs, trying to make her life better—and I’ve failed.
She’s miserable, and I don’t know how to make it better.
She sees me as the cruel prison guard keeping her locked away, but in truth, I’m just a mother lost in a forest, trying to find a way out for both of us.
Autism.... Aspergers, runs in my husbands family. He has a brother who live in a community of adults who need supervision and structure. He function well, but can't make good decisions and is a born victim. I have realized in later years that my husband is likely high functioning Aspergers. It explains some of the baffling behaviors over all these long years. The naivety for such a smart man makes sense now.
ReplyDeleteThis is all to say I have some experience which allows me to have a bit of understanding. It's a heavy burden for you to carry. Living where you do, in a rural community, there probably isn't any help, either. My son went off to college at 18 and has not lived with us since. It's hard to imagine what it would be like to have an adult child living here, much less on with a disability. I am sorry.
Sandra:Thank you for sharing that with me. It really does help to hear from someone who understands even a little of what this is like.
ReplyDeleteA lot of adults from your husband's generation went undiagnosed, since autism was so narrowly defined back then. People didn’t realize how wide the spectrum is, or that women could be autistic too.
Where I live, resources are very limited, and not being able to drive makes it even harder.
My daughter is high functioning, though, and with the right supports she could live independently. We’ve worked with her on managing a household, finances, cooking, and driving.
She does have some challenges — her biggest one is probably being too trusting — but she’s capable in many ways.
Part of the problem is how her caseworker set things up. If she doesn’t live with us, they reduce the amount of her check, and if she gets a job, she loses the check altogether.
On top of that, one of her struggles is handling people — she really doesn’t do well in that area — which makes the work side of things even tougher.
I joke that my kids are my “boomerang kids,” because they keep bouncing back home. Right now, my second son, who recently went through a divorce, is in the spare bedroom. My youngest son has an RV parked in the backyard, and at one time or another, my oldest son has lived in the spare room too.