Confession of a Not-So-Supermom: I Recovered My Daughter from Autism Even Though Some Days I’m a Hot Mess

I got the nicest message today. It was from a friend who had been having a bad day and was sharing with me kind words about how I was managing things on a number of fronts and some nonsense about being some kind of hero. Deep breath. I should be thrilled, but I feel like I have failed because that’s not real at all.

You see, I remember what it was like not so long ago to hop onto my computer in search of two minutes of the real world and be overwhelmed with guilt when I saw all the things others were doing. It seemed to me that the entire world was baking their own specialty breads, pounding the halls of Congress, handling two or three kids with autism, flying cross country to see fellow advocates, rocking changes at their schools, running six kids to activities, and all while somehow looking fabulous. I was a disaster. I was lucky if I managed to shower and put on a clean tee. I didn’t understand the abbreviations of the autism world, didn’t know the name of my local representatives, and couldn’t even handle my one sick child. My marriage was falling apart, my health was a mess, and life sucked. Seriously, it sucked.

And I say this because there are people right now in that same spot, and I don’t want them to be under any misconceptions that the rest of the world has some imaginary handle on all of this. They don’t. So let me tell you where I am now.

Life is much easier. I have a recovered daughter. I have more time to advocate and play activist and be involved in different projects. I can take the time to chat with others and give them hope. I can balance things better. I don’t have to think about what ingredients are safe or not anymore. I have the time to juggle activities and driving two kids around and homeschool. Things that I never imagined.

HOWEVER . . . I am not a superhero. Although I can manage the showers now with no problem, I am still a slob. (Yes, I seriously said that!) I have a number of my own health issues, including being overweight and under-exercised, and some mystery autoimmune type illness that nobody can pinpoint that leaves me in bed some days and in braces on other days. I break down and still lose it because autism gets to me, the world gets to me. I am overwhelmed even when it’s not my kid, because all day long I hear the same struggles over and over. I have to take breaks and turn off my phone or walk away from the computer because it’s too much sometimes. I rant and rave online, and then break down crying in the privacy of my husband (WHO IS A ROCK STAR, AND THANKFULLY GETS IT!). I worry about whether I am doing enough in every way. Are my kids getting what they need, am I contributing enough to the family, do my words ever make a difference? I have gray hair not because of the stress, although I am positive it isn’t helping, but because I can’t bring myself to spend the money that needs to go to someone else because so many people are hurting and need those ten dollars more than my head does. I wonder if anyone cares what we are doing, and if anything will ever change. I live in a two-bedroom mobile home in a neighborhood I would love to leave, but am afraid to commit to something permanent for fear we need to leave for better care for my kids because it’s happened so many times before. We worry about money, and what will happen to our children, and how to best care for them every day. I still haven’t learned to control my temper or my sarcasm (and I am not sure that will ever happen). I worry that my marriage (although great now) will succumb to the statistics because we have little time to focus on each other. I have panic attacks, and I don’t have the slightest idea what relaxing even looks like. I am holding it together more often than not, by keeping myself busy.

So now that I have confessed to the imperfection that is my life, I want you to know that wherever you are in this journey and whatever you have had to do and whatever your life looks like . . . it’s okay. Behind this computer screen, I imagine many of our homes have beds on the floors, poop-smeared days, and dreams of a night away. We do what we can and when we can.

I always tell others that this journey comes full circle. When you can, you do. I do what I can now because of those who did when I couldn’t. When I was struggling to survive and get through the days, you were already fighting — and for that I am forever grateful. I won’t claim to be like you all, although I strive to be a person who is doing all I can while others cannot. I don’t know all things autism, or how to recover a child simply, or how to make a difference with our idiot governing officials. I wish I did. I do know that love for our children is what gets us through. So today I want you to know that, although I am always grateful for kind words, I am just like you . . . we all are. Some days superhero, most days just loving parents. So pat yourself on the back, have a good cry, celebrate that well-worn attire and ponytail, and then come out swinging when you can. Together all of us will CRUSH this.

~ Crush

I am a mom to two amazing little girls. Cali is my recovered eleven-year-old daughter who is going to change this world, and Melia is my eight-year-old daughter who is her sister’s best friend and strongest advocate. In my home life I am a silly, laid back mom who has the good fortune of being married to my best friend. I celebrate life, and love nothing more than family, laughter, and time at the beach. In my “autism” life, I am a feisty, sarcastic, common sense thinker who is on a mission to CRUSH the limitations placed on our children, CRUSH the lies of these epidemics, and CRUSH the people standing in the way of truth, hope, and healing.