A Mother’s Guilt…
I believe my oldest son has Asperger Syndrome.
I also believe it’s my fault.
Logically, I understand that this is a fallacy of thought. I can’t help what genetics he got from me, I didn’t even KNOW I had Asperger’s until he was eight years old.
But, emotionally, I feel like I am responsible for this. I feel like it’s MY FAULT. I have the idea that I did something when he was a baby that caused him to “be this way” or caused his brain to develop “wrong”.
I feel like I’ve ruined his life.
Intelligently, I know that it’s just guilt talking in my head, I know that it’s not something I did to cause his brain to form differently. I know he’s well-adjusted, has a good life and I know he will not be hampered by any type of autism diagnosis.
But, I still feel like it’s all my fault that he’ll “never be normal”.
I feel bad, because the one thing no mother ever wants is to see her child treated differently. But, he is different. And, I can’t do anything about it. And, I couldn’t have done anything to prevent it. And, he’s this way because of my genetics.
My guilt is sourced in the grieving process. I was in denial for a long time – intentionally trying to convince myself that he was ” just” a unique kid. I ignored his stereotypical behaviors, obsessive tendencies, and one-track mind because everybody else just thinks it’s cute, he doesn’t have trouble in school and is socially successful.
But, he will prattle on and on about something he wants to talk about – no matter how much other people try to change the conversation, and he doesn’t get clues that other people aren’t interested. I have to tell him to allow a two-sided conversation. I have to tell him to ask other people about themselves. I have to tell him to listen to what other people are saying and to allow the conversation to move away from his interests.
I have to tell him to stop shaking his hands at the dinner table because he is pretending they are trees being blown around by a storm. I have to tell him to stop following people around and doing things that irritate them because he thinks it’s playing. I feel annoyed sometimes by stuff he does, because I have to repeatedly remind him to stop doing those things because he has to respect other people’s wishes and personal space. I feel guilty that I get annoyed.
I first noticed he was different at a little over a year old, when he learned to run. He would run in circles for hours at a time. He would run in one direction for a while, then run in the other direction so that he wouldn’t get dizzy. I have no idea how a baby could figure something like that out, but he figured it out. (And I tested it – you really don’t get dizzy if you switch directions every so often, and it’s fascinating to me. My mom, also an Aspie, is also very fascinated with this fact and she STILL brings this up every so often and we sit there talking in amazement about this combination of physiology and physics that an infant conquered.)
The same intensity would be transferred to each new skill he learned. He would be interested in only one type of toy or one topic at a time. He saw a train cross a road one time and fell in love with the crossing lights – wanted to go see trains every day if possible. He noticed telephone poles and became enamored with them – drawing telephone poles and street lights in his artwork and making poems about them. (One line I remember vividly, “Our eyes are like street lights.”) His love of tall things transferred over to trees, and he found some furry scarves that he could shape like trees and he’d pile them up on the ground and crawl around them for hours with his eyes squinted because he was pretending they were pine trees. Once he learned to read, he began to pore through field guides, learning latin names and memorizing statistics. When he learned about music, he wrote a song about Bonsai trees to perform in his kindergarten class at sharing time.
He became fascinated by thunderstorms and started to play “storm” in his bed – he’d get under his covers and make storm sounds and shake the covers and let in light for lightning. When he got bored in the living room, he’d lie on the ground and shake his hands and body while opening and closing his eyes intermittently. The first time I saw this, I was concerned he was having a seizure and asked if he was okay… but he sat up and said he was just making his own storm. He asked for books about the weather, and honed in on tornadoes and their nomenclature.
He loves trees and he loves weather. His interests, art, and life revolve largely around plants and weather. He is actively studying for his future life as a dendrologist/meteorologist who will climb redwoods as part of his research into how redwood trees are affected by storms. He is eight.
He is an amazing child. He writes poetry and songs that he has performed in front of adults at open mic nights. He is currently writing a novel in his class. He has friends that he plays football with. He feels empathy for other children, and has received many accolades from his teachers for helping other kids out during rough times. He loves everybody and tries to make everybody feel happy. He has come to me before, worried that other people don’t like him because nobody ever picked him for ‘special friend’ in class because they were upset that he always ran to the first position in line. I explained that other people like to be at the front of the line, too, and he had to allow other people to have a chance. It took him awhile to conquer that need, and allow other people to get there first, but he did it. The first time someone picked him as ‘special friend’, he was so happy and proud. He is kind. He is an understanding and compassionate person. He is a good kid.
He is a very special person.
I love him very much. And, that’s really all that matters. I know he will accomplish anything he puts his mind to. I know that he functions well in society. I know that his life will be a good life. He is happy.
I have a part in this.
So maybe he will never be “normal”… but, he will always be loved.