I’m teaching a graduate class of up and coming Mental Health Social Workers for the University of Wisconsin Madison this term, and because I got to dictate the syllabus, I made sure we had a whole week to provide some basic education about neurodiversity. At the last minute my brain splurted out the idea to have KBear, my 11 year old autistic, 2e daughter come be a guest speaker with me to give a first hand account of what living with neurodiversity actually feels like. Given that she’s naturally interested in educating people about accepting and embracing difference, she readily agreed. Admittedly, I was a bit nervous as the day approached because . . . well . . . autism. But, true to form, KBear knocked it outta the park!! She was funny and insightful and transparent. We chatted back and forth about autism from her perspective and from mine. The students were engaged and grateful. My husband was proud of us both, and therefore, posted it on facebook.
Most of the comments were congratulations and well dones and so prouds, but one comment stood out to me. My father-in-law said, “Well done Kbear and also to you Heather for having the faith to let her do it”. I hadn’t thought about that before, but yes, it indeed required faith on my part. Faith that the long drive to the school wouldn’t dysregulate her too much. Faith that she’d have words. Faith that she’d be able to regulate her own nerves. Faith that she’d talk loud enough for my students to hear her. Faith that she wouldn’t totally meltdown with overwhelm before, during, or after. Faith that we’d all survive and thrive no matter what happened.
Really, if we step back from this specific event, isn’t that what we’re asked to do as parents of differently wired kids? Have faith? It can be so easy to see the potential catastrophes, to want to protect and shield, to allow uncertainty to make the decisions for us. It requires faith in our neurodiverse child that they will be able to handle going to a friend’s house. Faith that they will summon up the courage to go on the roller coaster after waiting in line for what felt like hours. Faith that they will ask for what they need. Faith that an afternoon outing won’t totally and completely implode.
And that faith is sooo hard. It’s hard to know the line between supporting our children to do something new and sending them out to be eaten by the wolves. Are we setting them up to fail or giving them opportunities? A struggle that most of us neurodiverse parents need to consider multiple times a day and in a way that other parents simply don’t have to.
I tend to err on the side of faith. I tend to go for it anyway. I tend to consider the potential downfalls and say, “Meh . . . it could go either way and no matter what we’ll be ok.” I do this because I was not a risk taker. I took the safe path when I was a kid and adolescent. I missed out on opportunities and adventures because I was cautious and I don’t want that for my kids. I want them to wildly risk-take and push the boundaries and make new discoveries. And, most of all, I want them to know that I believe they can do anything. I want them to know that I have faith in them and that I will be here to support them.
Truthfully, I don’t always do this well. And also truthfully, even when I do this well it’s often at the expense of my own peace and calm as my body and mind feel riddled with anxiety. But, even if done anxiously and imperfectly, I’m going to take those risks with my kids and I encourage you to do the same.
Regulate your own anxiety.
Give an honest evaluation of the pros/cons of the risk. If the worst case is something you all can live with, than go for it.
Look for possible pitfalls and plan ahead as much as possible, bringing the needed tools, scheduling breaks, talking ahead of time about safety plans and bail-out signals.
Encourage your child to take risks. Communicate that you believe in them and they’ll believe in themselves. If they feel anxious, be their confidence.
Have a little faith.