I didn't used to know, of course. I used to be one of those smug, privileged moms who could shake my head sadly, cluck in faux sympathy and wisdom, and say, "We over-medicate our children." (See how I said 'we' and 'our'? That's to take the some of the sting out of it...but not all of it. No. Because my child was certainly not in those numbers.)
But I know now.
I know you've done it all. You've gathered up all the courage in your sore, sad heart and taken your precious little one to the doctor and have spit out the words, dry as cotton, hard as lead: "I am concerned."
And you have followed up on that concern. I know you have. And when the concern is finally pinpointed, when you've learned to shrug off all the smug "Why do we label our children?"-ers (I was also one of those) and "Well, he/she doesn't seem XYZ to me"-ers and go for what you need in order to help your child, I know you've followed up on that, too. With therapies. And books. And more books. And more therapies. And school meetings. And support plans.
I know all of that.
I know, too, that it's been a journey both joyous and grieved. I know you have watched your child's hard-earned progress, celebrated that...only to realize that while your sweet one has finally mastered a skill or a lesson, his or her classmates have continued to progress, too, and are light years ahead, and suddenly, and again, that gap seems insurmountable.
I know the joyous text you send to your husband, your mom, your whomever (and Lord, I hope you have a whomever) because your child performed some life skill or made some new connection and you are amazed and excited and know that person will be, too.
I also know the 3 a.m. Googling and the harsh bark of a sob that comes unexpectedly when you watch the small, straight, brave back of your child as he gets on the school bus because that courage - where did he get that?
I know what it feels like, to remember that this is not "just a phase" or a stage your child will outgrow, and to be reminded that all the support and therapy in the world will still not make this world easy for him. And that, in many ways, the older he or she gets, the more apparent his or her differences may get, and it doesn't seem fair.
And I know what it's like to spend years working with the same doctors, the same therapists, and to trust them. And what it is like to realize you have insight and instinct, too, and although you don't have any fancy letters behind your name, you are an expert on your child, and your input is valuable. I know how empowering that can be, and scary, too - especially the first time you look one of those trusted, valued, respected doctors in the eye and say, calmly, "No. I don't agree with that."
And finally, I know what it's like for one of those trusted, valued, respected doctors to look you in the eye and say, "We need to consider medication."
I know you were expecting it. I also know it hit you in the pit of your stomach and the center of your being.
You weren't excited. You weren't throwing up your arms and saying, "FINALLY! I HAVE WANTED TO MEDICATE THIS CHILD OF MY HEART FOR YEEEEEEEARS!" You didn't think it was a magic fix-all, or that it could replace the hours of therapy, or the days and nights filled with that hard-hewed patience that you've learned even though "patience" was never before in your nature.
You didn't once sigh with relief and think, "Good. My job here is done."
Instead, you shook with the enormity of the decision. You listened to both the pros and the cons. You discussed it with your partner, if you are lucky enough to have one, and the other caregivers in your child's life...but you didn't discuss it with anyone else. Because you know that you would be flooded with the faux concern, the smug "Medication isn't always the answer" moms, the moms who are suddenly full of homeopathic remedies and suggestions of more activity - the moms whose children are neurotypical and progressing well and the women who don't have children at all but still have all the answers, and the moms whose children have children of their own and like to remind you that things like autism didn't exist back in their day.
I know about the flood of judgement. And I know you don't need it.
What I don't know is what you've decided to do. I don't know whether you decided to medicate or not. And I don't need to know.
Because I know whatever decision you made, you made because it was the best one for your child.
So keep it up. You are doing fine.
I know you are, even when it feels like you aren't.
