The Ugly Side of Autism

I'm haphazardly parked across three spaces in an apartment complex. The driver's side door is ajar, as well as the door behind it, along with the back hatch of my highlander propped open. There is a child's screaming ringing through the morning air as residents out walking their dogs before they head off to work steal glances in our direction. Someone walking behind the car would see a short, sweaty, crying, red-faced woman struggling with a boy who almost matches her in height, and who is trying desperately to hit, bite, scratch, and kick every inch of her.

My face is stinging and my eyes hurt from being hit in the face so many times. I stop to think why boxers do what they do. If you've ever been slapped hard, you know it hurts, and I'm no wimp when it comes to pain, but yeah, I'm in pain. I'm tired, because I've been struggling for about forty-minutes; my arms are burning, and I won't know how many bruises I'll have on my legs until later. I'm just trying to hold out until my husband can come and help me. I only have one mission right now. Keep Jackson safe.

The crying coming from the car is my youngest son, who has been hit and kicked in the face by his older brother before I could intervene. I can't comfort him and tell him it will be okay, because I have to restrain his brother behind the car to keep him from hurting him again.

A woman across the street comes out to her balcony (probably because of the noise). She stands watching us for some time, then yells out, "Do you need help?"

I have no idea how to answer that question. It's pretty obvious that I need help, but there just isn't much anyone else can do for me at the moment. Through my tears, I try to yell, "I'm fine." But it rings so false in my ears and feels so ridiculous to say, when I'm in the process of being pummeled; it only makes me cry more. The situation seems completely hopeless and it crushes more than my face, it breaks down my spirit. I can't take the things he says to me personally, but hearing your own child tell you he wants you out of his life forever…always hurts.

My husband finally shows up after having had to walk out of a meeting at work. He takes Braden home in his car and I can finally check on Jackson and tell him how sorry I am that I couldn't protect him. His face is a little red, but he seems okay other than being tired from crying and probably extremely frightened. I know I can't take him home, so I try to get myself together, close all the doors to the car, and take him to school. While driving Jackson to school, I keep mumbling, "I just need to make it through today. Tomorrow will be better." I'm trying desperately to convince myself. We're an hour late. His teacher takes one look at me when she comes to the office to get Jackson and says, "Are you alright?"

No. Today I'm not. Every day with a child who has autism is different. We have good days and then we have days like this. Days when we feel completely defeated physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. These days when we're tired of fighting, tired of trying to be positive and be strong. We want to throw our arms up and say, "I'm done! I give up! I'm not strong enough to do this!" But we don't do that, because we know we will wake up tomorrow and our children will still have autism; they will still be our children, and we will still love them. So, we go to bed that night, pray that tomorrow will be better, and get up and do it all again—whether it gets better or not.

Some people might wonder why I would tell this story, when it's clearly not a pretty one. Why should I hide the ugly side of autism?  We tend to try and hide the ugly side of everything as a society. We want perfection and the scene I've just described was anything but perfect. We airbrush blemishes from models to create the appearance of perfection, when in truth, perfection doesn't exist. There is an ugly side to everything. The backside of the most beautiful paintings in the world are just plain canvas. The beauty is in what we do with the ugliness. I'm showing you the ugly side of autism (the backside of the canvas) so you can walk away with a better understanding of every aspect of this disorder.   


When I started this blog, I said, it wouldn't be all sunshine and roses because life with two autistic children isn't all sunshine and roses. The truth is there are ugly days, a lot of them. This blog is about what it really takes to be the parent of two autistic children. It takes the physical strength and endurance of a boxer (you have to take a beating sometimes). It takes emotional resolve and the ability to accept your life as it is. You have to extend yourself mentally, learning how to deal with behaviors and doing research to try to come up with solutions to modify those behaviors. It takes spiritual strength like I never believed possible. I've been tested to my limits and there have been times I felt I would break. But I made it through this bad day, and many, many others, and I go to bed every night and pray for a better day tomorrow.