Tag Archives: speech delay

Does it get easier?

I’m 3 years into my autism journey. At the beginning, when the shit first hit the fan, I was in a total fog of disbelief, trying to accept it, learning about it, adapting to it, and grieving hard for the child I felt I had lost. Even though my child was still with me. I loved him, but our future was bleak and uncertain. 

Somebody, somewhere, with more years on their journey, told me “it does get easier”. 

This week, I’ve had different autism mum’s from different areas of my life all say things to me about this concept of things getting easier, and it’s made me question whether or not this is really true. 

Does it ever really get easier?

I’m 3 years into our autism journey, not exactly an old timer, but definitely not a newbie anymore. When I clock a parent sitting alone at a SEN event, looking a bit lost, I’ll always sit down and have a chat with them. It’s a personal mission of mine, as I remember being where they are, and I don’t ever want anyone to feel as alone as I did back then. 

I ask about their child. Listen to their feelings about the impending or recent diagnosis. I tell them they’re not alone with this and I’ve been where they are. Although they’ve just started to walk a path they didn’t choose… there’s an army of us all walking it too. And we all stick together. That’s a beautiful fact. 

And I’ve said it to them sincerely, “It does get easier”. 

We get used to the diagnosis. We get used to talking about it with others. We become used to our child behaving differently to other kids. We learn more about autism. We start to parent in a different way. We learn about how they see the world. We adapt our hopes and dreams for our child. We start to suss out the system. We find other autism parents. People who ‘get it’. 

So it does get easier. I’m sure of that. 

Then I listened to two autism mum’s this week. I listen to the mum with the high functioning child with PDA, who comes home from school and punches her in the face because of the anxieties he’s built up through the school day. Violent outbursts are regular. She can’t take him out at the weekend because his anxieties are too high for her to socialise him with other children; so she feels trapped in her own home. 

I listen to the mum with the severely autistic, non verbal child, who has given up hope of ever hearing her child speak, or make a friend. She worries daily about looking after him as an adult, and is already planning his care when she dies. He’s only 6. 

Does it really get easier? It didn’t seem to me like these mum’s felt so. 

In my personal experience, I do believe that life overall has got easier. The Pickle has changed and adapted, and so have we. The challenges we have though on a day to day basis, are very real… 

You can’t change it. You can’t fix it. It’s the permeance of it that can make it so overwhelming. 

I started to think about what gets me through the difficult days. And I believe it is the support I have around me.

It’s the family who love and accept him, who take him for an afternoon when I need a break. 

It’s the friends who listen and understand, who never judge or tell me what I should do… because they get it. They’re living it too. And when all is said and done, we can meet up, drink coffee (with a little vodka on a bad day!) and believe it or not, we can all laugh hard about the crazy lives we lead. It keeps us sane. 

It’s the friends without kids, who take me out for dinner and drinks and let me just be myself for a few hours again. 

It’s my daughter. I feel a little nervous of admitting this one… I am very lucky to have her. I don’t love her any more or any less than the Pickle, but she has given me back some of what I lost. I love the Pickle to the moon and back, he is who he is, and I love him for who he is. He’s amazing, and funny, and clever. Autism is a part of who he is. But as a parent, when we got that diagnosis, it was hard to come to terms with the realisation that my dreams and wishes for the baby that I held in my arms, were never mine to have. 

I think things do get easier. But there will always be those days… when you just want to curl up and disappear. The days where you have nothing left. And it’s those days where the support you surround yourself with, will pull you through to fight the next one. 

So my advice to any parents starting their autism journey, whatever your child’s age, developmental stage, high functioning or severe… it is no better or worse than anyone else’s journey. We’re all going through it together. Different challenges, same diagnosis. Always say yes to help. Don’t be proud, don’t try to do it all alone. It’s the village that surrounds you, that will keep you afloat when you feel like you’re drowning. 

Set yourself up with the right tools you need to do the job. That’s what every successful workmen does!

Today might feel like the worst day of your life… but hang in their dear one; you are enough. 

It will get easier. 

X

The Picklehead Comedy Show


Sometimes I have to take a moment to sit back and feel very proud of myself. I have somehow managed to produce a beautiful human of a boy who is very bloody funny. 

He has a brilliant sense of humour, creates his own games and jokes, and when he gets the giggles, so does everyone else in the room. You have to see it to believe it. He doesn’t let a little thing like autism get in the way of having a good laugh. 

The best moments though, are the ones that he doesn’t even realise. When autistic logic and the mind of a 5 year old collide, you can really get some little gems. 

Now these might only be funny to me, because, well.  I’m his mum!… We all think our own kids are the funniest. But here’s a few of my favourites that I wanted to share with you: 

Counting ducks

We were practicing counting in the bath. (The Pickle was in the bath, I was kneeling on the cold floor with a warm glass of wine! Such is motherhood glamour…)

I put 5 ducks in front of him and ask him “how many?” 

Pickle says “1,2,3,4…”

I say “Can you count in your head?”

Pickle looks at me with an ‘ok whatever’ expression, then calmly gathers up the ducks, balances them on his head with a deadpan expression, and says “1,2,3,4,5!”

Gotta love that literal thinking. 

Santa

Last Christmas, the Pickles school had a cheery Christmas fete. The normal sort of thing. Raffles, tombola, and the opportunity to meet FC, the big man himself. Now last time the Pickle met Santa, he was 2 years old, screamed the whole garden centre down with the mother of all meltdowns. But we figured, hey why not. Let’s try again. So we queue up, pay our pound, and take the Pickle in. We’ve prepared him for this over the last week, told him all about Santa, and his understanding is good enough that we thought he might understand and maybe even enjoy it. 

We obviously prepared him very well indeed, as he sprinted ahead of us, into the grotto at 100mph. It’s all dark, and as I walk in, I jump out of my skin when a ridiculously loud “HO HO HO!” booms from Santa’s tent. 

I walk in to see the Pickle frozen to the spot staring at Santa. He looks horrified! It’s really dark, the only light is coming from the rave worthy, offensively flashing plastic Christmas tree, next to the big fat figure sat in the dark chair behind a big felt beard. Just some creepy eyes and a nose poking out. Jesus, I would have been scared! 

So Santa starts yelling at Pickle… “WHAT’S YOUR NAME? HAVE YOU BEEN A GOOD BOY??” Poor Pickle is still frozen to the spot, wide eyed at this monster. So I do what an autism mum does… lean down gently next to him and tell him quietly and gently what to say. This tiny, quiet, mouse like voice comes out of the Pickle, as bless him, he tries to answer the noisy questions as best he can. His body is completely stiff, and I’m wondering if now is the time to wrap him up under my scarf and start running. 

Suddenly, in the middle of “AND WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR CHRISTMA… ”

The Pickle stands up tall, puts a finger to his lips, and crossly shouts “SHUSH!!!!”. 

I have to give the boy credit. It was even louder than Santa. And it shut him right up too! It shut up everyone in the tent! There were a few seconds that felt like an eternity, where nobody said anything. Everyone just waited… Then Santa very quietly and meekly said “here’s some chocolate for you then. Merry Christmas.”

The Pickle took his chocolate, said “Thank you Santa” (yes!) and walked out of there like he owned the goddamn grotto. Like his army, we marched out faithfully behind him, leaving the tent of doom behind us. I overheard someone on the way out say; “well you can’t really blame him… he is a bit bloody loud!”

I was very proud of the Pickle. And noted to myself to slip his speech and language therapist an extra fiver! 

Nice one little man! Even when you’re scared, don’t take any crap from a big, fake Santa that shouts at you. 

That’s my boy that is!