Special Needs, What a Joke
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Do you ever wonder what a mom feels when her child is labeled? Maybe your child has been labeled. Or maybe you’ll know someone who could use your compassion and empathy. This is where I begin, sharing from my heart, what those words mean / meant to me.
I wrote this in an essay writing class last month. Our in-class prompt was to end with “what a joke.” I knew exactly what I wanted to write.
Because I am grieving.
First, came denial. (And a lot of weight gain and apathy.)
Many months and months later, just recently, came anger. Once I let myself feel, I was surprised at the anger. I expected to feel sadness, not anger.
Now, I’m more peaceful. I’m closer to acceptance of my new normal. But, when I wrote this, I had just started to deal with all the “stuff” that happened inside me when my kids were labeled. I wrote it to my old self. I wrote it to my demons.
It’s raw. I hope it won’t bother you too much. It was my truth in that moment.
. . .
Special needs. There I said it. My kid has special needs; well, both my kids do if you want to know the truth. Which I doubt you do.
Now you’ll try to shut me up and say, “Oh, I don’t know how you do it” or some other condescending remark to mean “thank God it’s not me” and look at me like you’re glad your karma got you two “normal” kids.
This label is like cement, pulling me into submersion with my nose barely sticking out of the liquid, gasping for air.
Special.
Hardly.
What a joke.
@Stacey, wow – what a joke, indeed! I’m sorry you had to go through those tough times.
Thanks, @Erin, @Quinn and @Rachel. I was scared to share this — now I’m glad I did. Hugs to all of you!
I am so proud of you for daring to speak from your heart. No one likes labels – I remember the first time hearing that my mom was a “Paranoid Schizophrenic”; I was 8. And the same idiot therapist telling me at age 13 that it was hereditary and I could pass it along to my kids! Seriously and he was the therapist in charge of my mother’s well being! What a joke! That felt good; so here is another one: I was 38 when I overheard my ultra thin OBGYN doctor refer to me as “obese, advanced maternal” which was a nice way of saying I was “fat and old”. I was 40 weeks pregnant and I looked like my belly was beyond ready to explode. Not only being short but also short-waisted so those extra 40 lbs had no where else to go than OUT! What a joke!
That was brave–putting your feelings out there. Not easy to do. Big risk. Thank you for doing it. It’s a good example to all of us to dare be vulnerable, to show up in the world as you really are. Denial and anger–two demons that are impossible to wrestle into submission. There is no comfort in some moments in life, is there? No way to fix–and isn’t that the mother’s role–fixing? How hard for you.
Thanks for sharing this! I went through something similar three years ago when my oldest son was given that “special needs” label. At the time, it was so hard to admit my anger and disappointment that my child wasn’t going to be “normal.” I appreciate reading such a brave and honest reflection.
Cyber Hugs. I know they don’t make things different. Just wanted to give them. I work with a child who has special needs. He’s amazing. Smarter than most the kids in his class. Unfortunately for the SCHOOL he doesn’t fit their molds. Personally, I kinda like people who don’t act like cookie cutter people. I don’t know what I would do if I were in your shoes. I think I would feel exactly like you do. Angry.