Super-Mama, Super Powers
Originally published to Momley Crue in March 2018.
For the past two weeks my eldest son and I have been reading Col. Chris Hadfield's autobiography together. I've discovered a giant parallel between Hadfield’s training as an astronaut and mine as a single-mother of two boys with autism:
You must plan for every possible contingency before going on an actual mission.
In Hadfield’s case, knowing everything that might go wrong and planning for it meant the difference between life or death in outer space. In mine, it's occasionally that dramatic but typically it just means the difference between insanity or serenity, when out in the community.
If you’re unfamiliar with life on the spectrum, I’ll just give you this teensy peek into my world. Navigating the grocery store for basic essentials is akin to high-strategic warfare, trying to avoid landmines that trigger each son’s unique sensory challenges. Getting in and out of the car in a parking lot is like playing a virtual game of Frogger because of their bodies’ impulsivity. Having motivating trinkets in my pocket to woo back my youngest when the next shiny object lures him to elope is what I call Autism Parenting 101. On the other hand, knowing where every public bathroom is and wearing sneakers to catch up with your little sprinter so he doesn’t bust into the ladies’ room stall without you is critical pre-planning. Autism in the community is a full contact sport that requires stamina, keen acumen, and a killer sense of humor. Becoming a single mom, requires a transformation into some sort of virtual blend of Lara Croft, Jackie Joyner-Kersee, and Ellen DeGeneres, just to survive.
At the risk of sounding like I'm bragging, over the past 14 years I've become pretty good at anticipating the contingencies when out in the community with my dudes. My two sons have trained me well. Part of me loves this superpower. I mean really… who doesn’t want to be strong, capable, and undaunted by even the most harrowing of circumstances? Sure, it’s quite ego boosting. But pride certainly goeth before the fall. Autism has an elusive way of morphing and evolving just when you think you’ve mastered it. Despite every social situation I’ve learned to navigate in the past, my children’s impulsive behaviors and their anxiety continue to throw curve balls. On top of that, we now have hormones and emotions bursting out of every pore. Quite frankly, we are a collective hot mess out in the real world these days.
So what do I do? The easiest solution seems to just lock us up indoors until puberty passes! Then again we’d probably self-combust in my 800 square foot, 2-bedroom apartment. Option B: Maybe I could spend the wee small hours of the morning (my only uninterrupted time) drafting mind-maps of the most obscure contingencies my non-autistic brain can think of. Or option C: deciding to not plan so hard anymore. Even though that feels a bit irresponsible, perhaps it is the acceptance that I can’t possibly prepare for every thing. But that could mean relying on the kindness of strangers and friends if things get dicey. Add to that the need for liability insurance should my youngest decide to (literally) bite the hand of any good Samaritan’s offering of help. Hmm, scratch option C. Well, that leaves option D, the deeply spiritual approach. Perhaps I set aside everything I think might happen so I can be open to having a new experience. Channel a little Law of Attraction perhaps? Hmmm. It’s fair to say I’m in a classic case of analysis paralysis.
For me I think the answer lies somewhere in the middle of it all.
Per Byron Katie’s famous quote, I aspire to fall in love with “not knowing” in life so that I’ll be free. I love letting the future unfold, not predicting outcomes, not micromanaging relationships. Instead, when it comes to running errands or going to a movie with my dudes, the best I can do is set aside what I think is going to happen and be open to experiencing whatever mayhem may unfold. But preparedness DOES matter. Friends and family who lend a hand DO matter. Humility on my part matters maybe most of all. I am NOT a superhero. I’m a single mom with a big heart, a full plate, and on some days, not enough inner resources to raise two pubescent autistic children without help.
People have often said to me, “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” and I disagree. God, life, the Universe – whatever you call it - often gives you more than you can handle and maybe that’s because [God] doesn’t want you to be a super hero, a super mama island all on your own. Who are you proving yourself to anyway? Your ex? He’s not here, remember? It is my opinion that as people, and especially as women, we are meant to be communal beings, often defining ourselves by our relationships. So what I’ve learned via my children’s tutelage is that I need my peeps to encourage me, support me, think through contingencies with me, and most of all, to laugh with me when I tell them about our latest cockamamie adventure as we spread autism awareness through our community!
There’s such a freedom in surrendering the superpower of having it all under control. Maybe, when it’s all said and done, that’s what my boys have come here to teach me…
Relax, mom. Nothing is really under control anyway.
