what’s your superpower

what’s your superpower

by | Dec 23, 2020 | Autism & Empathy, Autism & Neurotypical Sibling, Autism & Parenting

Just a few weeks ago my son asked me about autism. This question didn’t surprise me, make me wiggle inside, or even make me pause (for too long that is). The simple question, “Mom, I think I have autism, right?” started the whirling, swirling, beautiful 50-second conversation between Buddy and me.

“Yes, Buddy, you are you and autism is part of you, but it isn’t all of you.” I received a confused look from my 10-years young boy who clearly needed a different kind of answer to his question.

“Autism is a superpower,” I started. “It is your gift to the world. It is how you build things in your mind and then re-create them with your legos or a cardboard box. It is the puzzle that takes me three weeks to complete, yet invites you to finish in three hours. Your superpower is solving a math problem that seems too complex. It is how you focus on something so intently, even for hours, that you eventually become a master at it. It is the way you make sense of the world when you move and make your awesome sounds. It is the superpower that I don’t have.”

“Okay, Mom. Why do I have this superpower? Does Sissy have this same power?” asked a curious voice.

“Buddy, your superpower is unique, different than Sissy’s powers. Sissy is gifted in creating colorful masterpieces with her paints and doodle pens. She knows how to craft small lunchboxes and paint-pallets for her favorite doll, Mary Ellen. Sissy knows how to put ingredients into a pot and season them so they taste yummy. She dances and sings because it makes her feel happy inside.”

“Hum,” came a sound from my son’s buzzing mind through his mouth. “Thanks, Mom. I’m ready to play my game, again,” said a matter-of-fact voice. And just like that, Buddy shifted his thinking into the puzzle game on his device, moving pieces and rotating angles with his fingers.

I believe in this moment my son grew into himself just a little more. He took a big, confident step into recognizing that he is unique just like his sister is unique. He found a moment to hear that autism spectrum disorder is actually pretty cool, and that he’s capacity in the world is greater than he ever conjured by himself. Buddy noticed that life isn’t about what makes us different from others; rather, what makes each of us unique and special to the world.

I understand that my son’s perspective of the world is based on his 10-years of life, hundreds of hours of therapy, and many moments that probably felt chaotic in his small body. I also know that there is nothing extraordinary about perceving unique abilities as superpowers. I ask that you think about your own superpower – and then the superpower that your child or loved one offers the world. I ask that you look at these powers as what makes the person whole, rather than what they are lacking in life. Because when we do this, we are creating a world where all abilities are honored and valued.

And, you ask what my superpower is? Well, I believe my superpower is listening even when no one else will. My power is in the advocacy for the autism community that continues to grow despite others telling me otherwise. It is in the song, “Seasons of Love,” I sing at night to my daughter every night because it helps her to find sleep. My superpower is in the good-morning bowl of oatmeal that Buddy enjoys each day. My superpower is the part of me that no one else can feel.

So, what is your superpower?

words can cut

words can cut

by | Oct 26, 2020 | Autism & Empathy

When I heard the words, “is it okay if I act like an autistic and screech at you?”, a sharp pain heaved inside my body. The words came out of the person’s mouth so easily, effortlessly, as if the language used were commonplace. My mind swirled into the moments when my own son recently worked with his ABA therapist and shared that he screeched at others when he felt stressed or scared. In a very vulnerable moment, my son, Buddy, shared with me how he likes to make a noise like a pterodactyl because he doesn’t know how to express his stress at the moment. Instead, he envelopes himself into the high-pitched screech that signals to me and his loved ones, that something isn’t right in life. He sometimes raises his arms up in the air and then flaps them up-and-down, repeatedly, as if he were a pterodactyl flying through the sky. I know in this moment that my cue is to turn down the noise in the house, dim the lights, and diffuse some vetiver oil into the room. I also know this is my moment to listen to his screech because it is his moment of stress. His stress, like mine, can sometimes consume my behaviors because it owns my thinking. And while I don’t make noises, I do, in fact, eat chocolate, isolate from my family, and even cry. Neither response is correct or right; however, both are responses to stress.

The words “is it okay if I act like an autistic and screech at you?”, prompted an abrupt, yet simple response: “Excuse me, do you know what you just said? Do you know how hurtful those words are?” After I received no response from this individual, I realized that my tone of voice wasn’t compassionate or calm. Instead, it was sharp and defensive. I dropped all my previous training and work in the education field in these few seconds. Yet, how can I expect a response from someone when I am only bouncing the ball back with the same judgment?

So, after a few days of reflection, I now believe my response would have been better received if I put aside my emotional connection to my son and focused more on empathy. Perhaps this individual would have received my perspective better if I shared why some individuals on the autism spectrum screech. Or maybe there could have been a conversation with an invitation to explore autism. Or maybe I would have come to understand this person was also victimized by hurtful words – and was only putting more back out into our world.

What does matter is that there is still great work to be done with creating more empathy around autism spectrum disorder. I invite you to say something the next time you hear a joke about a person with unique abilities. I ask you to say something not only because you may impact the viewpoint of the speaker, but you may inspire an onlooker to do the same. And, while the words I heard still rattle like a sharp needle in my brain, I do know that I can do better. We can all do better. And, our world, our children, deserve to see this kind of better – the kindness and empathy tucked into the small moments.

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