Unacceptable

For the last few weeks, we've been working with Community Mental Health, their contractors, and our outpatient psychiatrist to craft an outside of the box intervention. Our primary goal is simply to allow Braden the opportunity to build skills in critical deficit areas, to learn to manage his emotions in a positive way, and to have access to intensive behavior-based therapy. For years, we have had the same goal. 

I don't know if this effort will be different than the others. I've spent so much time and energy drawing attention to our situation. I've dug deep into my soul to find the strength to build a case against my son being fit for society-even though that's the opposite of what I believe to be true-because that is what decision makers are conditioned to see as actionable. I've talked and I've listened. I've reasoned and I've begged. I've been stone-faced and I've cried.

The one thing this team agrees on is that I've exhausted every traditional resource. Progress-the kind you can build a future on-has eluded my son. His demons are as squarely stationed between him and his independence as they've ever been. And that, as it has always been, is unacceptable.

Getting Started...Again.

When someone asks me to describe myself, the word storyteller is always included. If I had to answer in one word, that would be the one. I feel the most like myself when I am sharing ideas with others, be it in print or in person. I love the dance of communication.

I studied rhetoric in college. I became a consultant to help non-profit organizations share their stories. I’m a Facebook addict, primarily because I’m fascinated by all of your stories. I free write, I journal, and occasionally I blog.

I’ve offered anecdotes and monologues about raising a child on the Autism spectrum because, at times, I have needed to let some of the emotion of that charge out of my being. Many have graciously turned those pieces into dialogues, which has helped keep me moving forward. To date, blogging has been like a relief valve, allowing me to modulate the pressure I have felt inside.

Over the years, our family unit has endured through good times and really, really bad times. We have learned as much as we could about our son’s diagnosed challenges. We’ve learned as much as we could about him—and from him. If there is anything I am an expert in, it’s him.

No family has worked harder to adapt to a family member’s needs than ours. Many have tried as hard. Some have had more marked success. No family has worked harder. Loved harder.

We have exhausted every readily available option—and ourselves. We have thought outside of the box, and we have gone to extremes. We are just getting started.