When I look back on my years as an autism mother, there are many things I wish I did differently. I regret never taking my daughter on a plane. I regret caring so much what other people thought. And I regret not asking for help.
If I had started taking Bree on a plane when she was a little girl, she would have been easier to handle back then. I think back on how she was then, and I know the me I am now would have handled her a lot better. But I wasn’t strong enough then. I was too scared that my daughter would freak and they would turn around the plane or make an emergency landing and kick us off.
I remember when I got separated from my kids’ father, my son and daughter were 5 and 3 1/2. I could barely take care of them. I was such a frazzled new single mom.
About six months into my separation, I decided to take the kids on a trip to the shore, just me and them. The mom I was back then could not handle it. I booked a cabin at a campground where my friends were staying. When we got there, I realized I had booked a cabin on a lake (beginner’s mistake). There was little air conditioning, and the doors didn’t lock securely. I learned that the hard way when, while I was unpacking, my daughter wandered out the back door and toward the water. Luckily my son saw her and called for me. I got her before she reached the water, but I was completely traumatized. I packed up what little I had unpacked, got the kids back into the car and took them home.
If I was the mom I am now, it would have been no problem. I would have asked about the location of the place I was renting. I would have figured out how to lock the doors tight. It takes way more to freak me out now.
As the kids were growing up, I thought a few times about taking them on airplane trips. Each time, I talked myself out of it. I envy the autism moms that mastered the plane rides. I have mastered a lot, but that is one thing I just cannot bring myself to do. Especially now that Bree is 17, taller and bigger than me. Maybe one day. In the mean time, the Jersey Shore is as far as we go away.
I regret caring so much what people thought back then. It kept me off the planes. It kept me home, which made me stir crazy. It kept me out of supermarkets and restaurants. It kept me from accepting invitations to parties or staying more than an hour or two.
Then I met my (second and current) husband, and I realized it wasn’t just the autistic kids screaming and yelling at restaurants. I would look at the way my husband reacted to the commotion. He is a calm guy, he doesn’t let a lot get him ruffled. He would sit unfazed when one of our kids screamed or cried. He didn’t get embarrassed. He didn’t leave the place. I’ve learned a lot from him.
We go out more, to stores and restaurants. We’ve gone to the movies and to the bowling alley. We accept party invitations. We stay more than an hour. We try.
The last regret I mentioned is the biggest of the three. When my kids were diagnosed, I isolated myself. I didn’t ask for help, I didn’t give myself breaks. I cried alone in my room. Work became a refuge for me. The only time I spent without kids was when I was at work and they were in school. The best part of divorce was that when they were at their father’s house, I got weekends free to relax and remember myself, .
Here we are all these years later, and I have a pretty small support system. Few who can keep her overnight. I have a couple of babysitters. I have a big family and I’ve had a lot of friends, I should have asked them for help. Very few are able to help me now with Bree. My life would be a lot easier if I had more of a support system. I have only myself to blame.
Book the trips. Ignore the looks. Accept the help. Take the breaks. Get the manicures. Meet the friend for happy hour. I do now, more than I did. I wish I did more then. 
Leave a Reply