Blank Space

I sit in front of a blank screen with a blinking cursor…a…lot. It’s not that I have nothing to say or don’t know what to say…it’s that the emotion behind it all is so epically crippling at times.

I’ve immersed myself in blogs and books lately. Things and subjects I didn’t want to “be” my life years ago that I avoided. Autism wasn’t going to define us. I wish I’d known a little more back then. I wish I’d had the capacity to try to understand rather than fix, to lean in than shut down, to find someone with knowledge to sit in the dark.

Maybe I’m accepting this diagnosis and life with Autism…and my heart is opening. Or it’s that I’m lonely…I need to “know” people who live my every day. People who might actually “get” what Autism means and how life actually is exponentially harder and way more exhausting than we’d ever imagined it could be. Or maybe I’m realizing that this life is not infinite. I need to know there are people out there like my son living productive lives…that there are people willing to know him and give him a chance.

The blinking curser. There is no instruction book for Autism. While I love the authenticity of “if you’ve met one person with Autism, you’ve met one person with Autism”, I want a play book. Tell me what comes next. Tell me how to handle the next stage in life. Tell me how this is all going to end.