When I started talking to people around me about my son’s autism, I sort of became a go-to person. I really enjoy raising awareness about our reality and, above all, being able to be a voice for him. I started a Facebook page where I share our ups and downs, but mostly where I try to encourage other families.
Every day, I try to show and give the best of myself. My patience, love, determination, and energy are often put to the test. The people around me think I’m strong, brave, and inspiring, and I find that incredibly flattering and rewarding. I feel like a Wonder Woman braving the storm of autism and the daily chaos that comes with raising four young children.
As soon as everyone is asleep and I have a little time to myself, that’s often the only time I allow myself to let my guard down. In the near-silence, I often break down and cry. I cry out all the tears I’ve held back all day. I cry because I’m an exhausted mom. I cry because today, I had to hear yet another round of thoughtless comments as I walked out of my house with my son. I cry because I’m seething inside—I’m seething over the lack of services for our family. I’m furious about all the injustice and discrimination we face. I cry because a friend rejected my son. I cry because my son—who was having a bad day—slapped me, bit me, and spat in my face. I cry out of jealousy because I secretly envy the simplicity of my friend’s family life. I cry because I read a touching piece that talks about autism in such a beautiful way. I cry because I dream of a tolerant Quebec. In short, I cry because it makes me feel good!
It’s okay to be strong and to fight when the time comes, but it’s also crucial to allow yourself to be vulnerable. The battle I face every day is tough, and I have the right to find it difficult. I have the right to cry and admit defeat!
And then I go to bed, and in the morning, I put on my armor again and return to the fray, stronger than ever.