I can go on only so long without writing. The pressure of
not writing builds up inside me till I have a torrent of words to be let out. I
choose not to let all of it out of course and instead focus on one topic that
is currently clouding my mind. At any point of time I am thinking – of this,
that and the other. Of paths chosen, of those not chosen and of those that lie
ahead of me. Options are confounding and I see no clear path to make the choice
easier. All I can keep hoping is that the currently overgrown and
thorn-infested path in front of me will clear out after some meticulous hacking
and when I straighten up after all that effort, a vista of breathtaking beauty
will open up in front of me. That’s all I try and focus on.
Now trying to focus on some distant future goal is one thing
– dealing with daily realities and pitfalls is another thing entirely. I tell
myself that my ultimate goal is not my lifetime dream of writing my book but
rather the sense of having succeeded as a parent. My son has always been a
blessing but he has been a constant, gnawing pain in my heart too. The nights I
have not slept worrying about his future, are beyond count. The times I have
broken down on an ordinary day because I suddenly cannot take it anymore have
also been beyond count. However, the number of times I have picked myself up,
washed a tear-stained or angry face and simply gone ahead and done whatever I
could, have been far greater.
Yesterday was one such day when nothing seemed to be going
right in the morning. Anger, sadness, incomprehension and regret on both sides
all commingled to make it one of the toughest days I have had to handle in a
long time. I was furious at my son, furious at myself and furious at an absent
husband who is spared this kind of experience because he is away travelling so
very often. I handled it badly – it was far from my finest hour. But we managed
and he went off to school while I trudged wearily upstairs to sit at my writing
nook staring unseeingly through my window with a throbbing head and tears running down my
face. No one was there as usual. I could cry. I did cry. And then I showered
and went to my daughter’s PTA meeting and from there to SK, our newly opened
vocational centre which is the one place I know I can go and feel better
instantly.
I know tears are seen as a sign of weakness and vulnerability is
laughed upon. But for a mother, it is inevitable. It takes courage to survive
something as traumatic as autism. And tears give me courage. A little venting
gives me the strength to go on. Nothing outside of me can replace that strength
– if you want to be able to cope with whatever life throws at you, never make
the mistake of looking outside for help beyond a certain limit. It will come
back to bite you. Instead, make yourself stronger. Temper your mind. Trust in
your friends. Hold on to a belief. Smile. And go on.
The rest of the day was actually great. I got great reports
from my daughter’s teachers. Everyone had a smile on their face when they
talked of her. I had a wonderful time helping a brilliant young man diagnosed with
Aspergers with his presentation for an interview he was to attend this week.
Helping others always pulls you out of yourself and you see that everyone has a
purpose in life – it also keeps you from brooding, from falling into that
slippery pit of despair which is so easy to do when you are fighting a mostly
lonely battle.
By nightfall I was content and at peace with myself. Not too
long ago, I would have been despondently picking up shattered pieces of myself
off the floor but now life has a meaning. It is important to learn that each of
us has something unique to offer and that no matter how hard the days seem
sometimes, they can never stay that way. So hack your way out if your path
seems impenetrably blocked with the woody vines of hopelessness and despair –
there is something better that awaits each of us on the other side. Go ahead and cry
a little if it makes you feel better – reach out to a friend to hear a patient
voice and then go out and face the world again and again. That is life...
