Part 8: Labels, and the Way We See
I started writing this series on autism awareness because I needed to share what I’ve learnt till now on my journey with Krishna.
I’ve been overwhelmed by parents who reached out to me to share their own stories. I’ve also been shocked by the experiences of some other parents who are floundering under the weight of social expectations.
What I know about autism is just a very tiny part of what’s happening with Krishna, not to speak of other autistic children. There’s so much I still need to learn, including the basic language of neurodiversity.
But I know and believe this with all my being: autism, ADHD, Tourette’s Syndrome, Angelman’s syndrome and so on are all labels. Labels are useful in identifying and understanding issues, such as:
Why is my child unable to sit in class and listen?
Why can’t my child button their shirt the right way?
Why can’t my child chew their food and eat?
These labels that arrive with a diagnosis are tools to understand and manage your child’s situation.
That is all; no more.
These labels are NOT reasons to be ashamed of your child or to shrink from insensitive neighbours, friends, and relatives.
These labels are NOT reasons to hide your child inside the house and be scared to take them out.
These labels are NOT reasons to apologize to everyone if your child has a meltdown or is running about in a public space.
These labels, dear parents of neurodiverse children, are not social stigma, however much your society may try to convince you of it.
I am enormously privileged in that both my husband and I are passionately committed to ensuring Krishna’s happiness and quality of life. And so are our families. I also know of families that have broken because the child is neurodiverse. Of single mothers battling to earn and manage the needs of their neurodiverse children.
It breaks my heart. And also makes me immensely proud of those mothers who don’t give a damn about people who stigmatize these labels.
Neurodiverse children are still just children. Little human beings with the fundamental right to your affection and care. With strengths and magnificence that may astound you, if only you appreciate them.
When Krishna sees me after therapy, his face lights up and he flings himself into my arms, open and honest in his love. Without the reservations that an almost 11-year-old neurotypical boy might have.
It fills my heart with the strength I need to handle his pain.
