Livingwithwhit

Tag: different

  • The Silent Screams of an Autism Mother!

    My mind never stops—and neither does the anxiety.
    Every day, I battle with the thoughts and the fears. At the beginning of this journey, I believed I was strong enough. I truly did. But I learned quickly that strength looks different when you’re living in survival mode.

    The first time my son eloped from our home, we were lucky—blessed—to find him instantly. The second time was different. We were at my brother’s house. It was raining, and we were saying our goodbyes, getting ready to leave.

    That’s when my sister-in-law said the words I’ll never forget:
    “Oh my gosh, where is Paxton?”

    I felt sick. My body moved before my mind even caught up. I ran. Out the door, into the rain, heart pounding, breath ragged, screaming his name into the wind—knowing he couldn’t respond.
    Because Paxton is nonverbal.

    Ten minutes.
    We searched for ten excruciating minutes. The longest ten minutes of my life. I was living in a different reality, one where every second was a scream. Every second was a prayer. Every second was a fear I couldn’t face.

    And then, we found him.
    Behind the house. Sitting in the mud, playing in the rainwater.

    My sister-in-law spotted him, but I was the one who scooped him into my arms. He was soaked and filthy, and I didn’t care. I held my baby and thanked God over and over again.

    The neighbors had seen him leave. They watched him walk off barefoot in the rain and said nothing. “He went left,” they told us. I guess they thought it was normal for a three-year-old to wander the streets alone in a storm.

    It’s not.
    But this is our reality.

    Paxton is a runner.
    He loves being outside.
    He especially loves water—an obsession that terrifies me. Drowning is the leading cause of death for children with autism. I know this. My brain doesn’t let me forget.

    We’ve locked our house down like a fortress—chain locks high on every door, child-proof knobs, constant vigilance. Still, I lie awake every night, thinking of new ways to keep him safe. Running on fumes. Running on fear.

    Paxton is smart—too smart sometimes. He figures things out in ways that leave me one step behind. That scares me more than anything.

    So I pray.
    I pray for stillness in my soul, for quiet in my thoughts, for strength to keep showing up.

    But the silent screams still come.
    They rise up when I’m alone. When I’m exhausted. When I wonder if I can really do this for the rest of my life. When the depression creeps in and whispers, “Why me?”

    And then…
    Then Paxton smiles.

    That smile brings me back.
    It reminds me that I am doing a good job.
    That love is stronger than fear.
    That I’m not alone in this, even when it feels like I am.

    This journey is hard.
    This journey is lonely.
    But I will not give up.

    Even when the screams are louder than the silence.

  • A Day In My Life

    On the outside, I look as though I have this life down pat. Honestly, I have no idea what I am doing. I wake up every day not knowing what the day will hold for me in Paxton’s world. When I tell people that he is autistic, they automatically say, “Oh gosh, I am so sorry.” That reaction really pisses me off. My baby is not sick. He is not dying. I don’t tell you so you will feel sorry for me or him. I share that with you, so you know and understand that my baby communicates differently than you and I.

    I have never heard my baby say, “I love you,” and gosh, I want that so badly. Every assessment, or IEP meeting, I am so stressed that I am physically sick, or I have an anxiety attack.

    I remember before any assessments, I was okay, like I had accepted the diagnosis. I knew I just needed to continue to advocate for him. I also needed to educate myself on Autism. Then, all would be well in the world.

    I was so wrong, Paxton had his first assessment at the local Pre-K near our home. After a few weeks, we all met on Zoom and went over the results. I was devastated to see the results; actually, seeing it all on paper was gut-wrenching. I have written many posts on Facebook about this journey. But I have never personally shared how lonely this journey has been.

    I have never wanted anyone to feel bad for me. My life is the total opposite of terrible. Paxton is non-verbal, but he shows his love in different ways. He hugs me so tightly, gives me kisses, and holds my hand. He really is so loving. But some days are very challenging, and I end up crying in the shower.

    God makes no mistakes, I believe. I try not to question him. Still, if I am being truthful, I do question him. People have always told me how strong I am. They admire that about me. Yet, that is far from the truth.

    A day in my life is full of emotions, mainly stressing over the future. All the what-ifs. I never want Paxton to feel as if he is different than anyone else, even though I know he is. This world is cruel. Every waking moment of my life, I think about new ways to protect him. I strive to be his voice. I seek ways to never let him down. At night, I lay there next to him. I watch him sleep and think to myself, ‘No matter the struggles and hard days, I am so blessed.’

    In his eyes, I am his hero, but honestly, he is mine. He wakes up every morning happy and smiling. The first thing he will do is hug me and give me a kiss on the cheek. We snuggle every morning on the couch before I start my day.

    We are in this together. No matter what a day in my life looks like, I refuse to give up. I will do whatever it takes for Paxton to become his best self.