I Hate Holland

I once read that having a child with autism is like planning a trip to the Bahamas and landing in Holland. It isn't what you planned for, or expected, but it isn't such a bad place to be. Well, that's a bunch of crap. I f'ing hate Holland. I hate autism, and I despise what it has done to my child. I decided to create a blog to help both myself and others express (honestly) what life is like with an autistic child. I thought once we made it through the diagnosis, the early intervention battles, advocates, and finding words that it would be easier. My son, after-all, has superseded "severe". However, I am now learning that it doesn't get easier, the battles simply change. I started fighting this war in one place, only to discover the battle follows me wherever I go. Yes. I hate Holland.

My son, Logan, was diagnosed first with developmental delay at 10 months, and then autism at 18 months. We were lucky. We managed to get an early diagnosis. "This is half the battle" I was told. Like most mothers of children with this diagnosis, I became this cape wearing superhero, enrolling him in every service I could find. I became an expert in all things autism, ABA, play therapy... the list goes on and on. I managed a 40 hour a week Applied Behavior Analysis therapy program at home. I fought our local school district in order to put him in the school of my choice at age three. I breathed a sigh of relief when Logan spoke his first word, and cried when he said, "I love you" the first time. Holland. I celebrated the place. Logan saw the world as a wonderful, perfect utopia. Everything was flowers and there was so much we could all learn from him. He excelled academically, and transitioned into a regular kindergarten class with typical peers. We did it. (Insert house falling on head here.)

I don't know what happened or what went wrong, but Holland went straight to hell and fast.

I can handle the quirky little behaviors. I can deal with the hand-flapping, sleep disruptions, repetitive motions, lining things up based on size, shape, color, etc. Pullups don't bother me. People staring in stores...tough shit. But when my son, my sweet, lovable son, began having violent outbursts combined with profanity and spitting.... come on! The difference between landing in Holland and landing in the Bahamas became clear. We can't just hop on a jet and leave this place behind. I am trapped in this godforsaken hell.

And so, this is where the blog journey begins... dealing with where I am now as a mother stuck in Holland with a little boy so lost, confused, and angry that he can't control himself. As a mother who has gone from celebrating autism, to hating the diagnosis more than anyone can imagine.

Yes. I hate Holland.