Today is Blogging Against Disablism day. I have two kids with a neurological disorder (one I’m quite confident I have myself).
All three of us are extra difficult to love.
We make your lives harder. We cried a lot as infants, toddlers, preschoolers, middle schoolers, even now. We are prone to feeling defeated because it’s a battle just to get our muscles to move us out of bed every day, so telling us to “be more positive” in the face of that is kind of insulting. It’s a struggle to not drop everything we pick up. It takes loads of mental energy for us to hang on to your every word in a noisy place, because we can’t process what you’re saying as easily as the average Joe. We mishear song lyrics all the time, so at least we give you something to make fun of.
Actually, we give you a lot to make fun of. We can’t get our eyes and muscles and ears to work together well enough to play playground games or high school social games or reindeer games of any kind. Our brains are so busy trying to keep us from killing ourselves with our poor perceptions that we’re plagued by seemingly ridiculous anxieties. So by the time you ask us a question in school and we get it wrong because our brains simply have nothing left to give, don’t be surprised when we burst into tears. By the time you try to get us to battle with you, we’ve already lost twelve battles that you didn’t even see.
I’ve heard it called “Easy Target Syndrome.”
There is now evidence for a biological basis for Sensory Processing Disorder. Hooray. Maybe the treatments that help people like my kids–and me–will be covered by insurance insurance some day.
Or maybe someday that evidence will lead some savvy scientist to develop prenatal screening that will identify SPD before birth. Then you won’t have to try and love people like me and my kids anymore. We won’t be around to bother you. We’ll be offed in the womb.
Your life will be much easier.
Is a difficult life a fate worse than death?
Do you think you are so incompetent that you couldn’t parent a difficult child?
Do yourself a favor. Give yourself a little more credit. And while you’re at it, could someone write a novel/produce a movie where the kid in the wheelchair DOESN’T die?