Therapy Tuesday
Photo by: dcjohn 
As parents (and especially mothers) we adhere to a lot of "shoulds", "ought-tos", and "musts". There are extended family rules, societal rules, playgroup rules, and the rules that you create in the moment. Are there ever moments when you want to ditch the rules? Or just give up? (Which might be the same thing as tossing the rules).
In those moments, inevitably, something pulls us back. Maybe it is the ramblings of our toddler or a child's hug. This wasn't the case recently for a Texas mom. In a 911 call, she told the operator that her children weren't breathing as a result of her own doing. She had tried to get them to drink a cleaner, but they wouldn't comply, so she strangled them.
Such an action, of course, seems monstrous. How could she do that to her own children? If we were to connect to our sense of empathy (and honesty) I think that we've all had moments where we've possibly had the thought, but would never follow through. We are able to take a break, walk away, hand the kid over to another adult, go to another room, or a variety of other coping strategies. But what happens when that isn't enough? Or it doesn't end after our self-imposed time out? Saiqa Akhter wasn't able to have a time out where her perspective or events changed. She was the mother of two children, each who had special needs. (In her case, it appears that her son was autistic, and she claims her daughter was as well.)
Raising a child with special needs takes such an emotional toll on a family. Many couples, when they learn a child has autism, a developmental disability, or other disability go through a normal period of mourning. They mourn the loss of the child they expected and hoped for. There is a wonderful poem that captures this that compares this to a trip to Holland. Despite these challenges, the divorce-rate of families who have autistic children is equal to those who do not (debunking earlier research claiming the percentage was as high as 80%).
In essence though, all children, at some point have their own needs: the colicky baby, the stubborn toddler, or the adolescent who can't follow rules. Hopefully, we can see these concerns as "phases" (at least that is the hope). But with a true disability, you can't grow out of it. As a family, you can learn and teach strategies that will assist with functioning and coping. But there is the constant worry about who will care for your child once you are no longer able to do so. With de-institutionalization becoming more of the rule, centers that are created for people with disabilities seem to be few and far between in most places.
There are no parts of the debate about disabilities that are not met with controversy. Parents with children that have Downs Syndrome decry genetic testing that is available in pregnancy that might cause a prospective parent to terminate a pregnancy if the results are positive. Services for people with disabilities (including mental health issues) get cut when budget lines need to be trimmed. Even how we educate these members of our society has been changed over the years, where at first the idea was separation, and now the in vogue term is inclusion.
What all of this seems to say is that as a society, we don't really know what to do or think about those that are different in some glaring way. I admit, I too, have this problem. My patience can be tested and I might not be as kind. It is during these moments that I need to step into an empathic place. This is an area that I still need to learn from. My sister-in-law has a disability. She has many strengths to her character, and of course some weaknesses. So how can I better learn to serve as her future protector when her parents aren't available to do so? I wish I had the answers that might have helped Saiqa Akhter, or others like her. But I too, am human, and have to struggle with this myself.