I read this article the other day by a female adolescent with autism.
What did it say?
Well, this person with autism explained why she hates her parents.
What?
Hate is very strong word.
Yet, when I read the article, I understood her point of view.
Which was?
She dearly loves her parents, but she struggles with their idea of her capabilities verses her very real need to download from the outside world in a safe place.
She knows that her parents are always going to stand by her and that she can let out her anger and frustration on them.
She understands that it’s strange to yell and scream at them and to all her parents names, but she knows that she does this out of love.
She even gets physical with her parents, and secretly—at times—wants to get physical with teachers and other students (this part was a bit worrisome to me).
Now, the next part really hit me.
What did she say?
That she doesn’t always know that she’s doing these things. Later on, when she discusses how she had taken out her frustration(s), she’ll often not remember what she did, but she’ll know she did something wrong. It’ll feel wrong.
But, it feels really wrong because she believes her parents are always right, and she believes they feel like they’re always in the right.
She also feels comfortable blaming them for her behavior because she feels she can’t blame anyone but them for how she sometimes responds.
Mostly, she can’t trust anyone to be there once all of this struggle is over.
No one but her parents.
She knows that they can take it.
She hopes that someday that will understand this love, and she will understand why she does what she does, and calls it love.
How does this translate to me?
I guess the viewpoint just hit home for me as a parent of a child with autism.
My son—being a fellow adolescent—also struggles with the how and the why and the when to “let it all out.” I believe he sometimes comes home from school just like this girl does, he’s kept it together for hours, and that is sometimes tough to do.
It often appears as if I am the recipient of the brunt of my son’s anger and frustration.
I know that he loves me, but sometimes I am his worst enemy.
That’s some deep stuff, I know.
Yet, I agree with the author. My son can let it go at me. That’s okay. In the end, we will work it all out, and hopefully we’ll grow together, and mother and son.
On the flip side, I also need my son to learn how to cope by himself. He needs to know how to exist in this world—without me. They’ll be a day when I’m not here for him.
For now, my husband and I will continue to be the “punching bags,” if we have to. As long as, at the end of the day, we can talk it over with cooler heads. As long as, we both know that sometimes the fight is just a release. As long as, it’s all about love.
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