I Was Angry for Years

And I carried my anger in a suitcase that no one could see but me.

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WE CANNOT HEAL FROM WHAT WE REFUSE TO ACKNOWLEDGE.

Let me type that again for you because it is one of the most monumental life lessons I have learned in my 39 years.

We cannot heal from what we refuse to acknowledge.

When my son Cooper was diagnosed with severe nonverbal autism at age 3, it was not a surprise. I share that because it didn’t blindsight us. It didn’t come out of left field.

Cooper was entirely nonverbal. He didn’t play at all with toys or have imaginative play. Transitions were very hard for him. He didn’t acknowledge peers. He ate five foods and no more. He was obsessed with watching his shows. But only certain scenes. On repeat.

You get the picture.

We knew going in what the diagnosis would be.

When we were done, quite honestly, it was a relief. Because we knew and assumed we could do all the things that he would need to get better. Meaning, someone would finally tell us what to do.

But they didn’t. In fact, it felt like a ‘good luck’ friend.

We were already doing speech therapy and occupational therapy. We had already met with the school district, which was an absolute gong show. (Read more about it in my book.)

We felt like we had the only autistic child in the world. It was rough.

As time went on, life got hard. Then harder. And eventually, we honestly couldn’t leave the house.

Cooper wasn’t able to communicate at all. He was frustrated and didn’t understand this world.

He lined up items. He stripped beds. He broke lamps. He put things in the bathtub. He ran into busy streets and walked off docks. He threw everything he could find.

Car rides became dangerous. Being in the community became dangerous.

It was as if our access to the world completely shut off.

And we were frozen in time.

If you know our story, you know that my husband and I were divorced from each other for a short time before remarrying years later.

During our time apart, I turned invisible. I became entirely consumed by autism. It’s all I could talk about. Think about. And so on.

And during that time, I became angry. There were lots of other emotions too.

Jealousy. Fear. Worry. Anxiety. Frustration. Confusion. Exhaustion.

But anger was the one that I carried the most. Which was so confusing to me because at my core I am not an angry person.

I choose joy. I always have. I see the good in things. The silver lining. I believe it will get better. And so on.

But the years of special needs parenting, with not much help, and fighting for every basic right for my son, had hardened me.

I was angry.

I was angry that my son couldn’t communicate. I was angry he couldn’t say mom or I love you. I was angry we couldn't go to parks or zoos. I was angry that we were alone. I was angry that I was so exhausted. And that he wasn’t improving.

And I carried it all in a suitcase. All packed up tight. Hidden away.

One that I refused to acknowledge and unpack. Because that would mean I would need to acknowledge that autism was forever. And that my son may never talk to me. Or live independently. Get married. Have a job. Have kids. Drive a car. And so on.

I couldn’t. It hurt too much.

So, I kept my self busy. I kept moving and going and doing more and more. Carrying my suitcase which eventually turned into 2 and 3 and 4 suitcases.

The weight was unbearable.

Until I was hunched over. Unrecognizable to myself.

I hit my bottom. If you haven’t seen the video where I share it all, click HERE. It’s definitely worth a watch.

It was my lowest point. I was a caregiver in crisis. And no one had any idea because I had never shared before. Or asked for help. Or acknowledged my feelings.

But good came from it. Because it forced me to finally unpack.

It didn’t happen overnight, but eventually, I forced myself to sit down, think, and acknowledge the realities of a lifelong disability for my son.

Unpacking my suitcases was the best thing I ever did to help me heal. To get me to acceptance.

We cannot heal from what we refuse to acknowledge.

I’m here for you friends. I know what you are going through, and you are not alone.

Please find others who understand your journey. Your suitcases. And the weight you carry.

Thank you so much for being here. You remind me that I am not alone either.

Kate

PS. Remember to follow me on Facebook at Finding Cooper’s Voice and visit my website at www.findingcoopersvoice.com. Need a speaker for your next event? Fill out this form. Want to know where I am going to be next? Click HERE.

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