Years ago, when I learned that my youngest son Aidan has autism, I-as did so many of my generation-immediately thought of Rain Man, the famous Hollywood classic from the 1980s in which Dustin Hoffman plays an autistic man who, although brilliant at head-scratching, is at the same time completely unreachable and trapped in his own rigid routines. That extreme image caused an entire generation at the time to think that autism was synonymous with an emotionally impenetrable wall. I therefore immediately envisioned a future full of unreachability and a leaden cloud over our family life.
But the reality? Which fortunately turned out to be a thousand times more colorful, dynamic and, above all, a lot cozier. Of course there are challenges, but above all Aidan brings us an enormous amount of fun and energy.
Because yes, let me be clear: it is still a challenge. I often compare life with a child who is wired slightly differently-whether it’s autism, ADHD or some other bonus challenge-to climbing a mountain. It’s a metaphor I use because it rings so true. You see, there are periods when you have to climb considerably. Then you’re fighting for the right place at school, you hear nothing but negative things about what your child won’t achieve, and you’re keeping twenty balls in the air. That takes strength, it takes endurance, and at such times you know: okay, we are now in a climbing phase.
And just like on a real mountain, unfortunately, you don’t go up in one straight line. Sometimes you slide back down quite a bit unexpectedly. A sudden change in routine, a setback at school or an intense period of over-stimulation can just cause things to wobble again and you clatter down a few feet. That’s part of the journey of ups and downs; it’s a matter of rising, absorbing and trying to get a grip on the path again and again.
But what I personally enjoy so much, and what we would sometimes almost forget, is that that meadow mountain is also bursting with beautiful, sunny plateaus. And those are really there much more often than we think. They are the moments when you are sitting together at the kitchen table yawning over a bizarre remark, when a transition you thought was very exciting suddenly goes smoothly, or when you simply look at your child and see that he is comfortable in his own skin. At such a moment, you reach
your such a nice resting place. The trails are flat, the sun is shining and the storm has died down. That is not only intense enjoyment for you as a parent, but a relief for the whole family-including the siblings in the background, who often move and sympathize just as much. I very consciously stop for a moment to look around me.
And therein lies precisely the challenge for us as parents. We are often so programmed to be in survival and control mode that we keep walking around on that beautiful plateau with our armpits throbbing. Instead of sitting on a rock for a moment and consciously enjoying the fact that things are going really well right now, we’re already staring anxiously up at the next rock. “When would the next crisis or challenge come our way?” we then hear ourselves thinking.
My most important lesson after all these years? When you find that things are going nicely, force yourself to land. Accept that the climbing phases and relapses are part of it, but acutely stop running and scanning for potential danger as soon as the road levels out. Sit back, breathe deeply and say aloud to yourself, “Hey hey, look at us sitting right here. It doesn’t matter if it’s an hour or a few months, enjoying the view is not downtime, it’s pure recharging for the next climb.
It is okay to accept that there are climbing phases, but it is just as important to consciously claim the rest phases. Park the worries about tomorrow. Look at your child, look at your family, and be very aware that you have this moment just waiting for you. That top of the mountain does not have to be reached today. Sometimes halfway up, sitting in the grass with a beautiful view, is just the perfect place.
About Saskia Maas
Saskia Maas is co-founder and director of Stichting InterActing, a theater school that helps young people with autism increase their social flexibility through improvisational theater. She is also CEO of Boom Chicago (the international comedy institute and theater-venue in Amsterdam) and the founder of Falcon Artists (an agency focused on managing and developing creative talent). A proud mother of her sons Finn and Aidan (who herself has autism), she combines her experience in the theater world with her personal mission to look for opportunities, develop talent and celebrate unique, colorful brains.