Obviously, there's no way a person with this much resentment could be pitiful, right?
I understand that "I'm sorry" is important, and I say it when...I'm sorry. When I've made a mistake and I need to apologize for it. But I try to reserve saying it in "pity" situations unless someone tells me that someone they know has died.
The "I'm sorry" phrase makes me particularly prickly when I get it in response to the information that my son has autism. My initial, mental reaction to the "I'm sorry" is "Why? Why would anyone be sorry that I have this beautiful child in my life, whom I love with all of my heart and soul? Why?" It's hard to get beyond that response and say anything in a measured way. I usually end up being too blunt, "There's nothing to be sorry about. He's a great kid." I have kind of a problem with brusqueness. I'm sorry.
But you can't blame people for their pity. After all, for many people, their sole exposure to autism is Dustin Hoffman. Or worse, Jenny McCarthy ranting and raving about it, about her poisoned indigo child, making autism sound like a black cancer that must be excised instead of a neurodevelopmental manifestation of a child or a grown human being. With that kind of background--thanks, news media and "popular" culture!--how are people supposed to feel anything but pity?
I think this is why books like Gravity Pulls You In and movies like the Temple Grandin biopic are so important. If autism has a prevalence of 1 in 100, then the world is full of autistic people. The more people who live with autism can say about the reality--good and bad--of the experience--and please, no endless ranting, no talk of poisons--the better people will understand that for many of us parents, at least, pity and an "I'm sorry" aren't necessary unless we specifically ask for it. Maybe the response will someday be instead, "Have you seen that Temple Grandin movie? It really opened my eyes" or something along the lines of "Tell me more, I'm interested to know about it."
Anything, anything but pity. I'm sorry, but pity's best taken in very tiny doses at a few carefully timed pity parties of one's own devising. Overdose side effects include turning into a big whiner or coming across as an angry, screaming hate-banshee. And that's not how we want people perceiving life with autism, either, now is it?
9 comments:
Very well said. My husband and I have felt this for years with our own daughters. They're not autistic but have some autistic characteristics and developmental delays. We aren't sorry. Our lives are full because of them. :)
I once had someone send me "condolences" when she found out that my son had been diagnosed with autism! I was dumbfounded and simply couldn't summon a response. Nobody has said that since but a few have said: "I'm sorry" The words may be different but the senitment seemed the same.
Hi there.
I have been following your blog for quite awhile now and I love it. I resonate with much of your perspectives, as I parent a young little guy with challenges that are not totally clear right now (no official labels yet.) I was wondering if you are open to me emailing you with the type of questions or dialogue that may be to lengthy for the comments section. I'm not super familiar with the blogging world, so I don't know yet if this is something people do. Perhaps it is too time consuming and mostly people just stick to their blog forum, or perhaps some are open to it and some aren't. Either way would be totally fine, but I'm just wondering...
Just to clarify, Jenny is an Indigo and her son is a poisoned Crystal. LOL!
The expression "I'm sorry" sends me over the edge as well. My husband uses it regularly, and to me it always sounds like, "I hear that you're upset about something, but I'd like to end this conversation right here." It's a stock response to someone's misery or unhappiness (perceived or real). Works my nerves.
I have never said those two words to someone whose child has special needs, and can't imagine doing so, because as Judy said, it would signify regret for the very existence of the child. Insensitive at best.
But I have to tell you that reading your blog over the past few months has increased my sensitivity and awareness of issues that have never loomed large in my own life. I do work with kids, and have had several autistic children in various programs I've been a part of.
I won't change the way I treat kids (love 'em all) because of things you've said, but I have to say that they'll probably occupy a larger space in my heart.
I respond to "I'm sorry" the same way you do. I try not to be rude but...
Dominique, you are free to contact me at ejwillingham at my gmail address.
Ami...I've gotten nice feedback in the past, but your comment really hits home for me. It's one reason of many that I blog...hoping that it will help people understand better.
Confessions...that's a great way to put it. Ours are, too, and it'd be boring otherwise, I think.
Christine...that's what you do when someone dies! Yikes. Big-time blooper there.
Louise and Mum...I'm sure many other parents share the sentiment, too.
Early on it can be kind of a shock and a little commiseration is not unreasonable - but once over that hump, the "sorry" part is not esp. useful.
Sometimes I wonder if it's just one of those, "uh, I don't know what to say" things...kind of like when you ask how someone's spouse is, and then you find out they're divorced. To be honest, before I had a child myself with a disability, I'm not sure that I would have been particularly graceful. (FWIW, the best was my neighbor who dispensed with the whole adult empathy thing and just started yukkin' it up with my daughter. She was a peach).
Most of the folks I hang with are teachers so they are more goal directed than pity-oriented, but if someone does say "I'm sorry" now, unless I figure they're working an agenda, I cut them a little slack - "We're good, would you like to know what we're up to?" ((chirpy voice) and then segue to talking a little about that).
"Overdose side effects include turning into a big whiner or coming across as an angry, screaming hate-banshee."
That seems like a fair assessment.
So glad to have found your blog. I guess I am still in the "afraid to tell people" stage since my child was newly diagnosed. I am afraid peoples' perceptions of him will change...afraid no one will ask for playdates...afraid of so many things. Of course that fear does neither of us any good...
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