I still remember the day the letter came from the director of “Steve’s” daycare, labeling him “a danger to himself and others.” He was three years old.
Steve had had a meltdown. He had gotten upset and had lashed out, knocking over a wooden bookcase. It had almost fallen on another child.
We found another daycare center, but one day, I was called to pick him up for god. Another rejection, and it hurt. I found him in hysterics, crying, “Help me, Mommy. I can’t stop.” I didn’t know what to do.
We talked to everyone, but it was not until after eight years of consultations and treatments that he was diagnosed with autism and anxiety disorder.
When he entered sixth grade, the public school assured us that they were equipped to work with Steve, but his teachers wouldn’t even speak to him directly. I just kept getting emails and phone calls and being summoned for meetings, in which they made it clear that his problems were a result of my failings as a parent.
There was no way for me to continue working and parenting my boys, so I quit my job and put Steve in a different school that had autism support.
Now, Steve attends our area’s most challenging high school. They adjust for him, but he still has debilitating anxiety attacks. We have learned that Steve’s memory associates homework with the trauma he experienced during that nightmare 6th grade year. There are days when he can’t cope and needs to come home. Other parents get calls from the school nurse; I get calls from the school counselor.
Last year, he told me that the day I quit my job was the day he stopped contemplating suicide, because I was fighting for him. I’d saved his life without realizing it.
Steve is going to be okay. He has a brilliant mind and is in an accepting environment. It may not be easy, but after watching so many people fight for him, he has learned to believe in himself.
Lakewood, OH
