After a fairly rough meltdown, it takes awhile for The Man and I to process, as well. We were discussing the events of the weekend, and then The Man asked if there was anything we could do about The Boy’s insistence to strangers and acquaintances that we have a purple dog at home named Barney.
I shook my head noncommittally, as I was still focused on the situation that had triggered the meltdown this weekend. I wasn’t even thinking of anything else, but apparently The Man had some other things on his mind, as well.
I got quiet, and he asked if he had said something wrong or upset me. I started to cry because I was upset. Not with him, but because I didn’t really know the answer to his question, and I was overwhelmed with the feeling that I am not enough.
We used to have quite the “village” to help me navigate raising a boy on the spectrum. Now, I feel like I’m it, I’m the authority. I have stopped believing that anyone in the school system knows any more than I do about autism. And there’s a very obvious limit to what I know.
I don’t know if the fantasizing about pets and cars he has “owned” and all of that can be curbed (or should be curbed). I don’t know if it needs addressing or if it will go away with time. I just don’t know.
It’s easy to get overwhelmed with worry, and I guess I’m particularly susceptible to worry after a big meltdown. And I suppose that’s ok. But it’s not a nice feeling, and I hope it passes quickly.