PTSD - It Doesn't Just Affect Veterans of War

I've never admitted it to anyone before, but a few years ago when I sought help, my therapist said he thought I had PTSD. He was a social worker so I don't really know if he could officially diagnose me with it or not; however, he treated me for it, nevertheless.

It may seem a bit extreme but given the events that Shane and I experienced surrounding Madelynn and Mason's birth, the roller coaster ride that is the NICU, and Madelynn's subsequent death, it definitely fits. Some of what I was experiencing could be contributed to post partum depression, but there was definitely much more to it than that. I lost interest in the things that I normally enjoyed doing. I no longer found joy in knitting or scrapbooking or reading. I had a really hard time focusing on things. I'd find myself rereading the same sentence in a book (if I even felt like reading) at least a dozen times because I just couldn't stay focused. I became extremely forgetful. I'd forget things that Shane said to me just hours or minutes before or I'd forget what I went to get as soon as I entered a room. I wasn't hungry most of the time. I wasn't getting much sleep and when I did sleep I was having terrible nightmares and reliving Madelynn's death. I would wake up crying because the dreams were so vivid. I wasn't just reliving things in my dreams either. There were times during the day where I would lose several minutes at a time because I was reliving various experiences from the pregnancy, delivery and NICU. About the only thing I WAS doing was taking care of Mason. I was a bit paranoid and overprotective though. I rarely let him out of my sight, I was a complete germaphobe, and I would check on him multiple times during nap time and at night while he slept to make sure he was still breathing. He was my reason for living; however, I wasn't the mother that he deserved, nor the wife that Shane deserved. I finally admitted to myself that I needed to get some help.

I went to therapy for several months. At first it was really hard for me to talk about things. My poor therapist. He must have felt like a dentist since he was practically pulling teeth!! After about a month of sessions, he recommended a book on grief and he started a specific treatment program with me that he thought would be highly beneficial. I can't remember what it was called but it was definitely effective. Through the course of the treatment I realized one day that not only had I suffered PTSD from Madelynn's death, but also from my mother's death. That session was very eye opening for both my therapist and myself.

Shortly after that breakthrough, my therapist felt that I had made enough progress to reduce my sessions to just once a month. Life got pretty hectic around that time and I ended up stopping therapy altogether. Unfortunately, there is no cure for PTSD and various things can trigger it's recurrence. Once again, in the last several months, I have been experiencing all of the above mentioned symptoms. I'm pretty sure it was triggered by my miscarriage. I have been hesitant to seek help again because I am afraid that if I am officially diagnosed or put on medication, that it will crush our dreams of adopting. Shane helped me to see though that if I don't get help, we'll likely never be able to adopt anyway. If I can't function, how will I be able to take care of myself, Mason and a baby? I want more than anything to give Mason a baby brother or sister but I need to focus on myself first so that I can be the best woman, wife and most importantly, mother to Mason and his future brother or sister that I can possibly be!!

Many of you are probably wondering why I'm putting this out there in the blogosphere. As I've said before, the whole point of this blog is to help others. In the last 14 years or so I have felt alone more often than not due to experiences that most of my friends and family couldn't fathom. I know I am not alone though. There are others out there that have had similar experiences to my own. If by sharing my story and my struggles I am able to help even one person, then I have accomplished what I set out to do. No one should ever have to feel like they are alone.

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes . . .

I know some people will most likely think I'm crazy, but I truly believe that our loved ones who've passed on come to visit us, sometimes through our dreams. I had just such a dream the other night. My mother came to me and she told me that she missed me and she loved me. I then saw my daughter Madelynn. Although she was only three months old (thirty eight weeks gestation adjusted) when she passed away, in the dream she appeared to be a bit older. If she were still with us, she would be almost five and a half. She didn't look anywhere near that though; she was maybe six months old. I imagine she appeared to me in that form because that's how I remember her, although, in my dream she was happy and healthy and chubby like a baby should be. She was absolutely beautiful. In addition to Madelynn; however, I also saw two other baby girls. They were both very tiny. I can't say for certain, but I'm pretty sure my mother was holding one of the baby girls. The other was being held by my friend Wendy. I had known her since Kindergarten. She died much too young during my freshman year of college. If her sisters are anything like Madelynn, then my mother most definitely has her hands full with her grand daughters and she needs all the help she can get!!

This dream was very significant for me because now I know without a doubt that my baby girls are safe and sound with my mother. I've always known that Maddie was with my mom, but seeing my other two daughters with her also was very comforting. My husband and I didn't know the gender of the two embryos that were thawed for our FET cycle. On the day of the transfer, we made the very difficult decision to transfer only one embryo because the other was badly damaged in the thawing process. We wanted to give the healthier embryo the best chance possible at implantation. We were given a picture of the embryo that was transferred and right next to it was a pink "cloud." My husband noticed it immediately and pointed it out to me. After seeing that, we were both convinced that it was a girl. We never did see the other embryo and we didn't have testing done on either to determine gender.

In my dream, all three girls had dark hair. They resembled each other quite a bit as well, just as most siblings do. My husband swears that Madelynn would have been a redhead like me, but the locks of hair that we have from the NICU are distinctly dark. We were affectionately calling the baby that I miscarried Little Bean since that's what the embryo looked like in the picture we were given. Both Little Bean and her sister were absolutely beautiful, just like Madelynn. When I awoke from the dream, I felt at peace for the first time in weeks. Unfortunately, that feeling was short-lived.

I naively thought that I had accepted my miscarriage and the fact that I will never again be pregnant or be able to carry a baby to term. There I go thinking again. I am no where near acceptance. I had such high expectations for the pregnancy. I truly believed that my husband and I would be able to bond over the baby the way most couples are able to do. We weren't able to do so with Madelynn and Mason due to the fact that my husband was deployed to Iraq when I was only seven weeks pregnant. He was then rushed home a month before his deployment was scheduled to end because I was on the verge of a late-term miscarriage. We were able to see numerous ultrasounds, and hear the babies heartbeats during the five weeks that I was in the hospital on bed rest before their delivery; however, it was an extremely stressful time. I wouldn't exactly say that we bonded over our babies. I also had high hopes that with careful monitoring and progesterone supplementation, I would be able to deliver a healthy, full-term baby and that it would somehow help me heal emotionally from the trauma of delivering the twins at only twenty-four weeks gestation and watching them fight for their lives day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. Once again, I was mistaken. If anything, the loss of Little Bean and her sister has only caused the pain to be magnified.

I wish with my whole heart that I could find a way to go back in time and prevent Madelynn and Mason from being born so early. I would give anything to have them both here, happy and healthy and thriving. I also wish both embryos had successfully survived the thaw and that we had been able to transfer both and welcome both baby girls into our family. Not a day goes by that I don't think about Madelynn, Little Bean or their sister and wonder how much richer our lives would be with them all here with us. I know in my heart that one day our family will be reunited in Heaven. Until then, I can only hope that I am granted the privilege of seeing them in my dreams as often as possible.

A Different Path

I recently posted something on Facebook that caused quite a stir. The Your eCard pics have been showing up all over Facebook and Pinterest. I think the majority of them are quite hysterical; however, there was one I saw recently on Pinterest that said, "I hear you. Raising kids & running a house keep me busy too. I also have this little gig on the side called a full time job." I realize that humor is subjective, but I found this quite offensive. I felt that it was derogatory and belittling to stay at home moms. A friend mentioned a bumper sticker that she saw which said, "You've never worked unless you've been a stay at home mom." To me this is just as derogatory and belittling to working mothers. Making someone feel like less of a mother or less of a woman based on working status is just simply wrong. Many women, if given the choice, would gladly trade places. I have several family members and friends who would give anything to be able to stay at home with their children, but circumstances simply don't allow for it. Unfortunately, I think some women are bitter and resentful towards those who are afforded that opportunity. The same holds true for some stay at home moms, though. Not every stay at home mom wishes to stay home. They too are sometimes forced to do so by circumstances beyond their control. I've met a few woman who were forced to give up their careers. Ironically, some of these women are also bitter and resentful towards women who are able to work outside the home.

I've never understood why women feel the need to prove they are better than one another. It happens all too often though, especially when it comes to bearing and raising children. For example, there are some women who believe they are better than others simply because they were able to deliver their children via natural childbirth instead of a Cesarean section. Once again, I'm sure given half the chance, many women would gladly trade places with each other if circumstances allowed it. The whole point of my original post on Facebook was that women need to stop trying to prove that they are better than one another and simply support each other. Motherhood is one of the hardest jobs and therefore we each need ALL the support we can get.

Through the course of the "debate" that resulted from my original post, a comment was made that I seem to think that I have it harder than others. At first I was extremely offended by this, but after some careful reflection, I can see how it might sometimes come across that I feel that way. I assure you, I do not. I simply face different challenges than the average parent given the fact that I do have a special needs child. While most parents are busy chauffeuring their children to a multitude of extra curricular activities, I instead am chauffeuring my son to a multitude of doctors appointments and therapy sessions. It's not necessarily harder, just different. Also, while the average parent is busy helping their children with homework, instead my husband and I are busy trying to help our son learn how to simply communicate. Again, not necessarily harder, just different.

Parenting a special needs child has it's own unique challenges. Milestones are different. Dreams for your child's future need to be altered. Sometimes, extreme lifestyle changes need to be made. Each of us has our own journey to make in this lifetime and as a result, we often take different paths. The reality is that for some that path is, in fact, harder in some ways than others. It doesn't make that person any better than anyone else, just different. That being said, truth be told, my path has been a bit harder than some.

My road to motherhood was a lot bumpier than that of most of my friends and family. In all honestly; however, I am extremely grateful that very few of my friends and family share in my experiences. Infertility sucks. Threatened miscarriage is not pleasant in the least. Delivering a baby that is just barely viable is extremely terrifying. The NICU can be a complete nightmare. Losing a child, in my opinion, is one of the worst things that can ever happen to a parent. It leaves your heart and soul scarred for life. (Unfortunately, I've experienced that loss from another perspective given the fact that I've also lost my parents.) Miscarriage, no matter how far into the pregnancy, is heartbreaking. Raising a child who is on the Autism Spectrum can be very daunting. I realize the fact that I don't hide any of these things can sometimes come across as me drawing attention to myself and alluding to my life being harder; however, I don't share all of my experiences to garner pity. I do so in an attempt to reach out to others and hopefully help them to realize that they are not alone.

Infertility, miscarriage, and infant loss are all taboo topics. People are uncomfortable talking about them and as a result too many people suffer in silence. I myself am not even able to talk to my closest family members about my daughter or my miscarriage because they just don't know how to cope with either subject. In addition, there are still a multitude of misconceptions surrounding Autism and as a result parents often don't know where to turn to for support. I know I am only one person but it is my hope that by being vocal about all of these topics, I will be able to help in some small way. If I'm only able to reach one person and help them to feel less alone in this world, then my mission is complete. I am not any better or worse than anyone else. I simply have a different path to follow and I am trying to do so with as much dignity and grace as I can, unfortunately as my mother would often remind me, Grace is not my middle name. Sometimes I unintentionally say or do things that hurt or offend others. I apologize. I am simply trying to be the best woman, wife, mother, sister, cousin, and friend that I can be. I had the absolute best role model in the whole wide world and I can only hope that as she watches over me from Heaven, she is proud of the woman and mother I have become.

Baby Bump Envy

It's been five weeks today since we did the embryo transfer. By my calculations, I would've been 8 weeks pregnant tomorrow. I'm sure over the next year I'm going to constantly be thinking about our little bean and wondering how far along in my pregnancy I would've been for various ocassions and holidays. It's hard not to think about things like that, especially considering the fact that everywhere I go, I'm bombared by the sight of pregnant bellies. Church, the grocery store, taking my little man to therapy, the mall, the park, etc. It's kind of like when you're considering buying a new car. Suddenly, everywhere you look, it seems like everyone is driving the car you want. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't envious of all those baby bumps.

I've had several family members and friends tell me that maybe we weren't meant to have any more children; that maybe our son was meant to be an only child. It may sound extreme, but the only thing I can compare this to would be telling someone who's lost a limb that maybe they weren't meant to have all four limbs; that they shouldn't bother getting a prosthetic limb. I'm sure am amputee wouldn't appreciate hearing that sentiment anymore than a couple who wishes to have another child wants to hear that they should simply be content with one. I realize that many people simply don't know what to say when they encounter a couple who is dealing with infertility or has suffered a miscarriage; however, sometimes it's best to simply say, "I'm sorry." My husband and I want more than anything to give our son a sibling. I don't think that makes us selfish. Many people have more than one child and no one frowns upon their desire to expand their families. Why should couples who face infertility be treated any differently?

We've spent the last few weeks researching adoption laws here in our state, as well as reading various books written by adoption industry professionals who have adopted children themselves. The books have been particularly helpful because they've helped us consider things that we hadn't before, for example, do we want to specify gender, are we willing to adopt a baby that was exposed to drugs in utero, etc. We still have a few questions that we haven't come to a consensus on, but I know we will as we go through the adoption process. I initiated that process today by emailing the agency that we have chosen to work with. Now the waiting begins. I should get an email back in about a week or so and then we have to attend an information meeting which is actually more of a question and answer session. We'll find out more about adoption in general, as well as the specifics of adopting through that agency. Once we complete that we will need to fill out an application and wait to see if the agency feels we are a good fit.

We're about to embark on a journey into the great unknown but I know in my heart that we are on the right path. While I know I will still occasionally be envious of all of those pregnant bellies that I seem to be surrounded by wherever I go, it no longer matters that I won't be the one with the baby bump. In fact, lately, when I encounter a baby bump, I've begun to wonder if maybe that woman is the birth mother of our future son or daughter. All that matters now is finding the little one out there somewhere who is waiting to be welcomed into our family.

Lost

As I sit her typing this tonight, lost is the only word I can think of to sum up how I feel. I had a blood test on Monday morning to determine if the embryo transfer from 10 days earlier was a success. I had taken a home pregnancy test the day before, as well as the morning of the blood test, both of which were positive. After waiting for almost 5 hours for the call from the clinic, I was told that while I was technically pregnant, my HCG level was only 10.8. Since I would be exactly 4 weeks pregnant that day, the number was extremely low; it should have been around 30 by then. The doctor told me to be cautiously optimistic and I was scheduled for another blood test tomorrow morning. If the number has not increased by then I will have had what is called a chemical pregnancy, which is an early miscarriage that occurs before 5 weeks of pregnancy. Based on the physical symptoms I have experienced since Friday, I am 99.9% sure that I have in fact suffered a chemical pregnancy.

Since receiving the call, my faith has wavered significantly and I have struggled to understand why God led us down this path. I know I said in my previous post that I knew there was a very real possibility that he could be giving us an opportunity to close a chapter in our lives. I guess what I'm really trying to understand is what lesson we are supposed to take away from this loss. We have already suffered the loss of one child. What more could we possibly learn by losing another? Over the last several days I have been filled with anger and resentment and frustration and jealousy and have slowly begun turning away from God.

I can already hear the cliches that people will try to comfort me with: That which doesn't kill you can only make you stronger. Everything happens for a reason. God doesn't close a door without first opening a window. I have heard all of these in one form or another countless times over the past 13 years or so. I can't possibly comprehend what the reason could be, how this loss is going to make me any stronger, or what window God could open at this point.

I have several friends, both lifelong and a few that I've only known for a short while, that have told me that I am amazing and one of the strongest women they know. While I am flattered by their perceptions of me, I must say I am not as strong as I appear to be. I am broken and I don't know that I will ever truly heal. Losing this little life has simply caused the whole in my heart to grow larger. I have repeatedly asked God to take away my heartache, but it seems instead that it just keeps multiplying. I will find a way to pick up the pieces and move on with my life simply because I must. My sweet little miracle man needs me and I can't bear the thought of letting him down. He fought so valiantly to stay with his daddy and I, and it is our duty to do everything in our power to be the best parents we can to him. He is one of the many reasons we wanted to have another child. He deserves to have a sibling to grow up with and he wants so badly to have a baby brother or sister.

We considered adoption before we pursued IVF the first time, and we had already decided before this last attempt that we would pursue it again if it was not a success. We've both wondered several times if God had been telling us to take that path and we just refused to listen. It will take some time for us to process this loss and grieve for what could have been, but hopefully we will be able to overcome our fears of adoption and find a way to complete our family. I'm confident that we will know when the time is right to pursue that path, if it is indeed what God has in store for us.

For now I need to brace myself for yet another blood test and phone call tomorrow and then pray that I am able to find my way back to God so that he can reveal his plan to me.

Faith, Hope and Love

"And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." 1 Corinthians 13:13

I can honestly say that in the last few weeks, this verse has taken on new meaning for me. I've always believed in God but for the majority of my life, I didn't have a very close relationship with him. Thankfully, that changed when I started attending church regularly. I owe that to my great friend Mandy. She asked me to go with her and her grandmother one Sunday morning after I had stayed the night at her house. I instantly felt right at home in her church. I hadn't realized it before, but my mother had been raised in the Episcopal faith. As soon as I found out, I asked her if we could start going. She fell in love with the church instantly as well, and we became members.

I don't know how I would have gotten through the hardest times of my life without my faith. It was most definitely tested when I lost my mother when I was twenty-two. I admit that I turned my back on God for a while due to the loss, as well as our struggles with infertility. For a time, I honestly believed that I was being punished for something. After a few years though, I felt the absence of his presence in my life and I asked my husband if we could begin attending church again (he was confirmed with me our senior year of high school in my church). It took us a while to find a church home, two years in fact, but we knew right away that we'd found the right one. The love and support of our church family helped us get through the hardest thing we had ever experienced, the extreme premature birth of our twins and subsequent loss of our daughter. In fact, one of the nurses in the NICU was humbled by our faith.

I truly do believe in the power of prayer, even though not every prayer is answered in the way you would prefer. I've most certainly learned that the hard way over the years. I prayed countless times for God to grant us a miracle and let us conceive on our own. It took me a while to accept the fact that that was not the path we were meant to take. I also prayed ceaselessly for our precious babies to make it closer to full-term and to be healthy. Again, that was not God's plan for us. Once the twins were born, my husband and I both spent countless hours praying for them to thrive and survive. In the first weeks of their lives, they took turns going to the operating room. Every time one of them would go for yet another surgery, we would go to the waiting room and just sit and pray that they would make it through the surgery and that we would get more time with them. Thankfully, God answered those prayers. Unfortunately, for reasons we will never understand, he did not answer our prayers for Madelynn to pull through when she became sick a few days after her last surgery. I know the entire NICU staff was praying for her recovery and my husband and I prayer harder that day than we ever have in our whole lives. After watching her doctor do everything in his power to bring her around, I left the NICU for a few minutes to pray one last time. I finally realized that we had been selfish and instead of praying for her to make it, we should have been praying for an end to her suffering. I sat out in the waiting room one last time and prayed for God to call my baby girl home. That was the hardest prayer I have ever said.

Once again my husband and I have have been praying ceaselessly, along with countless family members and friends. We began the roller coaster ride that is fertility treatments several months ago. When we met with the doctor back in December, he told us that we could do IVF as early as February. There were a few bumps in the road though, and we weren't able to do the procedure until this past month. We are now waiting anxiously to see if it was successful. I don't think it's a coincidence that the embryo transfer was just four days after the five year anniversary of Madelynn's passing. In addition to that, I am scheduled for a blood test on Monday which is the original due date for the twins. I've been confident for quite some time now that God is going to bless us with another miracle. The timing simply confirms that faith.

I will admit that my faith has wavered a bit in the last couple of days, but I truly believe that God set us on this path for a reason. There are two local fertility clinics here in town. My husband and I had intended to go for a consult with both and then decide which one to use. After meeting with our doctor the very first time; however, we both felt that there was no need for a consult at the other clinic. I also feel that the timing of everything is part of God's plan. I'm just praying that the outcome is what we've been hoping for for so long! Several years ago, we decided that we would try one more time and if we weren't successful, that we would pursue adoption. We didn't want to always wonder "what if." I'm aware that God could just be giving us an opportunity to close a chapter in our lives and find the strength to move on. We both just want so badly to welcome another child into our family.

The waiting is driving me crazy but I know all will work out for the best in the long run. For now, I'm keeping the faith, hoping for a miracle, and trusting in God's love for us.

On the Outside Looking In . . .

For most of my life, I've felt like I was on the outside looking in; like I've never quite fit in anywhere. In school, especially high school, there were times when I was most definitely on the outside. Don't get me wrong, I had a great group of friends, but I wasn't always included in activities. It was my own fault though. I wasn't exactly a saint. In fact, if you ask most of the people I went to school with, I was considered quite the witch with a "B". Unfortunately, a lot of people had a one sided view of things. I had dated a boy for a little over a year and we broke up and got back together several times within that time frame. Having my heart broken repeatedly didn't exactly improve my attitude, and given the fact that I'm a redhead, I already had a proclivity for being "sassy." I became even more "sassy" with each breakup and I eventually ended up alienating people. In addition to that, I was a bit too serious for a junior in high school. I was completely focused on college and my future, when instead I should have been living in the moment.

Things didn't improve much in college since I was still too serious for my own good. I was also still more focused on the future than on the present. Thankfully, I had an awesome boyfriend who I had met mid-way through my junior year in high school. We wound up going to college together and, he too, was kind of an outsider. We had some great friends who accepted us for who we were, even though we didn't drink like most college kids. We got engaged our junior year in college despite having very little support from friends and family. Most people thought we were too young and we heard many times that we would never make it; that high school sweethearts rarely last. We most definitely weren't the norm.

We got married a few months after graduation and about six months later my mother passed away due to heart disease. She and I were very close and her death was unexpected. I had a very hard time dealing with my grief and as a result I distanced myself somewhat from friends and family. A few months later, my husband joined the military. Once again I found myself in the position of outsider. I've never had an easy time making friends and I was thousands of miles away from my friends and family and the only home I had ever known. I truly felt out of my element and I didn't exactly excel in my roll as an officer's wife. Thankfully, I got a teaching position and was able to make a few good friends at work.

About six months or so after getting settled, we decided it was time to go see a doctor as we had been trying to start a family for almost a year with no success. After undergoing several tests, it was determined that we would not be able to conceive without medical intervention. Yet again, I felt like I was on the outside looking in. All of my friends and family were able to have babies without any trouble. I was beginning to get extremely frustrated with my lot in life. We underwent fertility treatments off an on over the next several years (amidst yet another move due to the military) and finally seven years later we conceived with the help of IVF. For once, I felt like I was "normal" and finally on the inside. After struggling for so long to get pregnant, I was under the impression that I had done my time and would be rewarded with a happy and healthy nine months. Sadly, I was mistaken.

Just before my husband deployed to Iraq for the second time, we found out that we were expecting twins. I had always wanted twins, a boy and a girl. The first seven weeks of my pregnancy were completely normal; however, during my eighth week I had a threatened miscarriage. Thankfully, with some bed rest and careful monitoring, I was able to continue carrying my precious cargo for a while longer. At nineteen weeks though I found myself on bed rest once again, this time in the hospital. I was very close to losing one or both of our babies and I had to basically lay upside down for a few weeks while on meds to halt my contractions. I was only able to keep our babies safe for another five weeks before they had to be delivered via emergency c-section. I wasn't able to hold or even touch my babies because they were so sick and fragile. They had multiple complications from being born too early and underwent over a dozen surgeries between them. After three months of fighting for her life, our precious baby girl just couldn't fight anymore. We were able to hold her for the first and last time as she took her final breath.

Over the next couple of weeks, as I watched a few of the other parents taking their twins home from the NICU, I became extremely bitter. I didn't understand why we had to fight so hard to have a baby only to have one of our precious little ones taken away from us and to continue to watch our remaining child fight to survive. At this point, I was sick of being on the outside looking in; I just wanted to be normal like everyone else.

After four and a half long months, we were finally able to bring our little miracle man home. Like most parents, we were filled with hopes and dreams for his future; however, we knew that there might be some obstacles to overcome. Our little man had suffered a grade IV brain bleed while only a few days old. We had been cautioned by the doctors in the NICU that the effects of the brain bleed wouldn't be revealed until he reached school age. We remained optimistic that all would turn out fine in the long run. We cherished every day we spent with him and relished in the opportunity to watch him grow. Despite the uncertainty for the future, never in our wildest dreams did we imagine what was in store for our sweet little man. We were thrown for a loop when he started showing signs of autism and even more so about a year and a half later when we got the official diagnosis. Yet again, it was like we were on the outside looking in; only this time we had taken our son with us.

Raising a child who is on the spectrum is quite different than raising a neurotypical child. There are so many experiences that we can't give him or activities that we can't do with him for one reason or another. Simple things that other parents take for granted, like playing catch or going to the movies, are complicated due to our son's sensory issues as well as his delayed development. We do our best to give him as many experiences as possible though and we are determined to make sure he leads as full of a life as possible. While he may not ever be on the "inside" I think he's perfect just the way he is and I wouldn't trade him for all the neurotypical children in the world!!!

Some days I still struggle with feeling like an outsider but then I look at the gifts God has given me by allowing me to be different, and I'm grateful. Being different has made me the woman I am today. It has forced me to dig deep and find strength I didn't know I possessed. In retrospect, I would much rather be on the outside looking in than "normal" like everyone else.