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Until recently, I had no idea there was an official day (or month, for that matter) dedicated to autism awareness. Seth wasn't diagnosed with ASD until he was sixteen years old (nearly five years ago), so I wasn't really aware of how much autism had affected both of our lives until then. As for me, I already knew I had ADHD and SPD (sensory processing disorder in the form of dyspraxia), but I was recently diagnosed with autism as well. Well, what do you know? When it comes to neurospiciness, I am a triple threat! Go me! This photo of Seth waving to my mother from inside the house came up in my memories today. It isn't directly related to autism awareness, (though he is wearing blue,) but the picture was so cute I decided to use it for this post. All kidding aside, here is a brief history lesson about autism (and its connection to April) in bullet points. According to the article "Autism Acceptance Month: The History and Impact" by Steve Fierello, "Autism was first coined as a concept in 1911 by Eugen Bleuler, a psychiatrist who also created the concept of schizophrenia. Bleuler had initially defined [autism] as a symptom of severe schizophrenia, characterizing it as fantasizing and hallucinating in an attempt to avoid certain realities". In 1943, another psychiatrist, Leo Kanner of Johns Hopkins University, described children with autism as "having obsessiveness and echolalia, as well as having a better relation to objects than to people. He suggested that these children used language in a particularly literal manner and struggled to physically relate to others". So, like Bleuler, Kanner also saw autism as a form of schizophrenia. Then, for a while, the focus shifted to mothers. According to Fierello, "In the 1950s and 1960s, a psychologist named Bruno Bettelheim attributed autism in part to 'refrigerator mothers,' or those who did were cold and distant." (Fortunately for moms like me - who were more like Easy Bake ovens with their children - that definition eventually faded away.) Then, it was back to schizophrenia. In the second edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders - or DSM, published in 1968 - autism was still referred to as "a form of pediatric schizophrenia involving a detachment from reality." (Incidentally, it wasn't until the third edition of the DSM, published in 1980, that autism was finally separated from schizophrenia! I was ten years old by then. No wonder I was never diagnosed! Nobody recognized milder forms of autism back then.) And now for the information you've been waiting for (or maybe not). In the 1970s, the National Autism Society designated April to be "Autism Awareness Month." In 2008, "the United Nations General Assembly unanimously decided to declare April 2nd as World Autism Awareness Day in an effort to highlight what is needed to help people with autism spectrum disorder lead their fullest lives." (Admirable goal. Autism and autistic people can be very complex, but when we are treated the way we need to be treated, we can really shine.) Three years later, in 2011, "the Autism Self-Advocacy Network began referring to April as Autism Acceptance Month, promoting not just education and awareness but also understanding and respect for people with autism spectrum disorder as people capable of living full and meaningful lives." (That makes even more sense. Okay, history lesson over.) Maybe this increased awareness (and, dare I say, acceptance) of autism is the reason why more and more people are realizing they are on the spectrum, too. If you had asked me two years ago if I thought I was autistic, I would have said no, absolutely not, but last year, someone I didn't know very well told me she had just been diagnosed with high-masking autism and suggested I look it up. When I did, I had an "aha" moment. I believe that part of the reason I was "extra" traumatized by my childhood experiences was that I was forced to use all of my spoons to mask my neurodivergence (in addition to hiding all the horrible things that were happening to me behind the scenes) - and I was often unsuccessful. Back then, I was just labeled "too sensitive" or was told I was "overreacting." I was shamed at every turn - for having strong emotional responses to things that weren't my fault - things I had no control over. I was told that even though other people hurt me, I was responsible for fixing the damage. But I had no idea how to do that, and I was shamed for that as well. No wonder it's been so hard for me to recover completely, but with this new awareness, I am continuing my journey to self-acceptance and self-love with my eyes wide open, so I am very grateful for that. Incidentally, one way to show solidarity for World Autism Awareness Day is to wear blue. Since my hair is blue every day of the year, I guess for me, World Autism Awareness Day is every day! Happy April!

I must admit I am feeling extremely overwhelmed these days. I really want to find my people – people who need to read a book about a mom with complex PTSD overcoming tons of obstacles to successfully raise a challenging child and develop the close relationship my son and I share today. However, I am relatively new to Instagram. (I made the mistake of buying followers, and now I regret it), I have no experience with TikTok and have no idea how to attract more Facebook followers. What I want more than anything is to get Mending Together, Building Together  in front of those who really need to read it, but I don’t know how to do that, and that has caused me to feel frustrated and scared I don’t have what it takes to market my book effectively.   As someone with complex PTSD who has been shamed and belittled by others for most of my life, I have taken on that role myself – constantly shaming and belittling myself – and I often feel like I have no control over it. The constant buzzing in my brain also makes me vulnerable to those who want to take advantage of me, and sometimes, it’s still hard to tell the difference between legitimate and fake help, though I have gotten better at discerning.   Finding self-love can be challenging. Some days are better than others. I wrote this poem a few weeks ago, and while I don’t feel like that today, I wanted to share it anyway. Maybe some of you will be able to relate.   Self-hate Why do I hate myself so much? It’s not like I kick kittens or Take candy from babies Or ever intentionally hurt any Other living creature. And yet, I hurt myself all the time. I never hesitate to scold myself for making an honest mistake. I yell at myself for being weak and having too many deficiencies. So much to be ashamed of. The harm I dream of doing to myself would put me in jail if I inflicted it on anybody else. But you see, to me, I don’t matter. I don’t count. I’m nothing. But is that true? It feels true most of the time, But is it really? Right now, today, I can’t see past my self-blame and self-flagellation, but I do know I have to keep Searching for a way to quiet The cacophony of voices in my head telling me I'm worthless - that I should End it all. Those voices are loud Far louder than the voices That soothe. Do I even have Kind voices in my head? I don’t know, but I’m searching For answers through my poetry. Maybe someday, I’ll even stumble On a solution. But for right now, this is what I’ve got. And I guess for now, that's enough.     #CPTSD, #ComplexPTSD, #mentalhealth, #TraumaRecovery, #TraumaSurvivor, #HealingJourney

I am constantly grappling with shame-based messages my brain keeps throwing up at me, so I decided to fuel my upset into poetry. I read this at an open mic last night, and I'm hoping I was able to educate some people on what dyspraxia is. (BTW, all of the verses are Haiku.) Dyspraxia   This poem is an apology to myself for years of self-hate   Dyspraxia is an invisible illness that makes you clumsy.   But there’s more to it than that. Let me give you some examples of what I mean.   When I trip over air and run into the wall, that’s dyspraxia.   When I reach for my drink, but “Oops!” knock it over, that’s dyspraxia.   When I try to eat bread but inhale crumbs instead, that’s dyspraxia.   When remnants of lunch become part of my sweater, that’s dyspraxia.   Keep dropping my keys on the same ingrown toenail! That’s dyspraxia.   When I awkwardly speak garbled words that aren’t clear, that’s dyspraxia.   How I manage to put shirts on backwards – both ways – That’s dyspraxia.   When I step on a crack, I might break my  own  back. That’s dyspraxia.   When I look at a map, my poor brain goes “Kaboom!” That’s dyspraxia.   I must preplan my route through a room filled with stuff. That’s dyspraxia.   Before I learn new skills, I have to weigh the risks. That’s dyspraxia.   What seems easy to you is more daunting for me. That’s dyspraxia.   “You look so normal.” “You must be making it up!” That’s dyspraxia.   “Why can’t you learn this?” “You’re not trying hard enough!” That’s dyspraxia.   “Don’t make excuses!” “Just get out of your own way!!” That’s dyspraxia.   Feeling a shame so deep I want to disappear. That’s dyspraxia.   When I wish I could be anyone else but me. That’s dyspraxia.   That said, dyspraxics are able to adapt to new skills with practice   It is exhausting, but necessary. It might take me hours, weeks, months,   Or even years to pick up what others pick up immediately,   But once I've got it, I’ll never forget it. That’s dyspraxia, too.   Dyspraxia is a disconnection between the brain and body   Communication may break down, but that doesn’t mean that I’m broken. - by Rachel Zirkin Duda   ©  2025

So, I was upset the other day for a variety of reasons, and Seth was trying to comfort me. I wasn't very receptive at the time, but he took it in stride, and later in the day, sent me this text: "I poorly stated it earlier but my attempt was to say the only things that matter for you are the things matter to you. Other people can't change what you care about only discourage or endorse them. Things you don't care about will still affect you but the hindrance is reduced. So don't care about things that only hold you back. You don't need to emotionally attach to everything to be concerned. and having too many emotional attachments will exhaust your self care. Contrast having too little will exhaust your support. People can be self supporting and still need help and people can ask for help without being codependent too. You have the most impact on your own life even though you can't control other people or reality. You can control your how you will act and how you perceive events. Not everyone has full control of their every action but recognizing when you act impulsively and whether than impulse is proactive or reactive and helpful will make things easier. Also the choice to not act when you know you're not in a stable position to do so is also a good thing. Risk and reckless are different too. Mom, your choices aren't fate nor the consequences punishment even if they aren't always in your best interest. What happens isn't your fault but how you respond is your responsibility, making poor choices will only harm yourself. And making good choices is exhausting which is why I recommend making choices when you have time to analyze them rather than react." Reason #123847593 why I love my son so much. He is incredibly wise.

This past weekend, I had the unexpected pleasure of spending quality time with Seth’s girlfriend of almost one year, N. N with a rainbow on her head from the prism that hangs in my living room. On Friday morning, Seth called to ask if N could come to my house for a while, because she really needed to get out of hers. I said, “Sure,” and agreed to pick her up after I finished work. When N and I got back to my place that evening, Seth came over from his grandmother’s house (which is about 100 feet away from mine). Apparently, the reason N needed to get away was because she’d had a frightening experience earlier in the day and was still spooked. She needed reassurance. So, while she and Seth cuddled, the three of us spent some time talking, and then watched a few silly videos. Then N started getting sleepy.   Because Seth and N had already spent five nights together, Seth said he needed some alone time. He asked if N could spend the night in his room upstairs, while he went back to his grandmother’s house. I said, “Sure, why not?” She went up to his room, and Seth gave me a hug. Just as he was about to leave, he called upstairs to N to say goodbye but then decided to go up there to do it in person. Half an hour passed, and I thought maybe he had changed his mind and was staying with her, but then he came back downstairs and told me she had been crying, and he didn’t feel right leaving her like that – so he stayed until she fell asleep. I was so touched and proud of him for temporarily putting aside his need for alone time in order to console her.   The next day, N woke up around 1:00 PM. So envious! I used to be able to sleep that late, but not anymore. Oh well. When she came downstairs, I asked her to come sit with me. We started talking about all sorts of things. I told her Seth mentioned she was crying the previous night, and she said, “Yeah, I was.” I asked if Seth had said something that upset her, and she said, “No, not at all. He was trying to comfort me, and I felt so much love and care coming from him, I started crying.” She told me I had done a wonderful job raising him – that she had never imagined she could be so happy.   My heart swelled with pride when I heard that. I taught Seth from a young age how to treat women. I wanted to do my part to raise a man who didn’t need to hide behind “toxic masculinity,” who would be respectful to, and considerate of, his girlfriends – and everyone else, for that matter. I was thrilled he took what I said to heart!   Originally, N was supposed to hang out with Seth for a while before I brought her home, but then we learned Seth had the norovirus (stomach flu) that has been going around, and he wasn’t up for company. Poor Seth! So, N and I did a couple of errands together, and talked a lot more. We discussed Seth (of course), racism, the state of the country, N’s history, Seth’s history, my history, and her plans. I learned how serious she is about Seth, and how the two of them have been discussing spending their future lives together. Seeing the love in her eyes for my son filled me with emotion.   After I dropped N off that evening, I marveled at how far Seth has come. From a child who was so volatile, he was suspended from kindergarten – twice – for violence – to a gentle, kind young man who has made N feel safer than she has ever felt. I am so grateful and humbled I was able to help him get to this point, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds for the two of them!

“Pain shared is pain divided.” [1] One of the biggest challenges I have faced in the aftermath of my extremely traumatic childhood (which lasted into adulthood), has been learning to treat myself with kindness and compassion. I was taught (both directly and indirectly) from a young age that being bullied and picked on was my own fault. I always had the feeling other people understood rules I didn’t, and I thought I couldn’t figure out those rules because I was stupid – or crazy – or just plain built “wrong.” (Turns out I am neurodivergent, but this is only a recent discovery.)   I was shamed at every turn for my awkwardness, my emotionality – seemingly, my very existence – and it came from everywhere – other kids, family members, even some of the other adults in my life. I was rarely praised. I thought I was worthless – a waste of space.   Those feelings have lingered and still come up on a too-regular basis, but I haven’t been able to find a predictable way to interrupt the feelings once they come up. While I was writing Mending Together, Building Together , I learned a tremendous amount about myself and did a lot of processing of past traumas. I am hoping that through this blog, I will be able to continue this important work. Periodically, I will record wins and admit setbacks – with the purpose of learning how to value my strengths and stop shaming myself when my weaknesses get the best of me.   What I would really love, however, is if my readers would join me on this journey. Post comments and share your own wins and setbacks – so that we can hold them as a community. Let’s all work together to not feel so alone. [1]  Dave Grossman, On Combat: The Psychology and Physiology of Deadly Conflict in War and Peace

I was scrolling through posts on a social media site when I came across this comment: “The issue is everyone blames autism for everything from bad behavior to poor eating. When it’s usually simply bad parenting.” Only eight days old, and already being embarrassed by his mommy! Several people chastised this person’s opinion (understandably so), and truthfully, I was annoyed, too, but I decided to try a more educational approach. This was the response I gave:   “My autistic son (diagnosed at 16) was extremely fussy as a young child, and I tried everything I could think of to calm him in public places, but until I realized what his triggers were (i.e., being in loud restaurants), I couldn't go anywhere without him melting down, and that made life very difficult.   When he was a little older, I had to repeat myself thousands of times to reinforce the rule that he needed to stop hitting, biting, kicking, etc., people, animals, or himself. And before you ask why I didn’t try some other form of discipline – taking away privileges didn’t work, time-outs backfired, and spanking him was out of the question. (You can’t teach a child not to hit by hitting them.) My words finally sunk in when he was seven years old (he started at three).   I’m sure a lot of people thought his "bad behavior" was because of "bad parenting," but the truth was, I was parenting harder than almost anybody I knew, but I was missing vital information (my son being autistic) that might have helped me figure out how to help him sooner – maybe. Despite what it looked like to other people, I was parenting him the best I could.   Fortunately, I did well. At age 20, my son is an incredibly kind, considerate, and gentle adult, and we have the most amazing relationship. He talks to me about everything in his life - well, ALMOST everything. He's entitled to his privacy after all, lol. We still "hang out" every week or so - even though he has a steady girlfriend. He sometimes apologizes for being so difficult when he was little, but just like his behavior growing up wasn't my fault, it wasn't his fault either. We just had to figure it out together.   It's important to remember that parenting doesn't come in just one size, and when you have a special needs child, finding the right size can be very, very complicated.” What do you think? Have you been accused of “bad parenting”? Comment below!

Had Seth been assigned an IEP early on, we might have been able to prevent what eventually happened. That said, this wasn’t entirely the school’s fault. I dropped the ball, too. I was exhausted after years of advocating for Seth, and I was hampered by my own neurodivergence (and iffy executive functioning skills). Besides, until the second quarter of junior year, Seth didn’t need additional accommodations as far as his grades were concerned, but when he stopped doing his schoolwork altogether senior year, the school should have contacted me to develop an IEP. They didn’t.  On the other hand, when Seth stopped doing homework sophomore year, I should have immediately insisted on getting him an IEP, but I didn’t. I did request that a paraprofessional be assigned to help Seth handle his schoolwork, but the school said they didn’t have the funding to provide one. I shouldn’t have taken no for an answer. I should have contacted Kennedy Krieger (where Seth was diagnosed), to inquire about an autism advocate, who would have had far more resources and knowledge than I had. I should have been more proactive. But enough “should-ing” on myself. When Seth stopped doing his homework, he made it clear he wanted to prioritize learning over getting good grades. In an email to his history teacher, Seth said: My main priority: to learn despite how much I work. I learn from things we do in class; not at home. When you teach, that's when I learn; not when I read, not when I annotate, not when I write for ID terms, but when you teach, when we discuss, and when we talk. And I best learn when you go on those tangents, the small things that lead up to why things happen in history, not just what happened. If you asked me to give a dissertation or presentation to the class I could excel. I could do it because that is my strength. I could do better at that than how I do with reading and writing in this class. Seth-ism: Age 9 Friend:    “Seth, do you like school?” Seth:       “It’s not particularly my thing.” By the middle of senior year, unbeknownst to me, Seth was failing every class but one. He was skipping school most days. To be honest, he had completely given up. This was a far cry from the kid who had gotten straight A’s in the ninth grade. Two months before the end of senior year, I was finally contacted by the school to schedule a Section 504 meeting. I really didn’t see the point that late in the game, but the school insisted. At the meeting, they informed Seth’s father and me that Seth still needed to pass two classes in order to graduate, but he was failing both. I was shocked. Why hadn’t they contacted us sooner? I scrambled to email the teachers of the two classes. I explained the issue and begged them to find ways for Seth to bring his grade up to a “D.” His English teacher responded right away and was very willing to work with us, but his Latin teacher didn’t respond. Seth was really struggling with Latin, despite being tutored twice a week. He told me he'd had several exchanges with his teacher, explaining his issues with understanding the structure of the language, but even with a last-minute conference with Seth, the teacher, and a member of the administrative staff, Seth and the teacher were unable to see eye-to-eye, and this caused Seth to shut down and stop caring about school altogether. Seth says: “I felt my teacher was a good teacher, just not the right one for me; he only knew how to teach that subject the way he did. When I asked questions, it would often lead to miscommunication, followed by arguments. In an ironic twist, I think my questions and requests were too overwhelming for the teacher. I advocated for myself, explaining that I need to learn by understanding the rules. He thought my understanding would be sufficient if I committed more time, worked harder and practiced more, but I didn’t think so. That’s not the way I learn. We’d butt heads often, which increased as time went on – like a standoff. The Colosseum wasn’t big enough for the two of us. By the end of it, I explained that comprehension isn’t instant. The final argument ended with the teacher explaining that while philosophically, that's true, it was academically invalid. My point of view was we weren’t stuck because we wouldn’t budge, but because we couldn’t adapt. I didn’t have the resources to succeed, so I failed. My teacher didn’t fail me; public education just didn’t ensure my success.” Seth needed the teacher to diagram a sentence in Latin, the way it was done in his English class. If the teacher had been willing, Seth might have been able to pass Latin. But that didn't happen. That said, I want to make it clear that I am not trying to cast the teacher as a villain, nor the school system as public enemy number one, but what happened to Seth wasn’t right, and it shouldn’t happen again. The real kicker is that Seth’s overall grade point average was 2.91 – nearly honor roll level – and yet, he didn’t graduate. He prioritized learning, and yet, he failed. Something is wrong with this picture. It may be too late for Seth, but I am hoping this story helps other parents going through a similar situation. Our kids – all  of our kids – deserve a good education in an environment that works with them, not against them. The good news is that after hearing Seth and I speak about his situation in an “Autism in Focus” Panel Discussion in April 2024, representatives from our county put together a Disability Issues Advisory Board to look into matters like this one. That’s a step in the right direction. Let’s keep moving forward. Feel free to comment on this post and get a dialogue going. Back to Part 1 Back to Part 2

My son, Seth, is a 19-year-old young man who is intelligent, kindhearted, quick-witted, and wise beyond his years. He has always danced to the beat of his own drum. He loves to learn and can have in-depth conversations on any number of topics, comparing and contrasting subjects like a walking AI prompt; and yet, he failed the one class he needed to pass in order to graduate from high school. He failed because he was unable to understand the subject the way it was being taught, and despite receiving intensive tutoring, he wasn’t able to complete classwork the way his teacher required. Seth is also autistic – diagnosed at age 16. Let me give you a little bit of history here. Three years before Seth was born, in 2001, President Bush established the “No Child Left Behind Act,” which was supposed to “[change] the ways in which educators work with students in both general and special education by holding states, school districts, principals, and teachers accountable for making meaningful improvements in students' academic performance.” [i] Unfortunately, while the intention of this act was to make sure every student passed, its emphasis on standardized testing and rigid benchmarks created significant challenges for students (like Seth) who learn differently. Seth had issues in school from the very beginning. He was suspended twice – from kindergarten – and temporarily lost his bus riding privileges for roughing up a fifth grader. Later, he got into trouble because he asked too many questions. I wasn’t aware of this back then, but Seth needed to understand the purpose of an assignment and what his teachers’ expectations were before he could begin working. If his questions weren’t answered to the extent he needed, he would shut down. If teachers pushed Seth to figure out the answers on his own, he would become overwhelmed and inevitably have a meltdown, which interrupted the class and frequently landed him in “time-out,” separated from the other students, which caused him to miss out on important lessons. As a result, his grades started to drop. Seth says: “I ask the questions I do to understand and reaffirm that I'm processing information correctly – or to learn something new. I do it out of genuine interest. My questions maximize my comprehension of the subject. Much of the time, people confuse the tone of my questions, interpreting them as a challenge to their claim. I think this happens cause I tend to sound confident, so people think I know what I’m talking about, sometimes more than them. My message is misconstrued, and people infer my opinion as fact.” By third grade, Seth was still having meltdowns on a regular basis, and he started failing math, which back then was his favorite subject, so in the middle of fourth grade, he was moved into an academic program for students with “emotional disabilities.” He thrived in the new environment, which boasted fewer students and more adult aides. Seth’s teachers saw his potential and helped him to shine – but once he moved on to the associated middle school, he started failing again – for the same reasons he did in elementary school. That’s when I took him out of the public school system altogether. I moved him to a school called Clear Circle (a pseudonym), whose philosophy is that children learn most effectively when they are allowed to study whatever they feel drawn to – on their own and at their own pace – without the pressure of a curriculum. There were no official teachers or classes. Because of the open format, Seth had the opportunity to practice social skills with children of all ages – as well as adult aides. He wasn't coming home crying anymore, thinking he was a “bad kid.” I breathed a sigh of relief. After four years, however, Seth realized he wasn’t a “self-starter,” and was concerned he wasn't learning what he needed to know at Clear Circle. He needed more structure. He asked to return to public school. (Yeah, I was surprised, too.) I believe that attending Clear Circle gave Seth the emotional break he needed to grow and mature, and now he was ready to face his challenges and advocate for himself with his teachers. To be continued... [i]   https://psycnet.apa.org/record/2005-12485-001

Because I started this blog last summer and have already written several entries, I’m doing this a little backwards. Completely in character for me, I’m afraid. Hi. Let me introduce myself. My name is Rachel Zirkin Duda, and I am the author of the book, Mending Together, Building Together (MTBT), which is a memoir (combined with pertinent educational content – and a lot of humor) in which I share the struggles and triumphs of raising a child with unrecognized autism spectrum disorder, who challenged me in just about every way possible.   I was a victim of childhood abuse, neglect, and bullying, and as a result, developed complex post-traumatic stress disorder, or “C-PTSD,” and other mental health issues.   From a young age, my son, Seth, was full of rage and physical aggression, and I was concerned he was on the road to becoming a bully himself. There were times I felt so triggered by his behavior, I doubted my ability to handle him, but I was not going to raise a bully.   Because traditional disciplinary techniques like rewards and punishments had no impact on Seth’s behavior, I had to think creatively. Through trial and error, I found ways to get through to Seth that fostered open communication and trust, and as a result, Seth and I have an incredibly close relationship, and he is comfortable in his own skin – most of the time.   In turn, Seth motivates me to work even harder on my own healing, which has helped me break through tough intergenerational trauma, cultivate more self-compassion, and grow into the person I was always meant to be.   In other words, Seth and I have been mending (our past) and building (the future)…together.   Writing this book was a six-year labor of love. There were times I pushed the project away because I was concerned about putting it all out there. What if Seth turned into a serial killer after I claimed he was doing so well? Were people going to bully me because they read this memoir and realized I might still be an easy target? Would I be making a fool of myself by being so vulnerable and open about – well – almost everything? Ultimately, I decided that none of that mattered. If I could help even one person, it would be worth taking those risks.   The “Another Mother” blog is an extension and elaboration of Mending Together, Building Together that will likely take on its own life. While I was writing MTBT , I made a lot of discoveries about myself and Seth – and the nature of trauma and neurodivergence. Since it was published, I have delved even deeper into my own history, and I am becoming a lot clearer on why I still have such strong trauma reactions sometimes. I am continuing to learn how to love and accept myself unconditionally, despite my disability (dyspraxia), and becoming more assertive in my life, and I want to share my progress. Seth is transitioning to a different phase of life and facing new challenges as an autistic adult. I want to share those stories, too.   By doing this, I aspire to help mothers (and fathers and guardians; I don’t discriminate) feel seen and supported - no matter what challenges you are dealing with. Just one caveat. I am not a child-rearing expert. I am not a psychologist. I’m just another mother who has been in the trenches of raising a challenging child, while battling my own demons, and I want to offer hope to those who are still struggling. Seth will occasionally be contributing his own thoughts and reactions, as well.   I encourage you to ask questions and post comments about anything that resonates with you. I want this to be a safe place where you can vent and tell your own stories. Life is so much easier when you know you are not alone.   If you like what you’re reading, please spread the word! See you on the inside! (Well, elsewhere on the page, anyway.)

Seth started his freshman year of high school at the age of 16 – in September 2020 – when school was online. Seth’s teachers loved him because he was always eager to participate on camera, and – to my pleasant surprise – they also appreciated that he asked so many questions. Seth thrived under these conditions because he learns best through class discussion, and because he was at home, he was able to take frequent breaks, which helped him regulate his emotions. This environment was such a great fit for Seth’s needs, he ended up getting straight A’s! When school returned to in-person classes the following fall, Seth still received mostly A’s and B’s; however, the amount of work he was responsible for increased exponentially, and despite his best efforts, Seth started to fall behind. He became frustrated and upset, but instead of having a meltdown or hiding under his desk (which he used to do in kindergarten), he advocated for himself. He sent his teachers this email: “Hello, I hope you’re having a wonderful day. I’ve been told before that I need to communicate issues better, so I’m letting you know that I’m feeling a little overwhelmed with schoolwork as of late and that in order to maintain my mental health, I plan on not doing homework until spring break. I understand the consequences and fully accept them. Thank you for hearing me, and have a nice day. – Seth" To my shock, Seth’s teachers were okay with his decision – at first. Since he was still actively participating in class, completing projects and passing tests, he was keeping his scores up, and that was what was important to them. Seth-ism: Age 8 Me:      “Seth, you’re being a contrarian.” Seth:    “No I’m NOT!!!” After the first quarter of junior year, however, teachers, friends, and family members were strongly advising Seth to work harder and become involved in a variety of extra-curricular activities, so he could attend a good college. Seth doesn’t respond well when he feels pushed, so this tactic backfired. Just like in elementary and middle school, he became overwhelmed and shut down, which led to people pressing even harder. His grades started to plummet – again. Seth was feeling trapped and despondent – to the point he briefly thought about suicide (something he had never considered before). Fortunately, he immediately came to talk to me and his guidance counselor, and we worked together to reframe the situation. Once Seth was feeling a little better, he decided the incident was a wake-up call. He realized that stretching himself too thin wasn’t conducive to maintaining good mental health, so he made the decision to stop doing homework again, which he often found confusing and stressful. He explained the situation in an email to one of his teachers: “I'm so overwhelmed, I can't do anything... I have so little tolerance right now. I've been thinking about taking more mental health days. I've thought about changing to being home-schooled. I've talked with my mom, my counselor, and my therapist. I can't endure this pressure and expectation. It's not in my skill set. School emphasizes my weaknesses, not my strengths. And so I can only do what I can. – Seth” When I read that email, my heart ached for Seth. Kids with autism are generally assigned an IEP (individualized education plan), which is basically a personalized game plan for students who need extra help in school due to disabilities or learning challenges. It's like a roadmap that helps ensure these students get the right kind of support to succeed academically (and socially). Seth had an IEP for emotional disability in elementary school, but since he started high school online, the administration felt that developing an IEP would be premature. They suggested waiting until school was open and in person again, so they would have a better idea of Seth’s support needs. However, they did put a Section 504 plan in place. A Section 504 plan gives students with disabilities appropriate accommodations, but without all the detailed planning of an IEP. A 504 plan is supposed to make sure students with disabilities get the accommodations they need to succeed in school: extra time on tests, preferential seating, etc. Seth’s 504 plan had three accommodations listed: 1.   Frequent breaks during class and state testing 2.   Teacher check-ins to ensure student is engaged and on task, and 3.   Assisting the student by helping them break down large projects into smaller pieces and conferencing with him to help him stay on schedule. Unfortunately, these accommodations didn't go far enough, and most of the time, they weren’t even followed. Stay tuned for the conclusion of "This Child was Left Behind" Part 1 Part 3

Seth sitting in a grassy field. Age 1. Seth has always had a unique way of looking at the world. I have dubbed his nuggets of wisdom and (often unintentional) strokes of comic genius, “Seth-isms.” Like this one. Seth-ism: Age 11 months My family and I were at a restaurant one afternoon many years ago. When the waitress came to take our order, she noticed that Seth’s sippy cup was near the edge of the table. Not wanting Seth (or anyone else) to accidentally knock it over, she moved the cup to the middle of the table. Dismayed, Seth locked eyes with the waitress for a moment, and then, without blinking, stretched out his arm, and pulled his cup back to where it was. Everyone who witnessed the moment nearly fell out of their chairs! Not even a year old, and he already had impeccable comic timing. Throughout my blog, I will include Seth-isms – as a comedic break. Breaks often help Seth when he’s feeling overwhelmed, and I imagine others might feel the same, so I will do my best to add in Seth-isms or groan-worthy puns whenever things are getting too heavy. Life shouldn't be taken so seriously.