“I don’t want them labeled.”
If I had a dollar for every time I heard this, I could pay off my house, your house and probably have enough left for a nice new car. Honey, it’s time we had some real talk.
I keep hearing this. Hell, I’ve even said it myself. But, this isn’t about you. It never was. It hasn’t been about you since the moment the doctor said, “It’s a boy! Or girl!” Sorry, sunshine, I’m all for a pity party for one from time to time. But this resisting a label thing? That’s not helping your kid at all.
I’m not going to beat around the bush with this. Your kid (and mine) already has a label. The weird one. The troublemaker. The quirky one. The “What’s with that kid?” one. Why not get them the correct one? More important, get them the correct supports in place for success.
I believe the label is a necessary evil. I know being practical is about as much fun as watching paint dry, but it is what it is. Think you’ll get an insurance company to pay up for some sort of nondescript help? I can’t even get them to pay past 30 sessions of speech therapy, and my kid has an autism label. Plus, I get the added bonus of having my yearly conversation: “Why yes, I will still be taking him to speech therapy and paying out of pocket. He’s still very much autistic. He didn’t magically recover from his severe expressive and receptive communication troubles just because we hit the limit. Go figure!”
And school? You’re definitely going to need a label there. No one is handing out IEP’s all willy nilly for kicks. You want that free and appropriate education the law entitles your child, you have to get the label. You just do. You want to get the best possible tailor-made education for your kid, you best accept that label that so terrifies you.
I get it. I really do. I was in denial for years. I didn’t want to see what was right in front of my face. Once I started accepting it, well, I got used to it. It’s not a case of getting better. You just start finding your kid’s own groove. I started following the tour guide that autism sent to me. Yes, there are frequent stops for french fries and I know more about trains than I ever thought possible. I started to get a bit more fluent in his own language while teaching him my own. I saw past the label.
In other words, I got the eff over myself. Everyone just wants what’s best for their kid.
This post originally appeared on Autism With a Side of Fries.
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