I’m Not a ‘Supermom’ Because My Child Is on the Autism Spectrum

I’m not a “supermom,” but I get called that a lot. Having a child with autism does not make me one. Please let me feel weak sometimes and let me cry. Let me make mistakes and let my guard down. Let me just be a mom, a wife, a woman, not a “super-someone.”

The day my son Vedant was diagnosed with autism, it felt like life handed me a cape and said, “Now you fight and never stop doing so.” But there are days when I’m exhausted and wish that never again should a mom have to fight for what is rightly her child’s and hope that the world will be more sensitive to any child who has challenges.

For once, to the person who snatched my son’s straw away, all I want to say is, “Please be considerate. It’s my son’s sensory toy. It keeps him calm in a crowded bus full of noisy kids.” Some days, I don’t want to cry out loud and ask him to go educate himself on autism.

Instead of telling that teenager not to pity my son when I tell her he has autism, I wish the school and society taught her better and told her that autism has its strengths, too. I am tired of explaining that autism is not the end of the world — it’s just a different world. No, I’m not a supermom. I feel run-down every now and then.

Sometimes all I hope is that the mom waiting in that lobby was more sensitive. My son simply wanted to be friendly with her child, and that is why he came so close. He did not hurt her or scare her. Let her learn about interacting with people who are different. Let her learn to be accommodating. I don’t want to stand on a podium and explain to her the importance of inclusion.

There are days when I don’t want to put up a fight every time someone shows me that the society is still not ready to co-exist with a child with autism.

Occasionally, when things get overwhelming, I feel like quitting, and I don’t want to feel guilty about that thought. I need that weakness in me. I want those cracks so my pain can find a way out.

There are days when sifting through all the therapies that haven’t worked makes me want to suspend my optimism and cry. Just plain cry for fear about the future. Occasionally I want to complain.

Just for once, I too want to go to concerts, movies, and date nights; to attend parties, stay out late, and take a break. For a change, I want someone to have my back.

I wish it were a world where you were not forced to be a fighter, a supermom, and a constant advocate if you have a child with autism. If anyone is a warrior and has superpowers, it’s my son — not me. He is a super-kid.

Follow this journey on Tulika’s blog.