Divergent Learning Diaries

For a long time we didn’t know that our daughters were autistic.  We have only known this for a quarter of their lives. But clearly something was different.  Something was missed. One of my daughters was struggling.  Quite a lot. Why was my child so anxious? Had I broken her? Was I not giving her what she needed?

[What they said in the commentary box.  They thought a lot was wrong.] 

She’s confused by you.  You are not consistent enough.  You don’t have clear boundaries.  

You work too hard.  Are you available enough?   Get on the floor and play with her more. 

She’s obsessed with you.  You’re too close to her.  She needs to make relationships with others.

All these things.  On different days.  But I suppose then, yes.  It must be something I did. Or it must be something I’m doing.

Better get better at this then.  Mustn’t fail her.

Let’s do a ‘getting dressed reward challenge gold star chart collect all the gems in a jar’.  That will motivate her.  This is great.  Well done us.  We’ll make a new start tomorrow.

Then.  

Why can’t she dress herself yet?  How long did you try this for? You are not developing her independence.  She should be able to tie her shoes by this age.

She’s not eating properly.  She needs more vegetables.  She’s incredibly picky.  She can’t live on chicken nuggets.  You aren’t taking care of her health.  That’s neglect.

She’s very direct.  You were never like that.  Why is she so rude?  If she were mine she wouldn’t get away with that.

Another Christmas ruined.  I don’t know how you put up with her.  She should go to her room.  What do you mean she won’t go when you tell her to?

Better get better at this then.  Really don’t want to let her down.  Maybe I just wasn’t cut out to be a parent.  This isn’t fun.

Bury the shame.  Smile and be positive or they’ll think you can’t cope.

She keeps swearing in the classroom.  Is there swearing in the home?  Where is she hearing this language?  You need to start a swear jar?  Sorry, but if she swears at school she will be sanctioned.

She can go on the school journey if you promise you’ll come and get her if we can’t handle her behaviour.  We are quite nervous about taking her.  Perhaps you could rent a place and stay close by.  Just in case.

We know she has assessments coming but if we let her stay in the classroom other children’s learning will be impacted.  

Can you come to the school?  She’s pulling down lockers.  

Are you ok?  Do you feel safe around her?  Some of our teachers are very upset.  They don’t feel able to work with her tomorrow.

[Eventually there’s a  long awaited diagnosis.  An outcome.]

And now, at least,  there’s clarity.  Ah, they say.  We get it.  Autism.  

She doesn’t look autistic though does she?  What will she do?  She’s got to fit in though.  She needs to learn.

How come you didn’t realise she was autistic?  You’re a teacher.  You didn’t spot this.  You should have done.

Why won’t she go to school?  That’s enough now.  She needs to go.  Stop all this nonsense.  You’re going to have to sit her down and tell her….

[And I do want to sit you down.  And I want to tell you this.]

Remember the time we went to that pottery cafe to make something for Grandma and loads of girls in your class were there for a party? But they hadn’t invited you.  I felt the sharp sadness with you.  

Remember when I put on that school bus that took you to the countryside for 4 nights?  You banged your fist on the window and I should have stopped the bus.  The image of your tear-stained face is seared on my memory.

Remember when I yelled at you for not getting dressed?  I called you selfish and stated over and over that you made me late for work.  

Remember that time you cried in the school assembly in the middle of the whole class. And their parents.  And everyone stared?  I should have cut across the busy hall, pulled you in my arms at that exact second and said that everything was ok. 

On all those ‘special’ occasions, birthdays, Christmases when everyone descended and made so much noise and forced you to sit and eat with us. I should have let you hide in your bed.  I should have joined you there for a picnic under the duvet.

When you screamed and kicked me while I prised the Ipad out of your hands because you had had ‘too much screen time’.  Remember?  It was clear that the screen gave you comfort and focus and I was taking that from you.  You didn’t deserve that.

When they told you you had to sit in that room, separate from the other children at school because you didn’t follow instructions.  When they said you would only see those four walls all day long while the others tripped and clapped and laughed and chased each other in the field outside.  

I should have grabbed your hand and walked you out of there.

[So, this is for you. And for the commentary box]

I’m sorry for the parent I was before I knew you were autistic.  And I’m sorry for the parent I was before I understood your neurodivergence.

You deserved better.  From all of us.