From Loneliness To Light

When I started Finding Ninee, I was lonely, worried, and confused. In response to writing a bunch of words, Googling “How to publish a memoir,” and reading that publishers would rather shave a cat than read another memoir, I thought “I’ll just blog!” I looked up “How to start a blog,” bought a domain name, and voila. 

At the time, I knew something was going on with Tucker, and he’d recently started Preschool Autism Class (PAC) because the school thought it was the best program for him (it was). 

His developmental pediatrician said: “I don’t think it’s autism.” 

“Come back in six months, and we’ll look again, but I’m not convinced an ASD diagnosis fits him,” she said. 

Which is how The Middle World came to be, at least on this site.

And friends, over months and years, I asked questions here, and, sometimes, even had answers to others’ questions. Shared what it feels like to be a special needs mom. 

Met true friends parenting kids with special needs. 

Met true friends parenting typical kids. 

Others, exceptionally brilliant kids. 

I saw that each person, each kid, is brilliant and amazing. In spite, or maybe because, of the human light that shines within despite our unique challenges. 

Through questions and answers, I realized at least a little bit, we’re all in middle worlds, all the time. 

From loneliness to light, I began to find my people. 

The blog world was changing, and so were we. Tucker entered typical kindergarten, and it looked like there was light at the end of the tunnel. At least, he no longer pronounced “water” as “ah,” and could use the potty as often as other five-year-olds (not during the night, but we all know that nighttime hours are different from daytime hours when it comes to the potty and other scary things). 

Sometime between kindergarten graduation and I’m-not-sure-when, I had a terrible trolling experience after sharing a story online. Not just horrible-awful-terrible, but the kind of terrible that meant threats found me sweating and shaking in my kitchen, sure that somebody would find my boy and hurt him to punish me for publishing online. 

Around that same time, Tucker’s light shone brighter than ever, and I began to question all I’d ever put out there about his challenges. 

I worried he’d be judged for my worries about his milestone markers (or the lack thereof). And so, I started to share less. Figured it was no longer my right anyway, given his age and the fact that we were pretty sure by then it’s not actually autism, but something else, unnamed. 

During those months and years, I also lost a person who’d been a light for me and questioned my right to have ever talked about inclusion at all. Even now, years later, I’m healing from my role and her role in the crumbling of our friendship. She had a point, as did I, and both of us are probably right in the way that each person in life sees light and darkness and betrayal and a single afternoon the way we remember it. Felt it. Lived it. 

I guess what I’m saying is that a few things happened to affect the way I saw myself as an advocate, and I kinda lost my way on this blog. Or, at least my passion and for sharing personally. I lost my light a little bit. 

***

Tucker is 10 (and ½ OMG) years old, and gets less support at school than ever before. I’m not sure whether this is good or not so good. I do know the light in Colorado warms our faces, even on cold days. The sunshine is unstoppable, relentless, and utterly wonderful. For now, while I try to honor my word of 2020, which is “Heal,” it’s enough, in spite of it right now being after 9:00pm and Tucker’s playing tug-of-war in the windy snow with his dog Nugget. There’s light in this particular dark. Maybe even, more there than anywhere because when’s the last time we played in the snow in the dark with an eager friend, like a dog?

This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post, with the prompt of “I see the light in…” This week, I’m happy to have Tamara of Tamara Like Camera co-host with me.
Also, obviously, we’re flexible with the prompt. Always.