How Powerful Opinions And Worldviews Change For Better

I suppose it’s possible for somebody to change her viewpoint without leaving home or meeting new people, but it’d be difficult. Maybe if she reads thousands and thousands of essays and articles with a true desire to learn and become more, she’d be able to make it happen. 

But whoah, it’d be hard.  

Experiences and new-to-us places have the power to change how we think. Same goes for meeting new people and talking more deeply to the ones we already know. 

The times in life I’ve changed an opinion or viewpoint required at least one of those, anyway.

I was barely 17 when I flew from Denver to San Francisco to start my freshman year of college. I boarded the plane in tears, carrying a rose from my mom next to my California dreams of being on and of my own. 

My worldview was narrow, and my understanding of what a worldview was even more so. Luckily, several young women saw enough potential in me to get into a beer-fueled debate on homelessness, and one of them even had a homeless friend who lived on the streets of San Francisco. She introduced me to him, and boom. 

Just like that, I went from thinking about homelessness as something foreign and scary to realize they’re people, striving to be on their own, just like I was. 

Traveling to foreign countries and finding out how gloriously similar we are changed my mind about stereotypes. Though we are 98% alike, I think I used to see the 2% difference as “us and them,” or something like that. Instead, I learned the 2% difference between each of us was not, in fact, foreign or scary, but brilliant and fascinating. 

It’s that tiny bit that makes you you, and me me. It’s what leads to change, and a united front. That you’re more organized, and I’m more artistic is the 2%. I love that percent in you and I’m learning to my own 2%, too.

***

It’s embarrassing to admit, but there was a (short) time when my ex and I were being seated at a restaurant and asked that it “Not be near a bunch of kids.” Before becoming a mom, I assumed a lot of stupid stuff. Like, that if kids were whiny in restaurants, their parents were failing somehow.

After I became a mom, I realized what a treat it is to simply risk going to a restaurant with a toddler. Some days, it’s great, and he colors the menu until the food comes. 

Other days, toddlers color themselves. Which is its own brand of awesome, I know. I miss this stage.

Those other days? Oh dear Lord. I’ve left tips almost as large as our meal to apologize for the mess my little dude made. I’ve left restaurants without eating because of the looks we got, even if some of them were in my own head.

***

Growing up, I didn’t know anybody with special needs. In fact, I often wonder where people with disabilities were in the 80’s because I’m pretty sure they weren’t in the same classroom I was in.

When my son was a toddler, visions of Montessori school and picturing him saying “Let’s go kick the ball, Mommy!” danced in my head but were met with mostly silence. His laughter and smiles lit up my soul, and his lack of language filled my worried nights. 

And so, evaluations. Tests. More worry, fear, and a bit of grief later, he was attending Preschool Autism Class (PAC). He graduated from it.

On Meeting Kids With Special Needs Which Is How Powerful Opinions And Worldviews Change For Better

Before PAC, I didn’t know anybody with special needs, but through that PAC class, I met some amazing mamas and got to know what autism looks like. I’ll tell you – it doesn’t look like what I assumed from seeing Rain Man that single time I did back when it was released at Block Buster Video, when renting movies was still a thing you had to drive to while wearing pants.

Instead, I met amazing kids with verbal and math abilities beyond their years. Sometimes, those same kids had the emotional patience of a newborn.

I met other kids who were non-verbal and gave the best hugs in life. Others preferred no contact, and I was only able to imagine what pictures they saw in their minds.

Each meeting and knowing is and was fascinating and eye-opening, and today, I miss the connection I had with other moms in this new space, learning and seeing and sharing. I think about each of the kids in PAC with my son, and hope they’re okay. That they’re in good environments and thriving. I’m so thankful to know more about autism and what it looks like in real life. And to know too, that it looks different in each kid. 

***

My son is 10 and I learn from him daily. Turns out, he doesn’t have autism, but really needed that PAC class back then. It helped him grow, and speak, and it helped me grow, and speak about what it feels like to be a special needs mom. I miss those days although I don’t miss the early-mom worry. I miss the solidarity of my PAC mom happy hour group. 

There are those I’m grateful to remain in contact with and I’m so very thankful for them. What I miss is the “We’re in this together thing” that disappears somewhere between moving, growing, and each of us finding out more about which environment is best for our kiddos. 

***

When I started blogging, I had one purpose. Actually, two. 

1. To find moms like me who live in the Middle World, where autism symptoms exist, but a diagnosis doesn’t. 
2. To share what helped our family. My son in particular, because at age three, water was “ah,” and a helicopter was “hah,” with a chest slap to mimic the blades. 

I suppose it’s possible for somebody to change her viewpoint without leaving home or meeting new people, but it’d be difficult. For me, my worldview has been changed most by sharing stories and listening to the ones others are able to tell. 

It’s been altered through travel and conversations and connections. It’s been forever changed for the better by knowing you. Thank you, each of you who shares, connects, and is vulnerable here in this corner of the interwebs.

I appreciate you. So much. 

This has been a Finish the sentence Friday post (four days late) with the prompt “The lesson that changed how I thought…”