Let's Redefine "Brave"

Chicago Parent magazine ran an article in August that I've been meaning to read -- yup, sitting with the headline face up on the "Read Me, Dammit!" section of the kitchen counter all this time. The article, in the 'In my shoes' section, was called "Three On The Spectrum" and written by a local single mother of three young boys, all on the autism spectrum. Of course I wanted to hear what this kindred soul had to share, since I am single-parenting myself (AND single-parenting a son with what our therapists call "spectrumy behavior." LOL.)

I quickly realized I was more angry than comforted by the perspective. In the interest of sowing unity through valid, respectful critique (because my blog ain't no Jerry Springer show!) I'll target the part that most bothered me, and I'll reset the terms as I see them myself.

Her article begins and ends with the concept of being Brave. I'd like to talk about what Brave means to me, as another single-parent with a special needs young child.

I'm brave because I chose to stop at having one child -- despite pressure from all sides, well-intentioned to be sure. I felt that when I became comfortable knowing what my child needed, knowing basically how to go about getting it, and having the resources to make it happen (including seeing my young marriage beginning to turn around towards strength and growth) -- when I had all these things within reach, I'd be ready to receive Child Number Two from the Universe. But this marriage was too unstable, and this child too unique in needs to plan for. I never reached the point of feeling I had it in hand enough to add another life to my responsibilities. So I stopped after my first child. No apoligies, no regrets.

I'm brave because, like Jennifer W., I have raised this new love most of his life -- as a single parent. His father and I split up (into 2 homes, finally) when baby was 9 months. I had returned to work at 3 months, and have struggled to work to support a home for the two of us ever since. When Daddy has been blessed with steady work, he pays for one of J's two schools and we get some child support. I am enormously grateful to not have to chase him for it. It roughly covers groceries and puts gas in the car. Rent, the other school, and the rest of Life are on me.

I'm brave because when people invite us to "typical childhood experiences" I'm able to evaluate it solely on it's benefit or harm to MY son. I'm brave enough to turn down Trick Or Treating. And Chuck E. Cheese's. And Great America. I'm strong enough to risk being unpopular with my ex by saying why I don't want HIM taking our child to Chuck E. Cheese's EITHER.

I'm brave enough to accept that if they DO go against my wishes, J. will recover from any melt-downs. And the subsequent week of disregulation. I'm blessed enough to have married a man who usually does take these urgings seriously, often agreeing in the end.

I'm brave because before I take my son anywhere alone, I try to imagine the safety challenges we'll face, and if my own two hands and one strong voice aren't enough to keep him safe, WE WON'T GO.

I leave groceries in the car, even if they may melt, rather than take my hand off him if he's close to losing it.

If I'm out and he slips out of sight, I don't hope someone will appear and help. I TELL somebody to help. And most other mothers WILL, often without being asked (depending on the culture/community you are in. At a mainly African-American gathering, 99% of adults will tell you if your child is getting into trouble.)

I was once performing at a favorite venue where no one stepped up to help me when J. wandered off. I don't perform there anymore without a firm commitment of EXACTLY WHO will watch my son while I'm onstage. I'm brave like that, too.

I sit on the curb with him strapped in his carseat, even if he needs me close -- rather than risk D.W.C. (Driving While Crying) because he just punched me in the face and smashed a toy at the car window hard enough to break it.

I'm brave because I understand this isn't about ME surviving the rocks in this road. It's about giving my son what he needs to the best of my ability. I'm not leaving it up to chance that he doesn't get kidnapped or hit by a car.

I'm brave enough to put my artist career on hold instead of bounce J. around with babysitters while I gig. I'm brave enough to take a menial, unhealthy, filty, smelly job with sporadic bouts of insinuations from my boss that I am stupid -- in order to keep my son in a part-time (EXTREMELY parttime!) therapeutic program with shifting schedules and a million meetings. I'm brave enough to keep my head up without girls nights out, red wine, or clothes shopping.

I don't really even care if I seem brave to anyone or not. I just want to be the Mars I was born to be, and help my boy be the one HE was born to be. Yeah, the world doesn't always see either of us for the gifts we bring. We will bring them anyway. That's why we're here.