Snowflakes. They are a symbol for me of perfection in the universe. Crystalline, clear, pure, and not two that are the same. ( Really, I am curious how they know that, but that is just my busy mind ).
I am sitting here this cold winter morning, watching the snow fall out my window as the wind blows it around in my back yard. My mind and my heart are full.
I received a short email this morning from a reader that touched my heart. She only wrote a few lines, a brief thank you for sharing this journey. Sarah, thank you for listening. I was checking my emails and didn't recognize your address. I sat for a few moments reading and then I put the phone down and just let the emotion flow through me. I forget sometimes that there is anyone reading this. It feels most nights like it is a conversation between myself and the divine. A way to check in and let anyone up there who is watching or listening know that we are here, and that we are okay. When I started this blog, it was a way for me to feel less alone in this experience. I couldn't stand the thought that even one family would have to survive what we had been through and end up feeling like there was no one out there who could understand.
Children on the spectrum, of which I have two, are very much like snowflakes. Each unique in the challenges that they present with, pure in the sense that they are somehow different, set apart from this world in various ways. Clear in the sense that they often don't understand the ways the rest of us complicate things with language or white lies or omissions, or what we pass off as rules of social engagement. Each singular in the beauty they possess, and in their special gifts and talents.
Those of us that have been asked to raise Indigo children are on a unique vision quest. For in the journey there is as much to learn about who we are as about who they are. We do not create children and what they become, even when they are not on the spectrum. We water a seed. We guide it's growth, but what that seed becomes is reliant upon what the seed knows it is. You cannot grow a watermelon from a rose seed. Nor can you tell from looking at a seed at the beginning what it's potential is or even what it will grow up to be. Thinking we know that is an illusion, even with neurotypical kids. So really what we are asked to do is stay present. Leave worrying about the past or the future behind. To live in the moment with open arms and surrender to what is. To acknowledge how we feel when we feel it, but not judge those emotions as good or bad.
My children are very high functioning. I do not have children that struggled with language skills or basic living skills. My hearts go out to those of you who have. Any time a parent realizes they have a child that has some sort of challenge, the grief and suffering is the same. All any of us knows is our own experience, what we have had to confront ourselves on our own journey. To have a child labelled as "other" or " challenged " is very difficult. We must remind ourselves that no one knows the future for their child, special or not. We must be careful not to limit them with our labels. And then confront the absurdity that we needed those very labels to get them help. I try very hard to explain to my boys that there are no limits. That we simply need to find different doors. If one doesn't open we will just keep walking until we find one that opens for them. We just need to be creative, that is all. To be open and willing. To allow their lives to unfold without resistance. To approach what comes to us from a place of growth and love, instead of reaction.
Our quest in each moment is to have faith that we are on the right path. That if we stop struggling so hard, the people we need will simply show up when we need them. That if we keep walking forward, we will arrive where we are supposed to arrive. Hope lives in this house. Hope lives in my heart.
Thank you Sarah for the gift. You planted a small seed in my heart today.
In love and light,
Kathryn
I am sitting here this cold winter morning, watching the snow fall out my window as the wind blows it around in my back yard. My mind and my heart are full.
I received a short email this morning from a reader that touched my heart. She only wrote a few lines, a brief thank you for sharing this journey. Sarah, thank you for listening. I was checking my emails and didn't recognize your address. I sat for a few moments reading and then I put the phone down and just let the emotion flow through me. I forget sometimes that there is anyone reading this. It feels most nights like it is a conversation between myself and the divine. A way to check in and let anyone up there who is watching or listening know that we are here, and that we are okay. When I started this blog, it was a way for me to feel less alone in this experience. I couldn't stand the thought that even one family would have to survive what we had been through and end up feeling like there was no one out there who could understand.
Children on the spectrum, of which I have two, are very much like snowflakes. Each unique in the challenges that they present with, pure in the sense that they are somehow different, set apart from this world in various ways. Clear in the sense that they often don't understand the ways the rest of us complicate things with language or white lies or omissions, or what we pass off as rules of social engagement. Each singular in the beauty they possess, and in their special gifts and talents.
Those of us that have been asked to raise Indigo children are on a unique vision quest. For in the journey there is as much to learn about who we are as about who they are. We do not create children and what they become, even when they are not on the spectrum. We water a seed. We guide it's growth, but what that seed becomes is reliant upon what the seed knows it is. You cannot grow a watermelon from a rose seed. Nor can you tell from looking at a seed at the beginning what it's potential is or even what it will grow up to be. Thinking we know that is an illusion, even with neurotypical kids. So really what we are asked to do is stay present. Leave worrying about the past or the future behind. To live in the moment with open arms and surrender to what is. To acknowledge how we feel when we feel it, but not judge those emotions as good or bad.
My children are very high functioning. I do not have children that struggled with language skills or basic living skills. My hearts go out to those of you who have. Any time a parent realizes they have a child that has some sort of challenge, the grief and suffering is the same. All any of us knows is our own experience, what we have had to confront ourselves on our own journey. To have a child labelled as "other" or " challenged " is very difficult. We must remind ourselves that no one knows the future for their child, special or not. We must be careful not to limit them with our labels. And then confront the absurdity that we needed those very labels to get them help. I try very hard to explain to my boys that there are no limits. That we simply need to find different doors. If one doesn't open we will just keep walking until we find one that opens for them. We just need to be creative, that is all. To be open and willing. To allow their lives to unfold without resistance. To approach what comes to us from a place of growth and love, instead of reaction.
Our quest in each moment is to have faith that we are on the right path. That if we stop struggling so hard, the people we need will simply show up when we need them. That if we keep walking forward, we will arrive where we are supposed to arrive. Hope lives in this house. Hope lives in my heart.
Thank you Sarah for the gift. You planted a small seed in my heart today.
In love and light,
Kathryn
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