The moment my innocent little six-year-old boy yelled “I WANT TO KILL MYSELF!” was the moment my life changed forever.
Years later just writing these words again brings tears to my eyes and even though I’ve heard him say it again so many times since then, it still evokes that raw vulnerability I felt that very first time.
Those five words were so powerful, so shocking and so painful to hear. Nothing could have prepared me to hear them.
I vividly remember my emotions going into complete turmoil. So many questions shot into my head, I couldn’t even process them. All I knew for sure was that I needed to scoop that little boy up and hold him as tight as I could.
I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to let him go.
Where could those words have come from? How could a barely six-year-old child know killing yourself was even an option? What could possibly have driven him to such desperate words? Why didn’t I see this coming? How do I deal with this?
My mind was racing, and my heart was broken.
I didn’t want to hear those words, but I damn well had to listen! This was a huge wake up call and instantly set alarm bells ringing in my head. There is a massive difference between hearing and listening. I could have heard those words and decided that:
- It was a ridiculous statement for such a young child to make.
- He must have heard that from somewhere and just been repeating it, right.
- What could a six-year-old possibly have to worry about.
- He doesn’t mean what he says.
- Wow, kids say the strangest things!
But I chose to listen. I chose to take him seriously.
Don’t get me wrong, at this point I didn’t for a second think he was in danger of killing himself. I didn’t immediately start hiding sharp objects. That’s not what I’m saying. What I took seriously was that he genuinely felt that life was so unbearable that he would rather be dead.
This was an early warning sign and I listened.
I reflected on the last few years and I tried to figure out how we had got to this point.
Looking back, he had always had a fiery temper and a short fuse, but most toddlers do, right? Starting school seemed to go relatively smoothly, after all he’d been going to pre-school for a year by then. Everything was bobbing along quite nicely, he was making friends, playing and learning along with his classmates. He seemed happy and popular. His teachers hadn’t mentioned anything worrying.
Sure, he had his moments, but I was completely oblivious that these were signs that things weren’t quite right. I was a full-time parent; the kids were given lots of love and attention and I thought I was doing a pretty good job. I can genuinely say that I thought we were a happy family.
So how could I have missed this?
All I could think was that he was depressed. I’d had a little experience of depression in adults but never suffered myself. I knew it was complex and often seemed irrational to people who had not been through it personally. I also knew I couldn’t handle this by myself, I needed help.
I made an appointment through school to speak to MAST (Multi Agency Support Team) who were offering drop in sessions. During the appointment I tearfully explained what had happened, how worried I was about him and that I thought he must be depressed. The lady listened, took notes and said she would speak to the school staff and observe my son over the next couple of weeks. I left feeling a sense of hope and relief that I’d been taken seriously and that my precious boy would get help.
A follow up appointment was made for a couple of long weeks later. In the meantime, I was watching my son like a hawk, analysing his behaviour and trying to second guess everything he said for hidden meanings.
The stress was exhausting.
Finally, the appointment came. I entered the meeting room with trepidation, not knowing whether I wanted her to confirm my depression diagnosis or tell me I was over reacting, and he was absolutely fine.
After some polite greetings and small talk, she explained how she had observed my son in various scenarios. One of which was a rehearsal for the school nativity play where she had described him as looking completely lost and disengaged. She then looked at me as if this was supposed to mean something. I had no clue what she expected so I just blurted out that he hated being the centre of attention, so he was probably embarrassed.
Then she said it.
“Your son isn’t depressed, I think he’s autistic.”
Just like that! No gentle build up. No skirting around. Not even “I think you may want to consider…”
I was in total and utter shock. I didn’t know how to react. Laugh? Cry? Shout? Walk out?
So, I just sat there dumbfounded.
Autism wasn’t even on my radar. What was she talking about? That can’t be right! What about the suicidal thoughts? Was she even observing the correct child? What should I even be thinking right now?
I don’t even remember what she said for the next few minutes. Something about making an appointment with my doctor. Getting a referral. Doing some research, blah, blah, blah….
It was so left field I just couldn’t absorb what she was telling me. I must have looked shocked because I remember one of the teachers saying, “but don’t forget he is still the same little boy you dropped off this morning”.
Yes, he is.
But I will never be the same parent.
Love and Hugs,
Nadine
xxx
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All content created for and written by myextraordinaryfamily.com is based on my own personal experience as an autism mother, partner and advocate. I am an expert by experience and do not have official qualifications in autism. I live my daily life constantly learning, supporting and advocating for my neurodiverse family and speak from this point of view. Any advice given is purely based on what has worked for me and my extraordinary family and I offer no guarantees that you will have the same results with your unique family.
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