*Photo: Rebekah Pope, From Heartache to Hope series
We're told a lie when our babies are born. It's a lie the doctors tell us. Our grandmothers and mothers tell us. Our neighbors and strangers tell us. They tell us that our "babies don't come with instructions."
I beg to differ.
I think they do.
The instructions are not in a manual. No baby book. They are internal. It's something within us all, male and female. And it's called, simply, intuition.
The problem is that we often can't hear this simple wisdom from within. We can't hear it because we've been taught by our parents, by our culture, by ourselves. Not. To. Listen.
I decided to listen. I thank La Leche League and Attachment Parenting advocates that encouraged me to do so. And I listened again when my toddler was diagnosed with autism. I had to drown out the noise of the cure du jour. Those that accused me of bad parenting because I chose not to strap my child in a chair at a miniature table in the kitchen and drill her in Skinneristic routines. It was hard. But I'd already learned the value of listening. I was rewarded with a knowing that I was doing what was right for my family. My child.
My child came with instructions. I only had to listen. To her. To my heart. To follow it's message has not always been easy. But by getting still. By listening again and again, I've come home. To my center. And to her heart.
Absolutely. No. Regrets.
*I find it amusing and a bit bewildering when I'm often asked if our book, From Heartache to Hope: Middle Tennessee Families Living with Autism--due from the printer in less than one week--has pictures of Grace and myself. The answer is yes and no. A similar version of this photo, above, but with our eyes open, accompanies the inside and cover bio blubs. Otherwise, I am simply the author (and originator and organizer) of the book project. I am the journalist/storyteller for 18 special families. And their pictures, not ours, capture the reader's eye page after page, their stories, not mine tell of the heartache. The hope. And though it is their stories and not mine, it's our story. Together, these 18 families shared pieces of the autism puzzle. It is their pictures and their words that tell the universal autism story.
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