Entering the classroom on the first day of school as a parent was probably one of the most terrifying moments during my entire supremacy through this journey that I call motherhood. Walking into a classroom full of crying, cheerful, scared children whom were ready to take on this new chapter of their lives all the while my son staring up at me with the look of “why are you still here”. Glancing around looking at all of the parents whom looked relieved, scared, but mostly excited at the endeavor that seemed to be playing out right in front of us all. The entire time, I am frantic inside of my head wondering if on the first day I would receive “that” phone call.
You know “that” phone call. The one that says my child was in full-on meltdown mode, “that” phone call that he was on a tirade – karate chopping each and every child that stepped in his way. “That” phone call saying that he took off out of the classroom, or maybe “that” phone call that he has abruptly interrupted the entire class and the teacher has lost total control. The entire time had these frantic thoughts swirled around my mind, but showing on the outside? Sunshines & rainbows. I dare not show that i am scared or fearful. This is all for k because if he is excited and showing no fear then I too shall embark this journey with the same facade.
It is exactly that though, a facade. Although I understand my child and the school claims to understand the triumphs they may have to face to understanding my child; I fear that this may not be the case. They cannot truly understand the depth of the problem. They cannot truly know the ins and outs of how my child works. Would they see the switch? Would they be able to interject before it’s too late? My faith in the system was clearly not strong.
My son: smart, intelligent, handsome, and the glimmer that shines in my eye has an uphill battle living among this society. I know that he is capable of amazing feats in life and I hope that as we grow and learn, together. I have given him the gift to believe in himself.
As a newly diagnosed family of SPD, we don’t know the exact struggle that we face. However, even though we are newly diagnosed our life doesn’t change at all. I will keep on the way I always have. The way that works for my son – the only way that he knows how to live in the world that surrounds him. We are okay with that; he is okay with that. Everyday is a learning experience that we have together and we would not have it any other way.
The funny thing is I have heard a consensus that a diagnosis is a long term label, a disability for lack of a better word, always that black cloud hanging above following wherever they may go. But we look at it very differently. We look at it as a tool – a tool that we can use to better Kohen’s life. He inspires me daily to be the best person that I can be and to be comfortable in my own skin. A diagnosis was not the ever-evolving cloud of doom, it was one more fact to empower myself and my family to stand up and be aware that not all children are the same and my son is nothing more than an exceptional, spirited, and unique individual.
Sensory processing disorder was the first step to the rest of my son’s long, healthy, happy, and amazing life. Our life is not SPD, Kohen is not SPD. Kohen just lives with SPD.