This is life…

I spend my day being screamed at, yelled at.

I’ve told you a thousand times.

How many times do I have to tell you.

Are you blind.


I must do a million things for him each day and whatever I do is usually wrong. I re do it. Somedays it’s a battlefield and he is usually on the other side. His words are sharp. Hugs are few and far between. A simple I love you from him can bring me to tears. It’s rare, but also full of so many different meanings.

I’m punched.

Head butted.

Bitten and scrammed.

I can’t control him and it frightens me some times. His emotions too big for him, his ability to communicate his feelings too small. I feel powerless, I can’t reach him. He’s scared. My heart breaks.

But, I am also hidden behind.

Clung to.

I am the one who understands what it means when he strokes my back.

I am the privileged one who knows what the unspoken words mean.

I am the one who understands the different flashes in his eyes.

I am the one who can react without others knowing that there is a problem.


I am both his punch bag and his sanctuary.


I would do anything for him.

He is my 5 year old son.

This is what life with a disabled child looks like.

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