As I sit here reflecting on our friendship, I can’t help but feel immense love for you, even though our time together has become infrequent. We often joke that life is just too hectic—between our jobs and our little ones, it’s a busy season of our lives. We keep saying, “This month, we will finally make it happen.” But as each month rolls by, we just exchange texts filled with laughter, promising to catch up soon. Yet, I’m beginning to doubt that’s entirely true, at least for me.
The truth is, my life has become a different landscape. We’ve both changed, and while we are still best friends and practically family, the realities we face are not the same. I adore you and your children, but we’re living in different worlds, and it feels like we’re dancing around the elephant in the room without acknowledging it.
My son, Ethan, has autism. His condition has completely transformed my life, reshaping it in ways I never imagined. Most days, I feel like I’m just holding on by a thread.
My Apologies
I want to apologize for my absence. I’m sorry for not making plans with you, for hesitating to commit, and for the many times I’ve had to cancel. The phrase “It’s not you, it’s me” may sound cliché, but this time, it’s true. This struggle is mine.
Today started at 3:07 a.m. with Ethan, which is a regular part of my life now. Some mornings are particularly challenging—there are days when I have to physically restrain his 60-pound frame when he’s overwhelmed. It’s a rollercoaster, and I often feel like I might break down. I could share all of this with you, but I stopped trying a long time ago—not just with you, but with everyone. My reality seems too dramatic or like I’m merely complaining. It’s so far removed from what most people experience, and when I do try to explain, you, being the supportive friend you are, offer solutions that I know won’t apply. So, I withdraw.
The Weight of Autism
This is why I often ignore your calls, letting them go to voicemail because I lack the energy to answer. I see your texts piling up. Even when we do connect, I hesitate to make plans, and if we manage to schedule something, I frequently have to cancel. I want you to understand that it’s not intentional. My son’s medical needs are unpredictable, and I have little control over them.
Every day in my world is a mix of extremes. I used to attempt to balance everything, especially when Ethan was younger. I remember playdates and park outings where I’d see you enjoying time with our friends while I was struggling to keep it together. Conversations about potty training and preschool felt surreal to me, as I was consumed with appointments for therapy, hoping Ethan would not hurt anyone.
My daily existence revolves around doctor visits and therapy sessions, and at times it feels like I’ve abandoned everything else. I didn’t choose to withdraw; I chose to devote myself to my son. This commitment has left me feeling like I’ve lost touch with the rest of the world.
Recognizing My Changes
I know I’m not the same person you once knew. I used to be fun and adventurous. I miss the vibrant friendship we had. I sense the distance between us too and I wonder if you feel unsure around me, perhaps afraid to share your children’s milestones for fear of hurting me. Please don’t feel that way. I love your kids as if they were my own, but I won’t lie—it sometimes stings.
I often try to pinpoint how I transformed into someone so different. I’d like to think it was a gradual shift, but the truth is, it happened in an instant. The moment Ethan was born, I was thrust into a new reality. Before that, we were in sync—excited about weddings and baby preparations. I was blissfully unaware of the challenges waiting for me.
The Reality of Autism
Then it hit. I became an autism parent, and that label weighed heavily on me. The differences between our children became glaringly evident. Your baby slept soundly, while mine struggled. I was constantly exhausted, while you spoke about how parenting was getting easier. I could see you starting to miss me, and I felt the distance growing, yet I was caught in a cycle of denial.
As Ethan’s needs became more apparent, I could no longer pretend everything was fine. The milestones that your child reached were reminders of what Ethan was unable to achieve. I withdrew further into my own world, feeling invisible. The jealousy I felt was overwhelming as I watched you celebrate your child’s accomplishments, while I was left grappling with frustration.
Life in the Now
I want to acknowledge that I wake up each day with the hope of re-engaging with the world, of reaching out to friends. But by the end of the day, I often feel drained. When I see your posts about your son joining tee-ball or karate, I feel a physical ache. I’m here, researching special needs strollers and planning how to navigate public spaces with Ethan.
What you’re doing is incredible, and I’m genuinely happy for you and your beautiful children. I just need you to forgive my absence.
I’m letting you off the hook. Autism is my reality, not yours. I want to express my gratitude for your patience and support, and I hope you won’t give up on me. Though our paths may seem divergent, I promise to keep trying. One day, I believe things will become easier, and I’ll return to the friend you once knew. Our children will grow up, and while Ethan may still be with me, I trust that we will find our way back to each other.
In Summary
This heartfelt message is about a mother navigating the challenges of raising a child with autism while expressing her love and longing for the friendship she feels slipping away. She apologizes for her absence and seeks understanding, hoping to reconnect in the future.
Keyphrase: autism parenting and friendship
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