As I reflect on our friendship, I feel an overwhelming sense of love for you, even though we rarely see each other. We often joke about how busy life is—jobs, family, and responsibilities occupy our time. We promise that this month will be the one where we finally make plans to reconnect, but when the month ends, we exchange text messages filled with laughter and vague promises for the future. Deep down, though, I fear that those promises may not materialize, at least not for me.
The truth is, my life has changed drastically, and it’s hard to ignore that fact. We’re still best friends, practically like family, but we also have grown apart in ways that I can no longer pretend don’t exist. I want to share something with you that weighs heavily on my heart: my son has autism. This diagnosis has reshaped my life in ways I never anticipated. Some days, I feel like I’m just holding on by a thread.
I’m Sorry
I owe you an apology. I regret that I haven’t made an effort to spend time with you. I often avoid making plans and, more often than not, I end up canceling. That cliché, “It’s not you, it’s me”? This time, it’s entirely true.
This morning, I woke up at 3:07 a.m. with my son, Max. This is a frequent occurrence in our home. Some mornings are particularly challenging, where I find myself physically restraining his 60-pound frame because he’s in distress. Other days, I question how I’ll make it through the day without breaking down. While I could share these experiences with you, I’ve stopped trying. Not just with you, but with everyone. It feels dramatic to open up, and I fear I’ll come off as merely whining. My reality is so foreign and complicated that I can’t seem to articulate it to anyone.
The Struggles of Autism
Because of this struggle, I often ignore your calls and let them go to voicemail. I find myself too exhausted to respond to your texts. If we do manage to connect, I hesitate to make plans, and if we do schedule something, I often have to cancel at the last minute. Please understand that this isn’t out of malice; it’s simply the reality of my son’s needs. His medical requirements change from one day to the next, leaving me with little control over our daily lives.
In the early days, I did try to maintain our friendship. When Max was younger, we could do playdates and outings. I remember seeing you enjoying time with our friends while I was preoccupied with my son’s needs—sweating, anxious, and on the verge of tears. I would hear you discussing typical parenting challenges while I was consumed with thoughts of therapy sessions and treatment plans.
Now, my life is a series of appointments and therapies for Max. You might think I’ve given up, but I see it differently. I’ve committed to caring for my son in a way that has required me to step back from the rest of the world. It felt impossible to manage both my old life and this new reality.
Acknowledging Our Differences
I recognize that I’m not the friend you once knew. I was once carefree and ready for anything, but now I feel the strain between us. I miss our friendship and the person I used to be. Sometimes, I sense a hesitation in your words, as if you’re unsure how to interact with me. Please know that I love your children just as much as my own, though I won’t pretend it doesn’t sometimes sting to see their milestones.
It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly when things changed. I like to think it was a gradual evolution, but the truth is, everything shifted the moment Max was born. Before that, we were on similar paths—joyful and naive about the challenges ahead. Then I suddenly found myself labeled as an “autism parent,” carrying that burden with me everywhere I went.
The Impact of Autism
The differences between our lives became starkly apparent. While your baby slept soundly, mine struggled. Your child smiled and cooed, while mine faced chronic health issues. As you celebrated milestones, I felt increasingly isolated in my struggles. I saw us drifting apart, but I didn’t know how to reach out, so I withdrew instead.
It’s not that I didn’t want to be a good friend; I just didn’t know how. Planning a visit now feels monumental. Questions flood my mind—Is your home child-proof? Do you have pets? What if Max has an outburst? I still feel like I’m caring for a newborn, just in a larger body, and those preparations are daunting.
I genuinely believe you care for Max and love him. You’ve reassured me that you’re okay with his behavior, but I’m the one who feels the weight of parenting in front of you. I worry about what it means for our friendship and how long you will continue to support me.
Moving Forward
Every day, I wake up with the intention of reconnecting with friends and stepping back into the world. Yet, by the end of the day, I can hardly see straight. Responding to your messages sometimes feels like climbing a mountain. I see you and your kids thriving and participating in activities, while I’m busy searching for special needs equipment and trying to navigate a world that feels increasingly isolating.
What you’re doing is wonderful, and I’m genuinely happy for you. Your children are incredible, and you are an amazing parent. But I’m just not there yet. I hope you can forgive me.
I want you to know that autism is my reality, not yours. Thank you for standing by me. I ask you to please not give up on me. While our paths may diverge for now, I believe that one day things will become easier. I hope to find my way back to you, and I’m confident that we can reconnect.
For more insight into family dynamics and navigating challenges like these, consider checking out this article on home insemination. If you’re looking for excellent resources on pregnancy and home insemination, this link to ACOG provides helpful information.
In summary, I recognize that my journey has taken me away from the friendship we once shared. I miss you and the connection we had, and I hope to bridge that gap in the future. Thank you for your understanding and support as I navigate this challenging path.