Since I last posted, I have been thinking a great deal about acceptance. I’ve been wondering if I have fully accepted Charlie’s diagnoses in the year since it all hit the fan and everything became twice as hard.
It’s been such a struggle to cope with an entirely different set of behavior issues from Jack’s. My patience feels like it has been stretched so thin that it’s transparent.
I have asked myself if because it is still so hard, perhaps I haven’t finished accepting it. If I’ve fully accepted it, I’ve wondered, wouldn’t things just wash over me with a calm, bland understanding of “this is how it is now”? I don’t really know the answer, but I’m beginning to suspect that acceptance doesn’t mean it’s easier. It just means you’ve acknowledged it and recognize it for what it is.
Acceptance is facing it every day and not lying to yourself about it. It’s starkly understanding that it’s a real part of your child. It’s not constantly shaking your fist at God or the universe about it.
But I don’t believe that acceptance suddenly makes it easier. Accepting the disability means pulling up a chair at the table for all the issues that make life infinitely harder. It’s realizing that everything is different, more challenging.
It doesn’t mean I always have to like it.
It does mean I see reality and do not try to sugar coat it.