❄️When Your World Gets Small

🪺Glimmer Nest - Stories of Resilience, Strategies for Thriving

Inspired by Dr. Emily King’s piece on gratitude and neurodivergent parenting

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It’s been four months since I last wrote here. Back in July, I shared about how I was watching my son emerge from one fog while drifting into another. A lot has changed since then.

Emily W. King, Ph.D. wrote about why parents of neurodivergent children are good at gratitude. I keep turning that over because I don’t feel particularly good at it. Most days I feel scattered, behind, barely keeping up.

My son is autistic, and the later teen years have become particularly difficult. He doesn’t feel at home in his own body. His sensory issues are amplified. The world feels like too much.

We haven’t left the house except for two medical appointments in five months. And honestly? I’m not sure I want to leave either. The world does not feel like a hospitable place right now.

I hear people talking about their holiday plans. We have none other than to stay put.

This time of year, he used to help with food shopping, meal prep, asking endless questions about holiday plans, being not-so-sneaky about his Santa list. We’d go on outings together: holiday lights, storefronts decked out in our small town, boats trimmed with garlands along the waterfront. He was so into his snacks and desserts. Pumpkin pie. Holiday cupcakes. Trips to the neighborhood bakery that still has his drawing of dancing cinnamon rolls on display. They haven’t seen us since March. Today I added a snow scene to a cocoa drawing he made last year. It made him giggle. Little things mean a lot.

Now he wants the same foods every meal. No interest in baking. My husband and I will make a tiny Thanksgiving for two while our son eats his fettuccine Alfredo with broccoli and chicken (it makes him feel safe and cozy). If I’m lucky, I’ll get him in the car at night to drive through the neighborhood twinkle lights.

There are still hints of his sweet tooth … fudge stripe cookies are his love language. And he still gives 12/10 hugs. He’s still there.

So I’ll stay right here with him until he’s ready to go out there.

In the meantime, I’m learning to play a very long game. To find joy in what we have—Christmas at Hogwarts while I work nearby, marveling together at bakers who transform ordinary cake into intricate masterpieces no one can tell aren’t real, watching Cabin Masters work through falling leaves and snow to bring a forgotten lakeside cabin back to life in time for a family’s spring gathering.

Patience. Craftsmanship. Things restored in their own season.

Maybe that’s its own kind of hope.

Sending warm mugs of cocoa with extra smiley marshmallows…
✨Kat

Drawing by my sweet boy. ©2024. Animation by Canva.