A Message for The Village

You may have noticed that I haven't posted nearly as often as I usually do in these past few weeks. It's on account of me going to look for my village, and getting somewhat lost in the jungle on the way.

Many years ago, when I first heard the now-popular phrase "It takes a village to raise a child" (which I believe is an old African proverb but I could have that wrong), I got the "a-ha" moment that Oprah always talks about. We love that proverb. We repeat it at opportune moments in countless conversations. "How true!" we all exclaim. "Yes, we need to be the village!" we say in glorious cultural unison.

But, despite our best intentions, society did not nurture the village. Nurturing a village is pretty selfless stuff. Culturally, we're not so good at selfless.

Instead, we all went off in our own directions and proceeded to fill up the village with bigger and bigger houses and bigger and bigger cars and better jobs and brand name shopping and dance classes and music lessons and soccer clubs and cell phones and ipods and road trips and church and even volunteer work (trying to be selfless). Until the village streets became so cluttered, there was no room left even to walk to our neighbour's house. So, fearing it would burst at the seams and the illusion we worked so hard to create would fall apart, we closed the village gates and convinced ourselves that we need to look after our own.

But, we still really like the sound of that proverb. It's still so true.

These past few months I have really needed a village. I have been through a lot in the past 3 years - Simon's diagnosis is merely the tippity tip top of a monumental iceburg of changes and challenges, many of which I quietly kept to myself. Suffice to say I could blow the top off an entire village with the stuff we've gone through.

But I didn't.

I didn't really make a big deal about any of it. At least not by my definition of big deal. I didn't break down, I didn't cry, I didn't directly ask anyone for help. And that's where I think I got lost in the jungle. I'm beginning to realize that, in this overstuffed life we live, people's view of each other's needs is obscured. They can't really see how much you need the village, unless you walk right up and blurt out the words "I need help". But I gotta tell ya, those words just aren't a part of my lexicon. My lexicon is full of words like "autism spectrum disorder", "proprioceptive", "sensory integration", "stim", "perseveration", "integrated listening system", "individual education plan", and "advocacy". Advocacy means I spend nearly all my time telling other people what my son needs. So, while many wise sages will tell us to reach out for help, I'm not going to. I'm going to ask that you - you the village - reach out to us. Because sometimes expecting us to ask for help, is just asking too much.

My child has extraordinary needs, and I am finely tuned to them 24/7. When your switch is stuck in the "On" position - how do you even begin to turn it off long enough to ask for help? If I stopped to consider the full extent to which my son (and indeed myself) are vulnerable, it would cripple me. I can't afford to open myself up to being even more vulnerable by admitting I could really use a village right about now...

When people call SPD and autism parents 'warrior mamas' and 'warrior dads', it's not just a figure of speech. We fight the good fight all day every day. But it is largely invisible to the outside world.

You may not see it, because you are not beside me. Not beside me as my gut twists into knots each morning, watching helplessly while my child screams in agony because his neurons interpret seams in his socks like razor blades. You are not beside me as I endure yet another demoralizing "your child is awful" parent/teacher interview. As I watch a group of children once again turn away from my child on the playground, you are not beside me to sustain the brutal impact of realizing that rejection may be the norm for his entire life. Nor are you beside me as I lie sleepless at night, trying desperately to ignore the suicide rates for children who share my son's labels.

You are not beside me then. But can you stand beside me now? I know you are busy. I know you have a lot going on in your life. But is there room in that busy full-of-stuff-and-stuff-to-do life we all lead, for us to rebuild the village together?

My village needs to recognize that when I look like I've got everything under control, a surprise phone call inviting me for coffee might be what I needed to make it through the week. My village needs to know that when I stand 10 feet tall, it is an illusion I create to wrap a wall of safety around my child. Will you be the windows in that wall, by offering to take my child somewhere fun for the day?  How my heart would sing to know that someone else loves and enjoys him. My village needs to understand that the cummulative impact of 'sorry, I'm busy' means you are too busy to be my village, and on the wrong day, that is enough to break my heart. My village needs to bring me a bottle of red wine, because they were paying enough attention to notice it was that kind of day.

Like all of us, I am busy. But I am happy and honoured to be your village when you need me. Please, be a village for someone in your life today.

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If you ever find yourself longing for a village, please share this post with those who may not understand how you are feeling. Now, for a glass of wine...