I find myself in my living room, feet up in a recliner with a long-awaited cup of coffee in hand. One child is at school, and the other is at daycare, leaving a rare moment of peace. As I prepare to dive into my work, my gaze drifts to a pile of divorce papers, ironically adorned with remnants of our autistic son’s life: a chewed family photo, a mangled Nerf bullet, a few train DVDs, and a heap of soft blankets.
For years, I associated the collapse of my marriage with autism—the overwhelming stress, the chaotic whirlwind that swept through our lives following our son’s diagnosis. Autism has a force of its own; I often describe it as a tornado, forcing us to relinquish control and navigate its destructive path. At times, it felt like a load too heavy for two people to bear.
However, I’ve come to realize that autism itself didn’t trigger our divorce. The heartbreak did, stemming from the diverse ways we each experienced grief. It created a fissure in our relationship that widened over time.
Reflections on Our Engagement
Reflecting on our engagement days brings back memories of premarital counseling. We attended a weekend retreat as part of our Lutheran marriage preparation, which seemed so unnecessary at the time. We were young, in love, and eager to start a life together. The counselors posed deep questions about handling various challenges, but we breezed through, confident in our bond.
Then came the final question: “How would you handle having a child with special needs?” I distinctly remember Pastor Tom asking that, almost casually. My youthful arrogance led me to dismiss it, thinking it was irrelevant to us. We jotted down that we would love any child as we did any other. Little did we know, life would take a dramatically different turn.
In a flash, we became parents to a nonverbal boy with severe autism, and that initial crack in our marriage’s foundation began to form.
The Challenges of Parenting
Our son was a challenging infant; he didn’t sleep through the night for four years. We existed in a constant state of fatigue, managing endless crying spells and medical complications. We chased hope across the state, feeling like our lives were dictated by doctor visits. The strain was palpable as we moved three times seeking better resources for our child. The isolation was tough, and we lost friends along the way.
Disagreements began to arise. My then-partner believed we should maintain our pre-autism lifestyle, while I felt our son needed more. It was clear he was struggling, but my husband was reluctant to see it.
Financial pressures mounted, requiring one of us to leave work to meet our son’s needs, complicating our ability to afford necessary therapies. The strain became unbearable, and I felt my ideal life slipping away, taking my sense of self with it.
I took charge of coordinating our son’s care, convinced that I was the only one capable of helping him. My frustration grew as I perceived my husband’s calm demeanor as indifference. The qualities I once admired in him became points of contention. I was on an emotional rollercoaster, striving to be the best advocate for our son, while he seemed to remain unbothered.
Conversations shifted to revolve solely around our son’s needs. I would excitedly share new therapies or diets, only to face disappointment when they didn’t yield results. Each setback fueled resentment. I resented my husband’s lack of urgency, and he grew frustrated with my relentless pursuit of solutions.
The End of Our Marriage
Eventually, we became strangers. The weight of resentment was too much, and before we knew it, our marriage ended.
I won’t claim that having a child with special needs caused our divorce; it didn’t. Autism wasn’t the villain in our story. Rather, it highlighted how two people could grieve differently, leading us to blame each other for our contrasting reactions. Parenting a child with a disability is a tremendous responsibility, and the trauma we experienced was real. We devoted ourselves to ensuring our son had the best resources and opportunities, often at the expense of our own well-being.
A New Understanding
Six months post-divorce, after a tumultuous journey of moving and healing, we met for lunch. We were both at rock bottom. I realized I had isolated myself, becoming a martyr in the process of advocating for our son. I confessed my feelings of failure, acknowledging that I had sacrificed my happiness in pursuit of fixing our situation.
I admitted that I had wrongly placed blame on him for our struggles, as he was the adult and I couldn’t bear to blame a child. To my surprise, he reached across the table and thanked me for my sacrifices. He apologized for not being the partner I needed and expressed his gratitude for the love I had shown our son.
It struck me then that he had been riding the same emotional rollercoaster, even if he expressed it differently. He loved our son deeply and remained patient throughout the chaos. The moment was cathartic; the weight I had carried for years was finally lifted.
We agreed to collaborate in our journey with autism. The validation I craved was finally spoken aloud, and thus began the healing process for both of us. We may have failed at marriage, but we succeeded in finding a new path forward together for the sake of our son.
Conclusion
In summary, while autism didn’t destroy our marriage, it illuminated the challenges of navigating grief and expectations in parenting. We learned that despite the trials, we could unite in our love for our son and support each other in our shared journey.
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