I see your posts, and it gets me thinking. You’re sharing your struggles with potty training your younger daughter while I sit here, knowing that’s not even on our radar yet. Truthfully, we’re looking at least another year before we tackle that milestone—if we’re lucky.
I can’t help but feel envious.
Your updates about the chaos of juggling multiple sports and birthday parties leave me feeling a bit left out. My son struggles with team sports due to overstimulation, and birthday party invitations seem to be a rare occurrence for us.
I’m really envious of you.
When I spot you at the store, I notice how people don’t give your kids a second glance. There’s no recognition in their eyes or a hint of sympathy when they see your little ones. You stroll through the mall, carefree, while I’m always on edge, anticipating what sound might send my child darting off in the opposite direction. At my son’s basketball games, I see you cheering in the stands, while I’m parked in the back, trying to coax my son out from hiding in the car. His autism fills the space between us, and I can’t help but feel that sting of jealousy.
You seem to capture every milestone effortlessly—first steps, first words. I get those moments too, but they come after countless therapy sessions, sleepless nights, and a dwindling bank account. While you talk about trophies and victories, I’m focused on securing services and avoiding legal battles. You’re advocating for your child’s place on the team, while I’m fighting for my child’s spot in the classroom.
I really hate feeling this way.
It’s not your fault that your kids don’t have special needs, just as it’s not mine that mine do. With my eldest, I cherished every milestone and even bragged a little! I didn’t grasp how significant it was that he developed motor skills in the right order—sitting, crawling, then walking. I had no idea how miraculous it was that my other child learned to speak without the painstaking process of breaking down language bit by bit, sign by sign, sound by sound.
And yet, I know I should appreciate how fortunate I am to have a son on the spectrum who communicates and a daughter with Down syndrome who is as healthy as she is.
Jealousy is a pointless feeling. Even if it drives you to strive for more, it doesn’t come from a good place. I wrestle with this jealousy, and some days, like today, it wins.
I’m just so envious of you.
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Summary
This piece reflects the complex feelings of jealousy and longing experienced by a parent of children with special needs, contrasting their journey with that of parents of typically developing kids. It highlights the milestones that come with varying degrees of struggle and the universal desire for acceptance and understanding.