As I reflect on my friendships, I can’t help but feel a mix of love and longing. Life has become an endless whirlwind of responsibilities—work, children, and the chaos that fills our days. We often joke about finding time to connect, but the reality is that our schedules rarely align. Someday, I tell myself, we will reunite, but I’m starting to wonder if that day will ever come.
I want to express my apologies. I regret not reaching out to make plans, for hesitating to commit, and for frequently canceling our meet-ups.
This morning began at 3:07 a.m., as my son, Jake, woke up. This is a typical occurrence for me. Some days, he screams; other days, he struggles with behaviors that leave me feeling overwhelmed. I often find myself on the edge of exhaustion, not knowing how I’ll manage the day ahead.
It’s difficult to articulate these feelings to you. I fear sounding repetitive or burdensome, so I avoid discussing it altogether. This is why I cancel plans or hesitate to agree to future ones. Each day brings its own set of challenges, and the burden I carry is heavier than I can express.
I feel the distance growing between us, and it pains me. I miss the bond we once shared, the laughter, and the carefree conversations we used to have. I know I’ve changed; I’m not the person you once knew. I used to embrace spontaneity and fun, but now, I often feel out of place, as if I’ve been thrust into a different world entirely.
This shift began the day Jake arrived. Before his birth, we shared similar experiences—college, weddings, and the excitement of preparing for motherhood. We were on the same path, blissfully unaware of the challenges that lay ahead. But everything changed once I became an autism parent. The weight of that label came crashing down on me, and it was more than I could bear at times.
When our children were younger, the differences were subtle. Jake struggled with sleep, while yours thrived. He cried incessantly, and I felt isolated in my exhaustion. I noticed how you began to drift away, and I was hyper-aware of this shift. I tried to pretend that everything was fine, but as our kids grew, the disparities became clearer.
Your child met milestones that Jake did not. While you celebrated first words and potty training successes, I found myself searching for larger diapers. The reality of our different parenting journeys has left me feeling invisible and inadequate.
I withdrew from our friendship. The preparations for visiting became overwhelming—questions about safety, mess, and what I needed to bring flooded my mind. Sometimes, I still feel like I have a newborn, albeit a much larger one. I appreciate your patience and understand that you love Jake, but I also feel the weight of parenting differently.
Every day, I wake up with good intentions, but by day’s end, I often struggle to respond to a simple text. I see your updates on social media, showcasing your child’s achievements, and I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. I’m in a different space, researching special needs resources and trying to navigate a world that feels increasingly isolating.
What you’re doing as a parent is fantastic. Your children are thriving, and I genuinely celebrate that. Yet, I am not in that same place. I need your understanding and forgiveness for stepping back. Autism is my reality, and while I’m grateful for your friendship, I often feel like I’m losing touch.
I want to thank you for your support and encourage you not to give up on me. My journey with Jake is ongoing, and I hope we can find ways to bridge the gap between our worlds. We’re both trying to navigate parenthood, albeit on different paths.
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In summary, stepping back from friendships can be a painful decision, especially when navigating the complexities of raising a child with special needs. While we may feel distant, it’s essential to acknowledge the challenges we face and seek understanding and forgiveness from those we care about.