When a disability is visible, struggles go unquestioned. If a child has Down’s Syndrome, no matter the age, wearing a swim vest is acceptable. It’s okay if that child needs more time. If a child has a visual impairment and so doesn’t ride a bike, no one questions. If a child is autistic and has difficulty throwing and/or catching a ball accurately, it is understood.
But when the challenge is less obvious, or even invisible — if a child has sensory processing/integration issues, motor planning challenges, visual processing disorders, anxiety (yes, that’s a real thing in kids), or (hold on to your hats) a combination thereof, suddenly, all the those things that might also be difficult for them, are met with disbelief, shock, scorn or ridicule. Particularly when that child is otherwise like any other child. When that child is not withdrawn, but gregarious, does not shun contact, but welcomes it; when that child runs and laughs, has friends, engages in the world, is curious, questioning, bright and involved, these things he/she cannot yet do are met with questions.
It is understandable to a degree, as the challenges and obstacles in the way are not obvious to others. It makes sense that one child might look at another incredulously and say, “Why do you still have training wheels?” or, “You still have a swim vest? You’re still learning how to swim?” (Although it would be lovely to live in a world where everyone is allowed to be who they are with tolerance — but that’s another issue).
Unfortunately, because a child with these challenges is also like other children in that they are aware, cognizant, have a sense of self, pride, and their place in the world, these comments are painful. When the child is also highly sensitive, it is particularly painful. The child who struggles with an invisible challenge faces the unintended (or, in some cases unfortunately, intended) cruelty of other kids who question their seeming lack of accomplishment in comparison to others their age. For these kids a strong sense of self and self-esteem is especially crucial. It can also be particularly difficult as they often are already aware of how they are “different” from others.
As we strive to instill in our son a sense of pride and strength in himself and who he is, whether he is exactly like everyone else or not, to be strong about himself inside no matter what others may say and think, it remains a struggle as he is constantly reminded by OT, or vision therapy, or his own intense feelings, that he is not just like everyone else. To hear him cry, “Why wasn’t I just born normal” challenges all that I am as a person and a parent. To tell him he is normal, that everyone has something at some point in their lives that will challenge them but isn’t a problem for others isn’t terribly helpful when a kid has recently looked at him and scoffed, “How old are you? Really? And you are still learning how to swim?” We can tell him repeatedly and forever how to just confidently look them in the eye and say, “Yup!” and feel good about it, but it doesn’t take away the hurt. It doesn’t help build his already unsteady confidence.
He knows he has friends who don’t care. Who like him for who he is, not for what he has or hasn’t done. He knows we love him, support him and believe in his ability to accomplish whatever he decides he wants to do. He knows we have learned he gets there in his own time and in his own way and we respect that. And we remind of the things he has accomplished that way.
It still doesn’t keep it from hurting.
As his mom, I hug, I reassure, I tell him how to be strong in his response. I help him find ways to deal with the sadness and frustration. I pray that the message of our love and his friends’ acceptance will ring stronger than the negativity in the world, and that in the end, he will find the strength of his uniqueness and discover the gifts that may still lie hidden within his challenges.
But it still doesn’t keep it from hurting. For him, or me.
