What if we have it all wrong?

This week, as I spent time working with one of my smallest clients who is on the autism spectrum, I thought to myself for the first time, 'what am I doing?' I know our goals for many of our children, include connection, sharing attention and having them be present in our world; however, after having the past few months to really reflect on what our world looks like and the hustle and bustle that surrounds us, I've begun to see with more clarity that we may have it all wrong! After having more time to focus on self-care, I have realized that it’s hard! It’s hard to be present; it’s hard to be mindful. Our society is wired for busyness, on-the-go, hustle and bustle. Being busy tends to be a sort of status symbol; the busier you are, the better mom you are, the better employee you are, the better and more productive person you are.

As my little friend finally opened my eyes to process what she was seeing, I realized that we really do have it all wrong. And what I’m finding is that it’s so incredibly hard to sit still. I’m having to really work hard to recognize the things around me like the way the branches blow in the breeze or the look on my little boy’s face as he’s trying to figure something out new or the feel of the grass beneath my feet. We take so many things in nature for granted, yet when we sit in nature for a bit, we feel so amazingly free and calm. What if doing all of this pulling on our children, to get them to come into our world, is really not what we should be doing at all? Yes, we all want shared attention and connection, but what if, instead, we try to meet them where they’re at, and instead of pulling, we see the beauty of what they see?

As I watched my little therapy friend take in the world around her, for the first time, I just sat and watched her. I was in awe as she just looked around at the sky and smiled the most adorable and innocent smile. As the breeze blew across her face, she giggled and placed her arms out, turning side side almost as if she was swaying in rhythm with the breeze. She reached down and grabbed some horse hair gently in her hand and wiggled it back-and-forth, massaging it between her fingers with an inquisitive look on her face as if she was exploring the texture for the first time, trying to find out where she can categorize it with everything else she’s ever touched. As I said her name, she looked at me, and it was like she could see right through me. She slowly moved her eyes to every feature of my face, from my forehead down to my chin and across my cheeks and when I smiled, she smiled: connection, little pieces of connection that we don’t wait long enough to receive. Instead, we sit there and pull and pull in pull, calling their name, completing things hand over hand, walking them around by their hands, whistling, and just spending all this time trying to get them to come into our world. What if, now, it’s time for us to join them in their world and find out how to slow down how to see things? How to hear things and how to fall in love with life, present moment life, no busyness, no future plans, just here, now, with what we have? Thank you little friend, for opening my eyes

and leaving me forever changed.