It seems like it was another person’s life

I was looking through some documents on my computer, trying to clean my virtual house, so to speak, when I ran across this poem.  I found it on the internet a while ago and it really hit home.  There was a time when every line of this poem was a reality in my life.  I look at my life now, my family now, and marvel at how far we have all come.

There was a time when I worried that we would not all survive.  Sadly, for a time I had lost faith in our collective ability to keep it together.  I do not know how we arrived at the sweet place we are today because it is all a blur but I do know that we just kept moving forward, despite some daunting obstacles, and we kept praying.  When I look back it seems like it was another person’s life.

If I had one piece of advice for moms of young kids with any kind of developmental difability (yes, with an f because they are differently abled, not dis-abled) it would be to find the right doctor and just hold tight to your child with all of your heart and before you know it they will have outgrown so much of the hard stuff.  Given unconditional love, a challenged child can grow into a truly amazing adult.

Love always wins.

The Misunderstood Child
A poem about children with hidden disabilities

by Kathy Winters

I am the child that looks healthy and fine.
I was born with ten fingers and toes.
But something is different, somewhere in my mind,
And what it is, nobody knows.

I am the child that struggles in school,
Though they say that I’m perfectly smart.
They tell me I’m lazy — can learn if I try —
But I don’t seem to know where to start.

I am the child that won’t wear the clothes
Which hurt me or bother my feet.
I dread sudden noises, can’t handle most smells,
And tastes — there are few foods I’ll eat.

I am the child that can’t catch the ball
And runs with an awkward gait.
I am the one chosen last on the team
And I cringe as I stand there and wait.

I am the child with whom no one will play —
The one that gets bullied and teased.
I try to fit in and I want to be liked,
But nothing I do seems to please.

I am the child that tantrums and freaks
Over things that seem petty and trite.
You’ll never know how I panic inside,
When I’m lost in my anger and fright.

I am the child that fidgets and squirms
Though I’m told to sit still and be good.
Do you think that I choose to be out of control?
Don’t you know that I would if I could?

I am the child with the broken heart
Though I act like I don’t really care.
Perhaps there’s a reason God made me this way —
Some message he sent me to share.

For I am the child that needs to be loved
And accepted and valued too.
I am the child that is misunderstood.
I am different – but look just like you.