There is a misconception.

An outside view of the parents of children with autism and disabilities. This view can be perceived as one of constant pouring down stress. A first impression. An educated guess. The outside looking in. This is the reality of what observing eyes often see. Other’s take notice. The perception is not always the cadence to our truth.

There is soft magic.

Yes, the reality of overwhelm at times can ruminate into an unhealthy normalization. There are moments which can feel like standing in the middle of a torrential rainstorm. Standing alone without the shelter of an umbrella. The exhaustion can set in just like the density of tight knit clouds.

Extreme parenting can leave you more than drenched. Extreme parenting can leave you feeling unequipped and incapable of wringing it all out. Walking with the weight of water is heavier.

Then, there is the soft magic.

There is an unspoken comfort in what is found in the homemade shelter that shifts to surround us. There is pure happiness. There is gratitude. There are hard to describe wins in which our eyes have been uniquely trained to see.

This is soft magic.

Soft magic is not in the meeting notes. Nor is it discussed on pages of redundant progress reports. There are undocumented monumental moments. There are bright orange skies missed from view and still unseen.

There is soft magic.

Our family room television is locked on the game show channel much of the day. Jake makes sure of this. The game shows create predictable family interactions which allow Jake to enjoy the moments without as much nervous system activation. There were far too many times Jake did not come downstairs at all despite our best laid efforts.

The game shows offer Jake a comfort, a predictability, and a calming that has helped him beyond measure. We have family time. All of us, together. We call out answers. We throw our heads back laughing. We have the cherished family time in which we struggled to have so many times before. We treasure these simple moments.

Jake always shows us the latest NFL video highlights before he heads to his room at night. He brushes his teeth with a blue toothbrush, which must be all blue. He then tells us one last joke before he closes his bedroom door. There is then a thirty second pause.

The joke we wait for is always creative, appropriately witty, and buckle-over funny. As he closes his bedroom door he says, “What a great day, Love you too!”  

This is soft magic.

A few days before Christmas, Jake began talking about going to Grandma and Grandpas. He talked about opening presents, football, and visiting their home. In the last few years, we tried so hard to make Holidays work for our family. We tried. We failed.

Jake hated the differences in schedules. The rushed hours. The build up to the Holiday. The forced socialization. The presents. The surprises. He braced himself for unexpected moments. We braced ourselves for his reactions.

We started to learn. To adjust. To compromise like so many families do. It was just how it all transpired. It was too much. Something had to give, and we started to dread all the Holidays too.

On Holidays we had to break up as a family. We had to prepare. These were the days that were about celebrating family. It never made sense.

We had to divide up. Jake’s sister felt pulled in two different directions. Then there was the mounting stress. There was uncertainty. There were new broken plans. 

The plans failed. We gave up. And we tried again.

In recent years, we gave Jake the option to join us just at the end. This was more of an indirect request. A way we could avoid the shutdown. Avoid his nervous system overwhelm. We would ask him to come pick up the girls from Grandmas. We made this a job for him. A celebration.

Jake would drive in the car to pick us up.

Jake’s grandma would then walk out to the car to silly dance. She would ask him to come inside for a few minutes. This plan started to work. It was a small win to celebrate. It was soft magic.

Anything to not let them sigh at the table, as we stared at the empty chairs.  

This is why I was more than surprised about Jake’s casual conversations leading up to Christmas this year. How could this be? What had changed?  

ABA was not a success recently, after all the let downs and trying. We were taking yet another break before the new year. Way less structure was in place. School was not working out. The plans were on hold. Jake’s school was starting to code progress reports as non-attendance and writing the words“family choice.”

“Family choice” was the proof of what they will never ever understand.

Why was Jake able to suddenly be calm enough to raise the expectations in himself? Why did he suddenly have this intrinsic motivation? Why was he ready to celebrate the Holiday with his grandparents? Why now?

Christmas day arrived and Jake was more than ready. He was standing by the door like an average teenager ready to go. He told us the sweatshirt he wanted to wear ahead of time. He was ready. His headphones were already on in the back seat. We were on our way to Grandmas. I felt shock and excitement in this small but significant moment. It was like a happy scream in my stomach. I contained my joy in the car and along the drive.

This is soft magic.

When Jake walked onto the porch, my mom was waiting. Her eyes were big and bright. He walked right up to her and leaned down to give her the biggest embrace. I could see the tears along the sides of her eyes. I saw the magic. He would not let go. It was a big, overdue teddy-bear hug to witness. It was an unforgettable moment and a night of grateful.  

We never stop learning. Gratitude runs wide. This is soft magic.