I Forgive You

I forgive you.

The most powerful words we have in our hearts.  They embody Love in its most defining and intimate moment.  Forgiveness is Love – the most powerful, the essential energy of life – and with three simple words, “I forgive you,” we can experience and share the absolute of Love.  Fear is the only antagonist of Love.  It is the only thought process that obstructs us from experiencing Love and prevents us from forgiving others and moving on.  We create our own thoughts, so it is our own will to exist in Love or to live in fear.

February 2, 2010, my daughter was diagnosed with autism.  My husband was in Afghanistan fighting in a war.  I was home raising a teenage stepdaughter and a six-year-old son.  I was scared.  I felt alone.  It was my job to fight for my daughter’s educational rights because our school district did not have an appropriate autism program.  I also learned that our military insurance, TRICARE, did not cover autism treatments for our military children and that made me very angry.  So I fought everybody.  I spent many years fighting.  I blamed the district that would not educate my daughter.  I blamed TRICARE for not caring for military children.  I blamed government for not working.  I blamed families for not speaking up.  I blamed society for not being aware.  As you can imagine, it was exhausting and it took all of my energy just to survive all of that fighting.  There were good moments in between, of course.  I loved my children and husband, of course.  We had good times, of course.  But I was not focused on those.  I was focused on attacking those who had done my family and my daughter an injustice. I lived in constant fear of losing.

December 31st, 2013, I received a letter in the mail from the State of Connecticut Department of Education stating that our complaint against our school district had been satisfied and after several months, it was now closed.  Another fight was over.  On January 6, 2014, (ironically on Epiphany) we went to our yearly Individualized Education Plan (IEP) meeting at our daughter’s autism school and without any fuss, signed an agreement for another year of excellent programming where she is making progress and she is thriving.  Another fight was over.

So there was only one thing left for me to do, Friends.

This is my gift to you.  I am sharing with you what was the most intimate act of Love I have ever committed and I pray that you will find this same Love in your heart and mind in your life, too:

I forgive you

I sent a note each to the Special Education Director and Outplacement Supervisor in our district that I have been “fighting” for over five years.  Because I had to learn that advocating for my daughter didn’t mean it had to be a war.  Oh, I will always get her what she needs, but I will do so in the name of Love, not in angry energy spent on people who make their own choices.  I choose me.  I choose Love.  Forgiving does not lay me in harm’s way to be victim, but rather it places me in a position to never fall victim again. Love is letting go

Thanks to this book, Love is Letting Go of Fear, I am free.  I am living my life with Love and I am no longer in fear.  Of anything.  Or anyone.

I have learned the greatest lesson life has to teach us:  With every action, with every word, first ask yourself, “Am I doing this for Love?”  If not, my Friends, do not waste your time.  Love yourself first, forgive yourself first.  Recognize that the person in front of you is made of the same screwy stuff as you and we’re all just trying to get a little Love around here.

Don’t be afraid anymore.

I love you.

Rachel


I Choose Love

This is for my husband.

Forever and always.  Through any storm.  I’ve got your back.
This is me singing “The Great Escape” by P!nk:

I can understand how
When the edges are rough
And they cut you like the tiniest slivers of glass.
And you feel too much,
And you don’t know how long you’re gonna last.

Everyone you know is trying to smooth it over.
Find a way to make the hurt go away.
Everyone you know is trying to smooth it over.
Like you’re trying to scream underwater.

But I won’t let you make the great escape.
I’m never gonna watch you checkin’ out of this place.
I’m not gonna lose you, ‘cause the passion and pain
Are gonna keep you alive someday.
Gonna keep you alive someday.

I feel like I could wave my fist in front of your face.
And you wouldn’t flinch or even feel a thing.
You’ve retreated to your silent corner,
Like you decided the fight was over for ya.

Everyone you know is trying to smooth it over.
Find a way to make the hurt go away.
Everyone you know is trying to smooth it over.
Everyone needs a floor they can fall through.

I won’t let you make the great escape.
I’m never gonna watch you checkin’ out of this place.
I’m not gonna lose you, cause the passion and the pain
Are gonna keep you alive someday.
Gonna keep you alive someday.

Terrified of the dark, but not if you go with me.
And I don’t need a pill to make me numb.
And I wrote the book on running,
But that chapter of my life will soon be done.

I’m the King of the great escape.
You’re not going to watch me checkin’ out of this place.
You’re not going to lose me, cause the passion and the pain
Are going to keep us alive someday.
Yeah the passion and the pain
Are going to keep us alive, someday.
Someday.


900 Mass Shooting Victims; WHAT Mental Illness???

[Ed note: This is the somewhat cleaner version of my previous post for those who can't stomach so much of my potty mouth.]

I hate to add to your Case of The Mondays with this news, but since it seems to have escaped most everyone’s attention, I felt it was my absolute duty to advise you that we are all – in fact – CRAZY.

You see, our great American society is not only fat and in debt up to our eyeballs, our brother’s eyeballs, and China’s eyeballs, we are so messed up in the head we have no idea how to be human anymore.  We are KILLING OURSELVES AND EACH OTHER.

The United States is ranked 30th in the world in infant mortality.  Your baby has a better chance of seeing the light of day in TWENTY-NINE other countries.  But here it’s a total crap shoot depending upon whether the birth takes place at Boston General or a smack house. What are we doing about that?

Once a child is born here in the Land of the Free, he or she has a one in five chance of living in oppressive poverty.  Our government defines poverty as an annual income below $23,492 for an average family of four.  Seriously?  Let’s be honest and say any family of four making twice that much is struggling in this country.  We have an epidemic of working poor yet we ignore what that even means.  There are several other federal programs acknowledging that “poverty” (or at least the real-world threshold for needing help) is at a much higher income level.  For example, the Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants, and Children (WIC) caps assistance at $43,568 annually for a family of four.  The school lunch program caps the same at $29,055 for free lunch and $41,348 for reduced.  So are we saying that you’re only really poor in this country if you’re hungry AND unemployed?  What are we doing about that?

And hello, America, we are diverse from sea to shining sea.  Maybe that $23K plus some Food Stamps is kickin’ in your little cabin in Alaska.  Though if you’re a family of four living in Stamford, Connecticut, where the cost of living is 63% higher than the U.S. average, you guessed it – you, your infants, and your children are out of luck.  What are we doing about that?

But hey, the good news is that if you don’t have a job or healthcare, we’ve got government programs that have your back.  They may not work so well for the people who actually need them, but there are folks out there making a sweet living riding one loophole after another while you find yourself on a waitlist for the third year.  Meanwhile, none of the agencies charged with assisting good folks like yourself actually coordinate with each other, so while you were waitlisted for Medicaid, your Section 8 Housing request was denied.  Apparently, page 5 of 7 in your application was missing.  In other words, COME BACK NEXT MONTH, ASSHOLE.  No one cares if you and your kids are homeless.  What are we going to do about that?

I just read in a local paper that our soup kitchen is completely overwhelmed.  Instead of 80 folks for lunch, they are feeding anywhere from 100 to 150 per day.  Families are lined up at 9:30 in the morning for a free meal served at 11am.  What the hell are we doing about that?

Here’s the real deal, friends.  People are CRAY CRAY.  Myself included.  Mental healthcare in this country is as much of a joke and an insult as Rosanne Barr singing the National Anthem.  People are under enormous strain in a schizophrenic economy with inflated gas prices, crappy employment, and John Boehner’s stronghold on the tanning industry.

Just WHAT are we going to do about that?

People are in tremendous pain.  No one is listening.  This cycle of drudgery and stagnation in our society is making country music sound like our happy opus.  Priorities are insanely inverted and Minecraft is not a religion, for the record.  Facebook isn’t real and you can drink a lot and still wake up with the same problems plus less cash.

But what else can you do?  Who the hell would you trust to share your scary self with?  When you are in your darkest moments, can you even form the words?  Would you risk your job?  Your marriage?  The custody of your children?

Because let’s once again ask ourselves to be brutally honest – our society is not a forgiving one when it comes to mental illness.  One whiff of crazy and people are OUT.  The stigma is permanent dog shit stuck to your shoe.

And SCREW insurance.  I mean I have been to therapy, kids.  Six visits barely gets us to my favorite color.  I don’t know too many folks who have the $175 cash per hour for the next 40 sessions that will get us to second grade and why I have an aversion to Barry Manilow.

36,000 people commit suicide in this country each year.  Please stop and read that again.  (I’ll wait.)

You have to ask yourself, how could it get so bad for so many people that they saw no other way out?

And for those who felt disenfranchised and marginalized – or simply INVISIBLE – why do think they chose a mass shooting as their last act on this earth?  Too many video games?  HELL.  NO.  Because they had a bone to pick with their neighbors, with us, with our society.  We failed them.  All of them.  Some were bullied.  Some were fired.  Some were discriminated against.  Some had fallen on tough times and been abandoned.  All suffered a mental breakdown.  All were broken.  All needed our help.  We failed them.  As a nation, we failed them.

In 1999, right here in this country, somebody thought it crass to throw perfectly good babies away in dumpsters, that the practice had been going on for far too long.  It was shocking and messy and it made enough people pissy to do something about it.  Thus, within a few short years, all 50 of these United States had adopted some form of Safe Haven law so that idiots would stop doing that.  It’s worked pretty damn well, too.  Unlike mass shootings, I don’t hear about dead babies in dumpsters as often as there used to be.  Score one for using the ol’ thinking cap.

I’m wondering why we’ve kind of just sat back and watched the news footage roll of the last NINE HUNDRED PEOPLE KILLED BY MASS SHOOTINGS IN THIS COUNTRY.  Because if you think for one minute this is a gun debate – you are wrong.  This is about mental illness and why those who have it are invisible in this country until they whack a few dozen people.

Don’t we have at least one or two smarty pants up for the challenge here?  You know, to fix this?  Snap us out of it?  Remind us how to be human again?  Make us RESPONSIBLE to each other?

This country isn’t working, if you haven’t noticed.  Like literally, it is SHUT DOWN.  WHAT are we going to do about that?

I’m going to start by being honest with myself and my family.  There are days when I am more than capable of doing more for others than I have been.  There are also days when I need to speak up and say, “I need help.”  I want to get better at both.

Then I am going to start paying better attention to the needs of my neighbors and my community.  And I will open my heart, reach out my hand and ask, “What can I do about that?”

mental


We. Are. Fucked.

I hate to interrupt your burgeoning weekend plans with this news, but in case it has escaped your attention, I felt it was my absolute duty to advise you that we are all – in fact – FUCKED.

You see, our great American society is not only fat and in debt up to our eyeballs, our brother’s eyeballs, and China’s eyeballs, we are so fucked up in the head we have no idea how to be human anymore.  We are KILLING OURSELVES AND EACH OTHER.

The United States is ranked 30th in the world in infant mortality.  Your baby has a better chance of seeing the light of day in TWENTY-NINE other countries.  But here it’s a total crap shoot depending upon whether the birth takes place at Boston General or a smack house. What are we doing about that?

Once a child is born here in the Land of the Free, he or she has a one in five chance of living in oppressive poverty.  Our government defines poverty as an annual income below $23,492 for an average family of four.  WTF.  Let’s be honest and say any family of four making twice that much is struggling in this country.  We have an epidemic of working poor in this country yet we ignore what that even means.  There are several other federal programs acknowledging that “poverty” (or at least the real-world threshold for needing help) is at a much higher income level.  For example, the Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants, and Children (WIC) caps assistance at $43,568 annually for a family of four.  The school lunch program caps the same at $29,055 for free lunch and $41,348 for reduced.  So are we saying that you’re only really poor in this country if you’re hungry AND unemployed?  What the fuck are we doing about that?

And hello, America, we are fucking diverse from sea to shining sea.  Maybe that $23K plus some Food Stamps is kickin’ in your little cabin in Alaska.  Though if you’re a family of four living in Stamford, Connecticut, where the cost of living is 63% higher than the U.S. average, you guessed it – you, your infants, and your children are fucked.  What the fuck are we doing about that?

But hey, the good news is that if you don’t have a job or healthcare, we’ve got government programs that have your back.  They may not work so well for the people who actually need them, but there are folks out there making one sweet living riding one loophole after another while you find yourself on a waitlist for the third year.  Meanwhile, none of the agencies charged with assisting good folks like yourself actually coordinate with each other, so while you were waitlisted for Medicaid, your Section 8 Housing request was denied.  Apparently, page 5 of 7 in your application was missing.  In other words, GO FUCK YOURSELF.  No one cares if you and your kids are homeless.  What the fuck are we going to do about that?

I just read in a local paper that our soup kitchen is fucking overwhelmed.  Instead of 80 folks for lunch, they are feeding anywhere from 100 to 150 per day.  Families are lined up at 9:30 in the morning for a free meal served at 11am.  What the FUCK are we doing about that?

Here’s the real deal, friends.  People are CRAY CRAY.  Myself included.  Mental healthcare in this country is as much of a joke and an insult as Rosanne Barr singing the National Anthem.  Shit. Ain’t. Right.  People are under enormous strain in a fucked up economy with shitty gas prices, crappy employment, and John Boehner’s stronghold on the tanning industry.

What the fuck are we going to do about that?

People are in tremendous pain.  No one is listening.  This cycle of drudgery and stagnation in our society is making country music sound like our happy opus.  Priorities are insanely inverted and Minecraft is not a religion, for the record.  Facebook isn’t real and you can drink a lot and still wake up with the same problems plus less cash.

But what else can you do?  Who the hell would you trust to share your scary self with?  When you are in your darkest moments, can you even form the words?  Would you risk your job?  Your marriage?  The custody of your children?

Because let’s once again ask ourselves to be brutally honest – our society is not a forgiving one when it comes to mental illness.  One whiff of crazy and people are OUT.  The stigma is permanent dog shit stuck to your shoe.

And FUCK insurance.  I mean I have been to therapy, kids.  Six visits barely gets us to my favorite color.  I don’t know too many folks who have the $175 cash per hour for the next 40 sessions that will get us to second grade and why I have an aversion to Barry Manilow.

36,000 people commit suicide in this country each year.  Please stop and read that again.  (I’ll wait.)

You have to ask yourself, how could it get so bad for so many people that they saw no other way out?

And for those who felt disenfranchised and marginalized – or simply FUCKED – why do think they chose a mass fucking shooting as their last act on this earth?  Too many video games?  FUCK.  NO.  Because they had a fucking bone to pick with their neighbors, with us, with our society.  We failed them.  All of them.  Some were bullied.  Some were fired.  Some were discriminated against.  Some had fallen on tough times and been abandoned.  All suffered a mental breakdown.  All were broken.  All needed our help.  We failed them.  As a nation, we failed them.

In 1999, right here in this country, somebody thought it crass to throw perfectly good babies away in dumpsters, that the practice had been going on for far too long.  It was shocking and messy and it made enough people pissy to do something about it.  Thus, within a few short years, all 50 of these United States had adopted some form of Safe Haven law so that idiots would stop that shit.  It’s worked pretty damn well, too.  Unlike mass fucking shootings, I don’t hear about dead babies in dumpsters as often as there used to be.  Score one for using the ol’ thinking cap.

I’m wondering why we’ve kind of just sat back and watched the news footage roll of the last NINE HUNDRED PEOPLE KILLED BY MASS SHOOTINGS IN THIS COUNTRY.  Because if you think for one minute this is a gun debate – you are wrong.  This is about mental illness and why those who have it are invisible in this country until they whack a few dozen people.

Don’t we have at least one or two smarty pants up for the challenge here?  You know, to fix this shit?  Snap us the FUCK out of it?  Remind us how to be human again?  Make us RESPONSIBLE to each other?

This country isn’t working, if you haven’t noticed.  Like literally, it is SHUT THE FUCK DOWN.  What the fuck are we going to do about that?

I’m going to start by being honest with myself and my family.  There are days when I am more than capable of doing more for others than I have been.  There are also days when I need to speak up and say, “I need help.”  I want to get better at both.

Then I am going to start paying better attention to the needs of my neighbors and my community.  And I will open my heart, reach out my hand and ask, “What can I do about that?”

 


It’s Not About the Cops and Their Paychecks, People

I mean, don’t get me wrong. Of all folks, our brave first responders should be able to get their drink on after a day like yesterday. Not having the cash to grab a 12-pack on the way home to wash down that kind of a day is just sad.

But really?

What do you think is the real problem here? Is it a government shutdown that delays some paychecks of some people who have taken hallowed oaths to do their jobs no matter what?

I’m confused.

Because for a brief moment I thought perhaps the focus today should be on why a dental hygienist from Connecticut put her toddler in the car and tried to take out The White House and half of Capitol Hill?

I thought maybe we should be talking about mental health and how there are a lot more folks not getting nearly enough or any attention to their mental healthcare needs.

I thought maybe we should start there.

I thought maybe I’d happily give up a paycheck during a government shutdown if only the genius who pulled the trigger on such shutdown was pooling those paychecks for mental healthcare.

I thought maybe those folks lying on the ground in DC while hearing shots fired yesterday would have gladly opened their wallets and handed the government a fiver if they knew it might stop the next burdened mind from going postal.

I thought maybe if our legislators who take millions from gun lobbyists turned around and opened mental healthcare clinics throughout this country we’d have something there.

I thought maybe we were the country that could get shit done in a crisis.

I thought maybe we cared more about our neighbors than this.

I think maybe not enough of us will care until the mental health crisis has us all pinned down under fire.


Autistic Mermaid Makes a Splash

Daryl Hannah, 52, talks openly about her autism.

daryl

It should be no surprise that many successful actors and actresses are on the autism spectrum if you take into account that scripting is the common means of communicative speech in autistics.

I always knew that I favored movie lines and TV personalities for picking and choosing my words in conversation.  For many years I thought that was my way of being witty and entertaining among those who may not otherwise have much interest in what I had to say.  The first time I recognized that I was mimicking a real-live person was at the age of thirteen on a trip to Disney World.  I came home with a southern accent thanks to the shuttle bus driver that picked us up from the campgrounds each day to take us into The Magic Kingdom.  Months of “y’all” later, it finally drifted away and was replaced with something new.  And while it seemed odd that I would find myself mimicking the words, phrases, gestures, and facial expressions of whomever I was spending most of my time with, I simply couldn’t help it.  It just happened.  At 16, I had grown a friendship with my brother’s wife who hailed from Massachusetts.  I admired her.  She was beautiful and smart.  We had the same creative taste.  Soon my “r”s disappeared as I found myself talking like her, making her characteristic facial expressions, and repeating her personal catch phrase “ever-loving”.  As in, “You must be out of your ever-loving mind.”

And I started to think that I was.  OUT. OF. MY. EVER. LOVING. MIND.

Until the internet came along.  You know, because if it’s on the internet it has to be true.  I read that on the internet.  I had researched and discovered that imitation or mimicry was a natural human behavior, often a subconscious form of flattery.  There was my answer!  There was nothing wrong with me, I just really liked these people!

Though as I grew older and entered into adulthood and corporate life, this pattern of imitation and scripting became increasingly frustrating as I noticed that adults don’t copy each other or speak in movie lines and I was in jeopardy of appearing like a weirdo.  Not to mention it was also becoming exhausting trying to keep up with the tangled web of adult office politics and shenanigans.  As naïve as I was to the social structure of adulthood, I knew there was no sensible structure to it at all.  I was now a professional.  Professional actor and scripting superstar.  I just had no idea what role I was playing.

The downside of communicative scripting is that it requires so much more energy to carry on an effective conversation for the person with autism.  Instead of speaking off the cuff like “typical” folks, we are listening to your words, searching for context to their meaning, then fishing around in our skull for a matching script we have memorized that will work to convey our own thoughts on the subject.  All of which has to happen in nanoseconds.  Sometimes the scripting is so subtle, even we don’t realize or recognize where it came from while we are using it.  Other times, we simply go straight for the pop culture quote and hope it’s funny and our timing is on point.  Exhausting.  There have been times I have been speaking with a friend, desperately trying to control my facial expressions and body language, and reign in my words, so that I am not caught in an obvious script or mimic of the other person.  That is tiring, too.  But if I don’t monitor myself carefully, I could end up the creepy Single White Female just because it’s so easy and subconscious to copy the person I am hanging out with.

Having Aspergers and being able to “fake it ‘til you make it” in the typical social world is worthy of an Oscar for sure.  My sister, and fellow autism mom, suggested that I become an actress when I spoke with her about my own diagnosis.  She was so shocked.  “Rachel!  My god!  You walk into a room and everyone loves you!  You’re so funny and smart!  It’s so hard to believe that you are not really that person.  Look at you!”

It hurt so deeply at first to hear such a reaction.  I should be an actress???  That’s your response??? Ouch!

But my sister taught me something very important that day and I am so grateful to her.  While the initial pain I felt was betrayal, I learned from that exchange that it was my grief for spending a lifetime acting and scripting to keep up with the world around me that hurt so badly.  I was angry that after all of this time, all the effort to engage and be a good person and a good friend was achieved with the words and actions of others.  None of which was my own.  It was all an act.

Or was it? 

If communicating with speech is the act of expressing or describing thoughts, feelings, or perceptions by the articulation of words, does it matter if my library is a virtual one?  Does that change the message or the sincerity?  Does it change the origin of such speech – my thoughts, feelings, or perceptions?

Absolutely not.  My sister sees me.  I am that woman.  I am pretty great.

So I get by with a little help from my virtual friends.  So what?  Some of them are great actors and actresses, public figures, journalists, and maybe a few are Real Housewives or cast members of Saturday Night Live.  Don’t judge.

And that’s ok.  That’s me.  That’s how I communicate.  Call it acting, scripting, or mimicking.  It doesn’t change the very authentic thoughts, feelings, and perceptions within me.  It doesn’t make me less.  Just different.  And being somewhat capable of “passing” as typical doesn’t make me any less autistic.  It just means I have worked that much harder.

I’m glad that Daryl Hannah can now talk openly about her autism.  It saddens me that it took her decades before she was able to share.  Hopefully, more stories like Hannah’s will contribute to advancing the dialogue about women and autism.  Successful women and autism, too.

How ironic that one of Hannah’s most notable performances was that of a mermaid – a mystical creature of the ocean who found chaos and discomfort within the unavoidably intriguing pull of being on land.  It can be momentarily intoxicating connecting with others, being heard, or making a Splash“.  We are wired to want to exist in reality rather than just observe it.  We want the high of friendship and intimacy without the social hangover autism hands us.

Like Daryl Hannah, we all want to share ourselves and our talents with others.  We all want the opportunity to shine without marketing strategies and press junkets to explain ourselves.

I’m autistic.  Some days I win the Oscar.  Most days I just wish for a cast and crew that love me for the scripting wizard I am and appreciate my character.  The truth is, we all work off of a script one way or another.  That doesn’t invalidate the sentiment.  If I make you laugh, I’m happy.  So what if I borrowed a few lines from Hollywood to see your smile?

You can read more about Daryl Hannah here.


The Grocery Store: Take Another Look, Asshole

This is my daughter.  She is autistic. And let me tell you, she is F-ABULOUS.

bw6

This morning, I read THIS post by Matt Walsh and WHOA – it was delightful to say the least.  Because one human being took the time to school another human being (we’ll call him “Asshole”) on the gross stupidity of making a comment like: “Man, some people need to learn how to control their f**king kids.”  In a grocery store.  Like, as if, the grocery store wasn’t torturous enough for kids and grownups with kids, Asshole had to share his clairvoyant perspective on the situation.

Way to go, Matt Walsh.  Your children are blessed to have you.

So I will take the liberty of adding this dimension to Mr. Walsh’s encounter.  Our dimension.  Our encounters with Asshole at the grocery store.  You see, every day my baby girl steps outside our door into a world that doesn’t quite understand her yet.  Where stares and whispers and outright insults assault her everywhere she goes.  Like in a grocery store when she is simply overwhelmed by the lights, noise, crowded aisles, or having to wait in the deli line for a slice of heavenly cheese.  Who knows what any child in a grocery store is flailing and wailing about?  You don’t, Asshole.  You just DON’T.

And so my daughter walks this world a target for Asshole and those like him.  She is target for gross misinterpretations and judgments of not only my parenting ability, but her intelligence.  Because commentary like above can not only be that bad, it can be so much worse.  So much more hateful.

My daughter can hear you, Asshole.  She understands every crinkle of your nose, every look of pity and she knows that your condescending tone of voice is more about your insecurity and discomfort than it is about her communication barriers or tantrums in the grocery store.  So whether you are claiming to judge me or my parenting style, you are really judging a seven-year-old child.  And that really makes you an asshole, Asshole.  And anyone like you who judges by first glance alone and dares to assume why a child is having trouble in a grocery store, or a park, or a mall, is not far from the kind of asshole that uses the R-word.

bw4

And seriously.  The F-word is so much more appropriate.  Does this child look anything other than F-ABULOUS?

bw1

My daughter may have challenges that are unique to your own, Asshole, but she isn’t complaining.  She is overcoming.  She hears the conversation and she is saying I AM WORTHY.  Behind her and so many others you don’t take the time to see, Asshole, are parents who love these children and are sticking by their guns in those grocery store aisles because every day is a battle.  A battle to teach and love and have patience.  A battle to overcome you, Asshole, and your judgy stares.

It is people like Matt Walsh that are changing the world every day with their WHOA – NO YOU DIDN’T courage to stand up to you, Asshole.

Each day WE step outside our door and into the world, WE are asking you to embrace US.  WE are expecting greatness of heart from YOU.  WE are expecting nothing less than what we all yearn for on this earth.  Love and acceptance.

bw2

Even FOR you and FROM you, Asshole.

That mother in the grocery store was FABULOUS.  Mr. Walsh was FABULOUS.

You, Asshole, have some growing and changing to do my friend.  And then maybe others with call you Fabulous, too.  And then we can all hang and be fabulous together.  Like it should be in this world.  A whole lot of FABULOUSNESS.

bw91

This is my daughter.

She is autistic.

Go ahead and drop the F-bomb, y’all.  Because she is F-ABULOUS.

What will YOU be?

 

 

.


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