Fiercely Fragile!
My colleagues could come up with a million words to describe me at work – one of them might be FIERCE. I’m a leader. I’m a doer. I’m an advocate. The list goes on. Some might see through the hard exterior and might be inclined to use the word FRAGILE. Until this year, I’m not sure any of my colleagues would’ve seen my fragility (maybe one or two). They’ve seen me crumble more times than I want to admit over the last few months. If you ask my mom or my best friend, they’d say I’ve been a crier since I was 11 lol.
What makes me crumble? My children makes me crumble EVERY.SINGLE.TIME. I can talk about students, disabilities, process, what’s right and wrong all day long. I can lead teams, facilitate big scary meetings, lead huge professional learning sessions, connect with and help families all day every day. Someone brings up one of my kids and I’m transformed. I’m living proof that one can be both. Part of my personal journey is finding peace with my crossroads and finding meaning in it. I’ve begun to think of myself as FIERCELY FRAGILE. Title for my book?!
One can be FIERCE and yet so incredibly FRAGILE
If I’m being honest, I’m tired of living in this place of fragility. I’m tired of hearing my voice crack and feeling the tears come. Some of my favorite people remind me that this comes from a place of strength and love, not a place of weakness.
We could be talking about therapy, school behavior, or learning struggles. Today we were talking about equity. Equity specific to race. When the fear I live with daily is triggered, I crumble. My oldest son has a list of diagnoses a mile long, but it’s the color of his skin that I worry about the most. I worry daily about how his behavior will be perceived by others if he is not surrounded by familiar people who can speak up and advocate for him. Carter has been struggling. He has started running away and is requiring additional support to stay safe. It’s not his disabilities I worry about when this happens, it is the color of his skin. It pains me so deeply to say that, but it’s an absolutely a truth I think about every day.
I can only imagine the long, detailed conversations my mom must have had with her mom about medications, emergency procedures, communication, routines, etc. I’m sure there were protocols, lists, and pictures to go with all the rules.
What if he doesn’t stop?
What will happen if they can’t keep up?
What will happen if he gets lost?
What will happen if he’s picked up by law enforcement?
What if they only see the color of his skin and don’t recognize that he has disabilities?
What if they perceive his silence as defiance?
These things, and so many more, weigh on my mama heart.
What do we do so I can sleep at night?! Well, I wish it was as easy to track my child as it is to track my dog. It is not. We use ROAD iD. They’re known for making tags for runners. Tags that include name, address, phone, inspirational quotes, etc. They can also be used for name, mom’s #, dad’s #, and a list of diagnoses. When we’re out and about we have Carter go to the “helpers” and show them his bracelet. We look for police officers, firefighters, school resource officers, anyone who will listen. Carter shows him his fancy red bracelet and I hope this person is the one who is called if needed. The bracelet includes all the important contact information and then it reads AUTISM * EPILEPSY * INTELLECTUAL DISABILITY.
I can only hope this small thing makes a difference, not only to Carter, but to our “helpers” out there!
