Reality hits. I’m a liar. I’m dishonest. I say I’m ok when I’m not. I pretend to be strong when I’m terrified, anxious, abjectly miserable. My fear makes me fight. I fight, then collapse. I’m better than I think I am, maybe. But still wracked with self-doubt and low self-esteem.
Two-hour school meeting two days ago – soon to be a glorious monthly event. Professionals talking at us, with endless jargon and little action. Plans, reports, evidence, levels of evidence, levels of need, automatic funding and applied-for funding. Tribunals, panels, professionals. They will decide what help L should have, then what funding allows. Controlling his future, and what skills they deem necessary for him to fit in.
It is painful and confusing. The information a bombardment, the psycho babble impenetrable. I’m exhausted, before I even begin. And we’ve just returned from two lovely days in Paris (thank you, family, for that blissful birthday present). I should feel relaxed. The meeting destroyed that. I’m broken and depressed. Life is officially a battle.
This fearsome jungle is the SEN system. This morass of statements, meetings, appointments. This blundering intrusion into our lives and hearts. This jungle we worked to avoid – for the autistic beautiful boy, for us.
It will pass. But today. Just today. I feel alone.