Sandpaper Skin and a World that Otherizes

I’m a parent now. And I think that regardless of whether my son were disabled or not, I would still feel the same way about the world I have to bring him up in, that is for all the beauty it holds, it carries just as much cruelty.

My job is to teach him how to live between those fine lines that make up a messy, meaningful life. That job is infinitely harder when your child is otherized. Imagine that work when your child is otherized because he is disabled.


I was also an “Other”

When I was coming of age, I was an “other.” Poor. Brown. A child in an immigrant community.

The joke was on me, though, because I didn’t really know what it meant to be an “other” until I left my homogeneous border town. I didn’t feel the grit beneath my skin until I was tested by the world outside my cultural padding.

It was out here in the cold away from the warmth of familiarity and sameness that I learned what I was truly made of.

When I first started reading about this “grit” that some of us Others have — the way social scientists glorified it — I felt almost proud of the difficult life I’d lived. I spent years granting some obscene permission to the disparities of my lot in life, telling myself: at least I earned grit. At least I was strong. At least I could persevere.


Severing the Inheritance

Then I had this boy. This beautiful boy.

This boy I had been preparing for long before he was even a dream. I worked harder than steel to make sure he would never live the way I did long before he came along. I wanted to sever the inheritance — you know, the inherited trauma we talk about nowadays, passed down like an unwanted heirloom.

I hated the idea that he would ever need grit the way I did, so I fought to delete it from his life.

But what’s that they say about best-laid plans? Cosmic forces always find their dominion. And my greatest humility came in the form of a diagnosis I could not control: severe autism.


A Lifetime of Grit

His life, it seems, will be nothing but a constant accumulation of grit tokens — maybe to be cashed in some other lifetime.

Now I see only grit when I look at him:

  • In his eyes when he strains for eye contact.
  • In his veins when he fights to hold back a meltdown.
  • In his silent stutter as he calculates the one or two words he can force out.
  • In his breath. In his sweat. In his soul.

He is grit embodied — the very thing I swore I would protect him from. And it fills me with both helplessness and hope. With both humility and pride.


Anger in the Ashes

But mostly, it fills me with anger.

Because these things could be different. For him. For so many of us. But we, as a society, continue to hold space for inequity and refuse to hold space for the “other.”

So I cannot save my son from a life of struggle. I cannot shield him — or anyone else fighting for respect and kindness — from the cruelty of this world.

Yes, I know he will be stronger and braver than I ever was. But make no mistake: no one chooses to live wrapped inside of sandpaper skin. It is forced on us by a world that has decided who belongs and who doesn’t.


My Work as His Mother

In the fine dust of the harshness he will face — and the steel grit he will build — my work is clear.

I have to teach him not to become the cruelty of the world.
I have to help him find the light and the joy.
I have to teach him to guard his safety amidst the chaos.

And maybe, just maybe, I have to believe that grit can become something more than survival. Maybe it can become the raw material of a different kind of inheritance — one forged in resilience, but softened by love, one that will harden into diamonds instead.


*Epilogue: Depression in autism is a concerning issue. Please be aware of your loved ones’ mental health needs and concerns as we all work to navigate the challenges of a difficult sometimes cruel world together. 

Things to know:

For support, you can call or text the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988.


*Other potentially helpful resources:

National Alliance on Mental Illness

Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance

National Institute of Mental Health

*Please note that I have no affiliation with the groups or websites mentioned under these sections nor do I condone or endorse the groups, organizations, or websites noted under these sections. Please conduct your own research and proceed with caution when looking for support. Always consult your own trusted physicians and resources.

I’m Wanda

Welcome to Parenting Through ASD, my cozy corner of the internet for safely discussing and exploring ideas related to parenting an autistic child. That said, I think this site can be engaging and meaningful for parents exploring all kinds of parenting joys and challenges. Jump into my world and join me in celebrating parenting in all it’s forms!

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