“You were almost normal today”.
“Careful. If I posted that on LinkedIn, you’d get hate mail for a remark like that”, I shot back quickly.
Cack handed, sure, but I understood the good intention. We’d had a nice day at the race track watching the Le Mans GT3, courtesy of some complementary tickets. No meltdowns, no arguments, no anxiety.
We, or perhaps I, had been ‘almost normal’.
Finally learning to emotionally regulate has stabilised my mood and removed fluctuating emotions that had ruined so much of my early life. Four hours of travel, a day of socialising. I should have been happy.
However, a deep sadness remained, one I had forgotten about until that well intended remark.
We’d actually been at a similar track event just over a year ago but with a very different experience. It was for my birthday in fact.
Our autistic daughter had been very out of sorts that day from the sensory aspects of the event. Loud noises, a mass of people, persistent rain. The distress was in your face and overwhelming, and ultimately very destabilising to me as well.
That particular day at the track had been anything but ‘almost normal’.
That same child was not with us today. Not able to enjoy the event. Not able to socialise. Not able to participate in ‘almost normal’. They no longer even live with us due to the extent of their support needs.
I’m sad that our day today was ‘almost normal’ largely because that child was not with us. I love her deeply and miss her dearly.
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