6. Going Out (and Back In)

May 11, 2021

Welcome to another installment of It’s Like This, where I tell you a little bit about what life is like over here. Thanks for reading, it really means a lot to me!

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A few months ago, my husband and I bought a couple of wooden stools for our kitchen. 

They each had a sticker on the underside with this bold, confounding warning: 

This finish is scratch-resistant, but it is not resistant to scratches.

Hmm. Something got lost in translation there, I think?

I guess this is kind of like receiving a vaccine that will allow us to reengage with others—along with the caveats to still wear masks, avoid large public gatherings, and remain vigilant.

This vaccine will keep you virus-resistant, but not 100% resistant to the virus.

I’m okay about that ambivalence though. 

Especially after being in hermit-mode for over a year—I’m not hesitant to be social, but I am socially-hesitant. 

That completely makes sense to me.

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I’m not sure how to move past the strict rules of living in a pandemic-induced quarantine to somehow arrive at a casual, easy relationship with the outside world. 

My husband, son, and I are now fully vaccinated.

Now someone just needs to tell my nervous system. 

I was comforted to see a few recent articles describing the exact unease I’ve been feeling. A recent New York Times newsletter described this hesitancy, and quoted a doctor who, although vaccinated, waited more than two months before meeting another vaccinated friend for an unmasked drink. 

I feel exactly the way he did—and just like this tiger who was unable to enjoy her expanded zoo enclosure after being confined to a 12x12 cage for most of her life.

Hermit habits are hard to break.

Even though I know that I have reduced my family’s risk significantly by making sure we are vaccinated, it is not easy to drop the caution I’ve lived under for 365+ days. It will take some time to feel comfortable to return to our normal life.

Honestly, though, returning to “life as we knew it” should be easy, since the gap between this past year’s cloistered existence and our regular life is not actually that wide. 

See, thanks to the vaccine, we’ll be more socially available; but we’ll still be unavailable socially, due to the autism.

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I have to confess—in one way, this year has offered a bit of a reprieve for me, despite its challenges. 

The need to shelter in place during this pandemic gave me a built-in excuse to take a break from one of the toughest parts of my job as this young man’s mom. 

There were not any in-person invitations to prep and practice for, facilitate, leave early from, or decline. 

I didn’t have to search for safe, inclusive activities. We are lucky to be in an area that offers a fair amount for young adults with disabilities, at least for those with some combination of financial means and state-funded services. There are a variety of day programs, supported-work opportunities, adapted recreation groups, and social outings. 

But for guys like mine, there’s an added hurdle of finding supports to access these programs. Activities designed for “special needs” are not always equipped to include non-verbal participants or those who have more complicated behavioral or safety needs.

This past year, I didn’t miss that feeling of disappointment when this or that wonderful adaptive program just wasn’t meant for him. 

I didn’t miss seeing my son’s enjoyment of a social outing get disrupted by his communication challenges or his sensory sensitivities or his desire for rigid routines.

I missed date nights with my husband, but I didn’t miss finding, training, and funding qualified respite providers.

It was nice to avoid those complications, and just be hermits.

But it’s not healthy for us to stay within these confines. 

We’ve got to resume those gambles to “get out there” now that we can do so safely.

My tiger needs more space to roam, before he forgets what it feels like to stretch his legs.

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His grin grew wider as we got closer to the building that he hadn’t seen in fourteen months. 

Maybe he didn’t really believe me when I told him he could return to his day program, one day a week, just for a couple of hours, to start. 

He was anxious getting ready—and I quickly dropped the requirement that he wear a newer t-shirt, tabling that debate for another day—but he had very quickly grabbed his lunchbox and jumped in the car. 

This kid was ready to get out of this house.

His body communicated that mixture of excitement and dread that I’ve seen so many times. It took most of our 30-minute commute for that grin to appear. 

But appear it did, a beautiful reminder of why this “getting out there” stress is necessary. 

When we arrived, his mask hid his smile, but the staff could surely hear his laugh and see the bounce in his step as he moved from room to room, checking to see if things were still in their “proper” places according to his memory. 

He greeted the other participants in his favorite way (that has been impossible to do on Zoom), gesturing for them to “shake” his hand in a clapping rhythm he shares with people he likes.

While he reconnected with his friends, I reintroduced myself to allowing someone else to take care of my son while I went shopping (inside an actual store!).

After about an hour and a half, my son needed to take advantage of the program’s quiet “sensory room” to take a break from this new/familiar environment, and when I arrived to pick him up, he was eager to return to our secluded home. 

But, overall, it was dubbed a very good first day back. 

I was proud of us for trying.

We will ease our way back out into the world, he and I.

One tiny moment, one little gamble, one small inch at a time.