CLOSE UP
Welcome to the Club
By Jess Wilson
My Dear Friend,
I am so sorry for your
pain. Don’t worry. No
one else sees it. I promise. To the rest of the
world, you’re fine. But
when you’ve been there,
you can’t miss it. I see it
in your eyes: that awful,
combustible mixture of
heart-wrenching pain
and abject fear. I remember the fear. I see it in the
weight of that invisible
cloak that you wear. I
remember the coarseness
of its fabric on my skin—
like raw wool in the middle of the desert.
You see, it was mine for a time.
I know that it feels like it’s permanent,
fixed. But one day down the line you will
wake up and find that you’ve left it next
to the bed. Eventually, you’ll hang it in the
closet. You’ll visit it now and then. You’ll
try it on for size. You’ll run your fingers
over the fabric and remember when you
lived in it, when you couldn’t take it off.
But soon days will go by before you wear
it again, then weeks, then months.
I know you are staring down what looks
to be an impossibly steep learning curve.
I know it looks like an immovable moun8
Zoom Autism Through Many Lenses
Jess, Luau, Brooke and Katie
(Photo by Connerton Photography)
tain. It is not. I know you don’t believe
me, but step by step you will climb until
suddenly, without warning, you will look
down. You will see how far you’ve come.
You’ll breathe. I promise. You might even
be able to take in the view.
You will doubt yourself. You won’t trust
your instincts right away. You will be
afraid that you don’t have the capacity to
be what your baby will need you to be.
Worse, you’ll think that you don’t even
know what she needs you to be. You do. I