Reflection: My son isn’t a Hero, He’s a Person

April means Autism Awareness and Acceptance month and I felt compelled to write about a realization I recently had about my oldest son, D who has autism. My realization was that he’s not a hero, he’s a person. I want to say that first and foremost, I got permission from him to write this post about him because at some point in the journey, it became his story to tell. I also got his permission because I’m trying to be better about boundaries when it comes to writing about the people in my life. I could actually write more about boundaries but that’s another blog post.

My oldest son was diagnosed at the age of 5 and I was 22. I’ve written about him in a previous post about how he was my hero because of all of the obstacles he’s conquered and how proud I am of him because of that. Here’s that blogpost:

My Amazing Hero

One thing that I didn’t address in that post was how receiving this diagnosis meant me receiving a new identity, a mom with a child on the autism spectrum. Or we are often called autism warrior moms or whatever is trendy at the time. From the age of 22, this identity was deeply ingrained within me. I’ve lost count of how many articles or books I’ve read about autism. I’ve lost count of how many parent teacher conferences or IEP meetings I’ve attended having to fight or advocate for services for my son. I’ve lost count of how many therapists or counselors my son has had. You get my point. Being a mom to a child with autism is not easy. It’s hard, really hard. I’ve mentioned before how my child started to flourish between 3rd and 4th grade and he went on to be successful in his academic career throughout high school. Throughout all of this, I didn’t realize it but I put my child on a pedestal. I don’t know if it was the BPD or me being super excited about my son’s progress. Don’t get me wrong, it was a good and healthy thing to encourage my son and support him; but at some point idealizing him put an unhealthy amount of pressure that started to feel like a burden. I won’t say what happened next in this story but I will say that he’s now thriving as a regular 23 year old. I realized this week that at some point I stopped being an autism warrior mom. I think that I understood this sometime in 2016 after my son turned 18 but really accepted it this week. It’s weird when I used to start talking about myself, being a autism warrior mom would be one of the first things I would share and now I don’t feel the need to. When someone who knows me and my son mentions he’s quiet, I’m just like “well he’s just shy”. Like I first mentioned in this post; it’s just no longer my story to share. When I talk about my son, I just say “ he’s D, pretty awesome most of the time but kind of annoying at times.” I’ve also let go of this idealization of him I had. I still admire him and love him for who he is but he’s not a hero; he’s a person.
He’s a person with his own set of issues and insecurities. He’s a person with goals and plans for the future. And talking to him, he wants to be seen that way. I also want to mention that I’m not speaking for all the moms with children with autism, I’m speaking just for myself. Getting here has been difficult but it’s been an important part of the process of me becoming not just a better mother, but a better person as well.

me and my oldest son sometime in March

Poetry: Lost Cause

I wrote this in January of 2003 about Lucas. I was still obsessing about him.

Your love was a lost cause
when it was her you chose
but at night I still toss and turn
wondering why it wasn’t me you yearned
Was it the hurtful fact?
You wanted to keep your life intact
Or was it because
I wasn’t good enough
To make the ultimate sacrifice
to leave your perfect and fake life

Poetry: Not Just Lust

I wrote this in January of 2003 but I’m not sure who I wrote this about. Haha.

truth

I think you should know
I want to take things slow
I don’t want to rush
And end up again a lush
I want to know you
Before kissing you
I want us to be friends
Before getting intense
You’re going to have to understand
Before becoming my man
I want it to be true
And not just lust

Poetry: Like Every Other Fool

I wrote this 20 years ago on November 1st right before the great breakup of 2001. I wish I could say that I get over breakups quicker now but that would be a lie. After fights or breakups with partners, I seem to always go back to the girl I was in my teens and 20s. My brain is wired that way and I’ve accepted it. It’s something called age regression that shows up in people with Borderline Personality Disorder. Fear of abandonment is so severe that some of us will feel like we are literally dying after a breakup. Some of us will stop eating, some of us will sleep for days, some of will self harm or have suicidal ideation. With each breakup, I’ve noticed I’ve acquired healthier coping mechanisms. Nowadays, I’ve learned to listen more to what I need in order to heal than what doing what I used to do to escape the pain of heartbreak. My method now is cut off all contact with the ex, exercise, write a LOT and do loads of self care. I’m careful not to fall into any quick escapes from my feelings like going on tinder and trying to find someone new. Do I think I will ever get better at accepting a breakup like a normal person? I don’t know but I hope so. While I’m thankful for all of the inspiration and growth that comes from every breakup ;it’s also very overwhelming, exhausting and draining at times.

❤❤❤

You showed up unexpectedly in my life
Like a pleasant surprise
Calling and seeing me every day
Making me dinner
and leaving me roses on my dashboard
I thought “finally, the one has come”
Suddenly all of those nice things
started becoming scarce
The dinners, the roses, seeing me
became non-existent
Even talking to you on the phone
has become too much of a bother of you
I’m no fool, I know exactly
where this doomed thing is headed
Pretty soon you’ll give me some lame excuse
As to why “we” can no longer be
And my heart will shatter
into pieces yet again
There will be nothing left to say
I’ll just realize once again
You’re just like every other fool

Poetry: Drunk and Blue

I wrote this on January 1st, 2003 about this dude that I hooked up with a week prior. I was upset about John and of course wanted to escape from my feelings of rejection. So I started once again seeking validation from men and ended up hooking up with some guy from the bar.

So true

The night I met you
I was drunk and blue
Because of that impossible love
Who said I wasn’t good enough
So I decided to drink my pain away
and then you came my way
With your charming and smooth manner
I should’ve known you were a player
But you told me everything
That I wanted to believe in
How you had never met anyone like me
And that you wanted us to be
It sound almost too good to be true
But i was feeling lonely too
So i decided to give in to you
Afterwards you promised to call

But instead you went awol
And many days later I sit here
In a river of foolish tears
Wondering why why why
I always fall for the same false lines

Poetry: Crooked Turn

I wrote this in January of 2003 about John. Guess I was still mad at the rejection I felt when he ghosted me.

It’s like that sometimes

If I was nothing more
Than another girl
Why couldn’t you have been straight
Instead of acting in an enamored way
And made me really believe
You truly care for me
but I should have known all along
that you’d be the same jerk song
Hopefully one day I’ll learn
to stop taking all you crooked turns

Poetry: Remembrance

I wrote this in April of 2003 about the first Andrew, the guy I fell in love when I was 16. I had gone to Hawaii in April and went to the beach we use to go to and I wrote this poem. Yes, I was still having nostalgia about a short relationship from 5 years ago. One of my BPD traits is being obsessed with some of my romantic partners after the relationship has ended after a long time.

Kailua Beach, Hawaii

So I take a walk on the beach
Where we used to come
And make promises of young love
But like the waves of this tumultuous ocean
Our lives took turbulent and separate turns
and our beloved promises
Got forgotten somewhere in between
And for some reason I keep thinking
A new tide will come in
and I’ll turn around one day
And you’ll take me in
With a welcoming embrace
And fate will remember us
Once again

Poetry: Hard

I wrote this in January of 2003. I’m honestly surprised that after so much disappointment in the dating world, I still had faith. I guess I was still a hopeless romantic at that point.

It’s so hard sometimes to be nice
When you’ve cried so many times
Over so many sorry ass guys
When you are always done wrong
You wonder what’s taking so long
To find a warm hearted guy
Who’ll give you the moon and the sky
To find that special man
that was written for you in the sand
Sometimes you almost want to give up
and just suck it up

And say “I’m so through”
With always being used
But you have to have faith
That one day you’ll find somebody great
And all of these lonely nights
Will finally have an end in sight

Poetry: Nothing More

I wrote this in December of 2002. Towards the end of the year, I was depressed abotu dating and romance. I hated feeling like I was always just used for fun, objectified, and then discarded like trash. .

exactly

Now that I know
That between us
Can me nothing more
Than a story of pure lust
I feel so dumb
And wonder once again
If it’s possible to go numb
From all of the jerks that are so damn lame
You fucking jerks that don’t want to see past
Me being a great piece of ass
And I ask myself these questions
What does it take for someone like me?
To find someone that will make me happy
To find someone who doesn’t use me just for fun
But maybe it’s okay
Maybe this is just my fate

Reflection: My Relationship with Poetry

it’s like that

Poetry is and always has been a big part of my life. Poetry is everywhere . Poetry is in the lyrics I sing, it’s in the love I make, it’s in the beauty of nature, and even in the grief I feel. Since as long as I can remember, I’ve used poetry to process my feelings.

At first, it was me finding comfort in song lyrics when sadness or anxiety hit me even as a young child. I remember being 5 and belting out the heartbreaking lyrics to Juan Gabriel’s song “Querida: or the romantic lyrics Daniela Romo’s “De Mi Enamorate”. When I came to the United States in the 80s, I learned English at school but also through song lyrics. I remember at 6 or 7 singing the lyrics to George Michael’s “Careless Whisper” or Rick Astley’s “Together Forever”.
Around 6th grade when I started getting crushes on boys that never gave me the time of day, I would alternate between being angry and singing salty songs like “Someday” by Mariah Carey or singing and crying to Boyz II Men’s “End of
The Road”. Yes, I’ve been super dramatic and emotional since I can remember. Haha.

Here is a short playlist of these songs:

Poetry Feels like

And then came the age of the internet when poetry became accessible to me with just a few clicks. I remember being ghosted by this ex when I was 15 and finding this poetry forum with poems full of teenage angst, anger and sadness. It was incredible to me that there were other people feeling how I felt. Yes, some of these poems could be called cringy and corny – but it got me through what I thought was the worst heartbreak I was experiencing at that time. Here are a few of those poems

I Want to Know by Cammi Thorn
Ride by Unknown Poet
Check Please by Unknown Poet


Around this time my mom noticed my new fondness for poetry and introduced me to the love poetry of the Spanish poet Gustavo Becquer and I swooned. This is my favorite poem of his:

Asomaba a sus ojos una lágrima, y a mi labio una frase de...
Rima XXX by Gustavo Adolfo Becquer

Eventually I started writing poetry to process my feelings and this is one of the first ones I wrote inspired by what else-a breakup. Haha.

Jaded me at 15

In some of my blog posts, I’ve said that I shouldn’t have written poems about so and so and should have gone to therapy; and while that may be true, poetry was also a type of therapy for me. Whether it was writing salty and angry poems or processing feelings of infatuation or existential dread; poetry has been one of the few constants in my life

In my 20s, I discovered Maya Angelou’s “Phenomenal Woman” and Sylvia’s Plath “To a Jilted Lover” and my love for poetry became even stronger.

Phenomenal Woman - Maya Angelou Photograph by Maria Angelica Maira
Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou
To A Jilted Lover by Sylvia Plath - To A Jilted Lover Poem
To A Jilted Lover by Sylvia Plath

At that time, I also found the courage to join the literary club in college and start reading my own poetry in front of my peers. I call it brave because poets that share their poems, whether it be through open mic night, social media, a blog, or a book are sharing an intimate part of themselves with the world. They’re sharing their vulnerability, their grief, and sometimes even their most private thoughts. It’s brave to do this in a world that shouts at you to “fuck feelings “or tries to tone down the many emotions we as humans feel as we go through this beautiful and complicated thing called life. Sharing your poetry can feeling like opening and inviting the world to your innermost and private thoughts.

For me, poetry is part of how I process life. Sharing my poetry through my blog or at open mic sometimes feels like the last step in healing from trauma. I told my therapist that sharing my poetry through my blog feels cathartic because afterwards it feels like I’m completely done with revisiting a traumatic event. I’ve also received comments from people that they’re related to my poetry because of something similar they’ve felt or have gone through and that’s the other reason I share my poetry. IF even one person can relate to any of my poems and it makes them not feel so alone then I’ve done my job as a poet.

My Pathetic Little Beast

Poem: The Objectification of Eliza

I wrote this in 2019 when I was reflecting about the way men have often objectified in a way that they almost always seem to just want the fun and sexy part of me but seem to often have problems seeing the rest of me. I’ve almost always felt like I’ve been good enough to be their lover but never good enough to be introduced to their mother. Do I still feel this way? I honestly don’t know. I like the attention and validation I get from men because of my looks but sometimes it feels so hollow.

Often men want this girl…the ones that’s always down for a “good” time
BUT run away from this one….the other girl …the vulnerable one that has a realness hard to accept

Tell me I’m pretty, tell me I’m sexy

Tell me I’m beautiful

Objectify me, fuck me, 

Forget about me

And then

Try to come back to me

And when I deny

your lust filled request,

Put me down, threaten me

Try to hurt me-

Your words mean nothing to me

You’re not the first 

But will be the last

Who tries to destroy me

You’re not the first 

But will be the last 

Who treats me like a doll

to fuck at your convenience

You’re not the first

But will be the last

That tells me I’m not good enough

Tell me you miss, tell me you want me

Tell me you’re sorry

Be persistent in your quest

In trying to get me in your bed

with empty promises

about how this time it will be different

Sorry to my past, my present, and

future lovers-

I am pass being the girl

that’s just used for fun-

I am pass being the lover

you never introduce to your mother

I’d rather live in a world 

of solitude and calm

than to once again fall

into the objectification trap