Navigating motherhood introduces a series of unexpected experiences. I’m not just talking about the typical milestones like the first diaper change or the initial wobbly steps. I mean those moments that catch you completely off guard—the times when your pre-parent self would have scoffed at the choices others made. For example, the first time you resorted to using a baby wipe for your makeup because sheer exhaustion has taken over, or when breakfast becomes a mad dash, grabbing a box of cereal to let your kids munch on the way to school. And let’s not forget the bizarre incidents, like yelling from the bathroom, “No, riding the dog is not okay!”
For parents of children with special needs, the journey includes additional, often more poignant, firsts. Some are humorous in retrospect, like the first time you find yourself on a watch list for confronting a difficult insurance agent, while others bring an unexpected wave of sadness, such as crying in the pantry over a small but significant hurt.
Today, I experienced a new kind of first. My daughter, Lily, is 15 and has severe autism. She attends a small rural high school that, quite frankly, is a great fit for her. The educators are compassionate, she has a dedicated aide throughout her day, and she participates in various activities as much as her comfort allows. Overall, she seems content there.
However, today I had to write a letter to the school administration giving them permission to physically restrain her if necessary. The chilling reality of living in a country plagued by inadequate gun laws has become all too apparent, especially in light of recent school shootings. I suddenly realized: if a shooter were to enter her school, what would happen to her?
Every student in that building deserves to feel safe and secure. But I grappled with the disturbing question: how would they manage to keep her calm and quiet in a situation where panic would likely ensue? I voiced my concerns to her teacher, the assistant principal, and even the principal himself. They all reassured me, saying, “We would do everything in our power…”
The unfortunate truth is that there are limits to what even the most dedicated staff can do. Restraining my daughter, keeping her still and quiet, is a monumental challenge—one I’ve witnessed firsthand as her mother for the past 15 years.
Thus, I penned a letter granting the school permission to restrain her if required. I explicitly stated that they could physically hold her down, cover her mouth, and use words that could instill fear—a decision that no parent should ever have to make. I wrote, “You have my consent, even if it means causing her pain. I understand that this may result in bruises or other injuries, and I agree not to hold the school accountable.”
For the first time in my life, I put it in writing, allowing someone to inflict hurt on my child to protect her from a far greater danger. It’s a heartbreaking dilemma: cause her distress so that she might be shielded from the horrors of a world rife with corruption, greed, and the potential for violence.
This is a first that weighs heavily on my heart.
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Summary
In a world filled with uncertainty, a mother grapples with the harrowing decision to give permission to her daughter’s school to restrain her if necessary for safety. This choice arises from the fear of potential violence in schools, highlighting the painful realities faced by parents of children with special needs.