...it could be worse...

I stopped talking.

I caught myself, and stopped the words.

In the silence, my mind whirred onward...that lightbulb flickering on...shining brightly and suddenly on my mistake.

I stopped talking.

In the middle of a conversation that started, innocently enough, when I checked my email.  Another well-meaning missive chock full of good-intentions and misinformation.  Another scientific study...another medical miracle...another "have you heard of/tried...?  You should.  I read/heard/saw something about it!"

So, typically, I read or listen or smile and nod my way through these.  But for some reason, this time, my brain imploded.  Maybe it's the tooth infection's fault.  Maybe it's the antibiotics that have me feeling some kind of a way.  Whatever the reason: implosion.  Followed, sad to say, by verbal explosion.  Yup, full-on full-volume rant.  

So there I was, huffing and puffing my way through "The Audacity!' and 'Constant Interference' and 'Respect the Boundaries'  and 'Logic, People.  Logic!'.   (Listen, when you are the parent of a child with a diagnosis, this just gets old.  I don't care that you saw this article at your nail salon all about how cannabis cured some kid's autism.  I don't care that the morning radio show host thinks all boys with autism need to be on ADHD meds.  And I sure don't care that your found some one-off study that suggests my son is going to turn into my daughter if I keep him on his meds.)  I was full steam ahead with the litany.  All the things you want to say but don't?  Yeah, they were coming out of my mouth.  Loudly.

And then, suddenly, in the middle of it all...

I stopped talking.

Because I heard myself.

I heard the mistake.

I heard myself say something that if I heard someone else say, would tick me off.

"I mean, come on!  Do they not get it?  He's doing so well.  We are so lucky!  Just think about it!  It could be so much worse!"

So. Much. Worse.

Oh man, I said it.  I totally said it.  And you know what?  I've said it before.  I've said it a lot.  I've said it to extended family.  I've said it in IEP meetings.  I've said it in speaking engagements.  I've said it to my son.

Oh.  No.

It could be worse.

I could still be the me I was before I stopped talking.  I could still think that I was right.

I could still be building us up by tearing someone else down.

I could still be clueless.

I could still be comparing.

I swear I heard an actual Ding in that moment as the thought coalesced and I was suddenly aware of my mistake.  Just like that, the brain fog cleared and I knew something I hadn't before.  I knew how wrong I was in saying "It could be worse".  

Here's why:

So, autism is on a spectrum...low-functioning to high-functioning with an absolute infinity of points in-between.

Financial stability is on a spectrum...again low to high...completely destitute to beyond imagination.

Intellect is on a spectrum.  You've got some complete and utter morons out there.  Geniuses, as well.  And in between, a myriad of people with all levels of intellect...and an ever expanding list of intelligences.

Then there's life.  Complete.  The whole package deal.  Totally on a spectrum.  Happiness and misery at every possible point, in every possible configuration.  

So knowing that all to be true, can you find my mistake?

It could be worse.

It could be...

me...

comparing myself/my day/my child/my bank account/my wardrobe/my...whatever...

to someone else...to someone I likely don't even know-won't ever meet...and thus deciding I am better off.

Oh, lucky me.

Lucky me indeed.

It could be worse.

I could *gasp* be like that person.

I could *gasp* be like that parent.

I could *gasp* be in that situation...have that experience...know that challenge...

But no, lucky me...

I'm somehow better.

It could be worse.

I said it about my son's autism.  About his symptoms and behaviors.  About his personality and intellect.   About his reaction to a specific situation.

It could be worse.

It wasn't intended in a negative way.  It was said innocently enough.  I was trying to make a point of how remarkably he has coped with a trying situation and the only way I could think of to do that was to say "It could be worse.".  But as I said the words aloud and thought of who I was comparing him to in that moment, I stopped talking.  I realized my mistake.  

There is no worse.  There is no comparison.  There just is.  Different paths for different people.

Autism is challenging.

Financial stability is challenging.

Intelligence is challenging.

Life is challenging.

For the past 'I don't even know how long' I've been living my life in this sort of reactive, comparative way.  This "Stop feeling sorry for yourself because it could be worse" propelling me through life's twists and turns.  Honestly, it helped.  It helped to feel like I wasn't at the bottom of the pile.  It helped to be able to look down from up high.  The 'it could be worse' was what spurred me on.  It made me check my emotions at the door every time there was an upset, and find a logical solution.  It kept me from sinking into a pit of despair when things went wrong.  

I'm kind of scared to let it go.

But the light is on now and I see my mistake.  I can't keep teaching my son to mitigate his own emotional responses to honest upsets by comparing himself to some imaginary "it could be worse".  Nor can I keep teaching him to pity someone just because his/her challenges look different than his.

I can't speak to a group of special-needs parents and say it about our experience.   My version of "it could be worse" might very well be their version of "better" or "normal".  

I can't say it an IEP meeting without it diminishing my son's rightful claim on services.  "It could be worse" just tells his team to look elsewhere for a student who needs support.  

I can't say it to friends or family. "It could be worse" isn't honest or open.  It's a deflection.  A smoke and mirrors.  A go look over there and don't see my weakness.  

There is no worse.  There's just different.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There might not even be better.  *Gasp!