Carers Week - My Story

I’m a carer to my 13 year old son who has autism spectrum disorder (we’ll call him J). I’m also a wife, mum to a 10 year old daughter and I work full time. I am exhausted and frustrated by the strain and daily battles we have to face as a family and, like virtually all the people I know in my position, I take medication for anxiety.

Here’s how today started for us:

I think, ask a closed question: ‘Five minutes more sleep, or are you ready for breakfast?’

He grunts – OK, he’s a teenager, that’s normal.

We lay out his clothes as he can’t choose them himself.

He gets up and goes to the toilet. Think, remind him: ‘Wipe your bum, flush the toilet, wash your hands'. Then ‘Clean your teeth, use toothpaste, rinse’.

He goes to get dressed. From downstairs my husband and I hear a crash, look at each other, sigh. What now? More banging and crashing, swearing, shouting, ranting. We do rock paper scissors to see who’ll go and sort this one out. I lose. ‘These socks are wrong,’ he screams right in my face. I realise I have run out of new socks for him and my attempt to fool him by washing and ironing a worn once pair had clearly not worked. I leave him to rage.

When it’s all quiet again my husband asks him to get dressed, telling him he’s late now. I think, ‘Why did you say that? He’s going to lose it again’. I go into his room, but too late spot the look in his eye and hear the swish in his voice. I try to move as I know what those signs mean. Too late. He punches me in the face. My husband tries in vain to move him and I cover my face so that my son’s punches only rain down where no-one will see the bruises.

We manage to leave the room and hold the door closed so at least all J can break now is furniture and the already smashed up bedroom door. I cry and my husband struggles to breathe with the anxiety. Downstairs my daughter, who has got herself up, dressed and fed, packed her lunchbox says, ‘I’m going to be late, who’s taking me to school?’ Guilt, so much guilt for having to spend so much more time and energy on our son than with her.

J is calmer now. He gets dressed and comes downstairs. He hasn’t cleaned his teeth but we’re not going to ask him again. He says ‘Come on, we’re going to be late’. He’s totally oblivious to what’s just happened. I kiss him goodbye, ‘Love you babe’. ‘Love you too, Mum’.

That’s how today started. That’s how lots of days start, and carry on, and end.

I head off to start my day in work. Full time work is a breeze in comparison to being a carer.


Anonymous