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At an early age my son was diagnosed with PDD-NOS and ADHD, a jumbled mess of letters, their meaning uncomfortable and overwhelming.  Pervasive Developmental Disorder – Not Otherwise Specified, an Autism Spectrum Disorder, and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.

I remember the moment of my son’s diagnoses with physical clarity.  My body struggled to draw air while images of my son’s past and future flashed before my eyes; a conscious drowning.  My heart heavy with fear for the future, my mind desperate for facts, my body achy with unexpressed grief; physically, mentally, and emotionally  I wanted to reject the diagnoses.  I worried doctors, teachers, family, friends, and strangers would compartmentalized my son’s spirit and unique mannerisms to fit in the confines of sterile, medical labels.

That day my husband and I promised one another to use our son’s diagnoses as tools for understanding him better and helping him live a full life.  We endeavored to discuss our son’s needs honestly, without apology or shame.  The first year of his diagnoses was focused on facilitating our son’s emotional, social, physical, and academic needs.  Throughout that year we maintained a sense of privacy concerning our son’s diagnoses as we educated ourselves and made difficult decisions.  It was important to us that we share correct information and make decisions free of others’ expectations and opinions.  We had a small, close-knit support group consisting of physicians, psychiatrists, therapists, educators, family, and a handful of friends.

One year after the diagnoses we shared our news in the lines of a letter as we raised money to support Autism Speaks.  Our son tallied the donations and read the letters of support that poured in, aware only of love and kindness from the multitude of faces that were a part of his life.  It is with this experience that our son, at the age of 6, first told people he was Artistic.  He understood part of his diagnoses meant he had a collection of characteristics typical of children on the Autism Spectrum, but speech delays created an endearing proclamation of Artistic.  He would smile brightly at the revelation and continue on his way, unaffected and proud.

With the development of homework, we began to understand new challenges stemming from ADHD.  We talked directly to our son and teachers, but less openly to others.   Too often I found myself in the company of passionate debates concerning diet and medication.  I honor others’ choices for themselves and their children, but wanted our family’s decisions to remain uninfluenced by popular opinions.  It was the diagnosis we didn’t talk about.

Standing in line during my son’s Middle School visitation, a woman asked us for medical forms.  My son, loudly and abruptly, declared to the woman collecting forms that he has ADHD and takes medication.  I flinched at the stark revelation and instinctively looked around to gauge the reaction of those around us.  I was still processing my son’s statement when a young girl behind us in a full voice announced she has Asperger’s and takes medication.  Just like that, I felt eccentrically normal.

Years of tucking parts of our life into safe pockets of friendship and suddenly it felt okay to let go.  My son likes who he is even if he doesn’t like his challenges.  There was a lesson there in a moment shared with strangers.  For all my efforts to see my son completely, it was my son that showed me he is whole.