It doesn’t matter how many times I tell my son he didn’t fail, he still thinks he did

My son calls me up from college during his lunch break and asks a question he’s been asking since he was 16:

“Did I get kicked out of my high school?”

I sigh and try to contain the anger that surfaces each time he asks this question. I’m not angry with him.

I am not even angry with the high school assistant principal, the case manager, and the classroom teacher who failed him.

NOT because they didn’t follow the IEP. Not because they took advantage of my soft-spoken ex-husband, the Joey’s residential custodian and in-state parent to avoid having to do so.

Not even because they took advantage of Joey’s definitely NOT soft-spoken advocate and co-legal custodian, living out-of-state, to move slowly.

I know the missteps leading to my son having a series of catastrophic meltdowns and finally having to leave the high school were not 100% their fault.

Some of it was my fault for not actually reading and understanding the IEP. Some of it was my ex-husband’s for not realizing, because things were fine at home, there was a problem.

Hillary was right, it takes a village to raise an autistic, learning-disabled child.

No, what I’m angry about is that my son keeps apologizing for this. JR thinks he failed the high school.

Autistic individuals – in my experience – never get over their own perceived failures. They – we – keep coming back to them, no matter how much time has passed.

…and those failures still hurt. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed. We keep coming back to those moments. We can’t escape the pit-of-our stomachs guilt of our real or perceived mistakes.

Each time my son brings up “getting kicked out of high school,” I explain how that was not what happened.

You didn’t fail, JR. I pulled you out of the high school because I wasn’t happy with them (I wasn’t).

Your dad and I wanted you to go to a better school (we did).

The high school wasn’t giving you what you needed (they weren’t).

I didn’t finish high school, either (I graduated 6 weeks early).

JR, you didn’t fail. The school failed you (they did).

JR, you are a good person (he is).

JR, you didn’t do anything wrong. You know if you did, I would tell you (that’s true. I don’t mince words with my kid).

I say these things every time he asks, and, 9 years, a high school diploma and 3 college acceptances later, he still does.

JR is thriving now. I tell him so all the time. Every time I speak to one of his teachers, coaches, caregivers, I let him know what they said. I highlight his accomplishments.

Your coach says you’re bench pressing 95lbs! That’s amazing (it is).

Your nutritionist said you lost 5 pounds! You’re beating your stepdad (he is).

I got your report card. You’re getting straight As in all your classes. Brilliant. (also true. I’m jealous)

Your Group Home manager said you cleaned your room without being reminded. That’s great! (and a rare phenomenon)

JR, your dad and I are very proud of you (we are).

JR, you are smart, kind, and any time you set a goal for yourself, you achieve it (he does).

You are the only person [our anxiety reactive boxer] Rocky doesn’t react to (100% true).

Still, that one moment 9 years ago, this one time he thinks he failed, still haunts him.

I understand why it does. I do the exact same thing.

I wish it didn’t. I wish I could make the assistant principal tell JR what happened wasn’t his fault. I wish I had insisted the case manager talk with him about what happened when it happened.

I want my son understand we: the school, my ex, me, failed him, not the other way around.

It finally took us hiring a special education attorney and advocate to fix everything we got wrong.

I learned a lot about IEPs, IDEA, and FAPE that year. It’s served me well.

JR was placed out-of-district at a special education school. In the right environment, with the IEP being followed, and all of the services he was entitled to and needed being provided (documented on that IEP), the catastrophic in-school meltdowns stopped.

In 2021, JR moved to group home, and a special education high school, where he continued to succeed.

None of that matters to him, though.

I think I’ll go call his father and ask him to talk to JR. Sometimes hearing it from dad helps.

Does your child perseverate on their failures? Do you have a way of reassuring them of their success? Drop a note in the comments and tell us about it.

Cheers,

Cris