If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry. My son, Taylor is now 20 years old. We’ve lived with autism everyday for approximately 7,548 days or 181,152 hours as of this writing. There have been times when I thought I could not handle another moment of the insanity that the baffling disorder of autism creates in my life. BTW, I use the word “insanity” as slang and not as literal, lest I enrage someone with my political non-correctness.

Other days – most days – I experience my blessings, the beauty of my son’s innocence and greatness, and more ofeten than not, I thank God for the road I’ve been “given” to travel with this rare being.

You know, the early years were hard as heck. Not a lot out there in the dark ages of autism, way back before the DSMIV was rewritten to include so-called “high functioning autism”. In fact the best of the worst advice I got was that I was a refrigerator mother (lack of emotional support for my son) and that I had caused his emotional distress because of my lack of parenting skills. Now that was a hard pill to swallow, but don’t think for a moment it did not inspire me to “show them”. May I call them uninformed? Or just simply say their IQs did not match up with excellent EQs? Still, they motivated me to be more, do more, and learn to live in gratitude and exploration of our lives with special needs.

Some of you know my work in film. NORMAL PEOPLE SCARE ME; THE SANDWICH KID; and ARTS. For over 11 years now, I stand (sometimes with Taylor and my son Jace) on stages around the world and share my (our) experiences, strength and passion for the field I love – disabilities and what I call: “what the heck now?”

In my work, I provide strategies and free and low cost “power tools” to participants in seminars and workshops, to literally alter and transform lives. But I’ve got to say, every athlete needs a coach, and this athlete is no exception! I am currently reaching out to those who can help me. We cannot do it alone – though my past tells me this is safer which is actually a flaw I am working on. That is: asking for help.

Ultimately, I am no better than anybody, and certainly no worse. I am just a mom doing everything I can to make this life something I will be proud of as one day I say my goodbyes – yet perhaps leave a legacy of something greater than my ego, and my own “story.” I hope so.

But it aint easy!

With 20 years behind me to try and figure out this thing called autism/disabilities (in general), and with all I know and have created (some really good stuff there) I’ve got to tell you, my “high functioning” son at 20, appears to me to be more on the spectrum now than when he was, say 16 or even 18. The adult world is tough and all the rules change. There is no IEP to protect everyday education, and frankly, colleges (overall) in this country don’t give a shit about your kids differences. They are simply on their own.

There are not a lot of resources out there once our kids hit the age of majority. And their time-delayed emotional content is often like dealing with a 14 year old even though as an adult they can tell you to take a hike if you don’t have a conservatorship. It’s a daily juggle to honor their adulthood, yet to help them be an adult when they cannot segue society on their own (yet). A high wire act, actually.

I think of Lois Lane and Superman when Superman says “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” and Lois cries out in fear “Yes, but whose got YOU?”

I love my son. I love my work. I love all of the people who have come into my life – as we are all in this together, but somedays, I just need a coach to be there for ME!

I am off to a number of speaking engagements this Fall. I am glad for the privilege of sharing with others. All I need to remember are the words my son said to me a couple of years ago:

“Mom, if you’re not vulnerable, your audience can’t hear you.”

So I’ll take his advice and just be me; the reverent and irreverent Keri, who knows enough to be dangerous and hopefully revolutionarily efficient in changing a small place in this world for those with differences.