If you are the mother of a twice-exceptional child, you are raising a gift. Don’t let the outside world’s perceptions of “normal” shatter your or your child’s sense of self.
“Mom? Am I abnormal?”
I could see her in the rear-view mirror. Her blue eyes disclosed an uncertainty she rarely reveals.
I waited a beat.
“What do you mean, honey?”
“I mean, am I different? From most other kids my age?”
“She’s so smart, and doing well now that we’ve gotten used to her quirks. She’s highly distractible, though. And aloof. She prefers to play alone.”
“What a brilliant artist you have! Could you ask her not to chew on the paper?”
“Her memory is phenomenal. But please, talk to her about staying in her seat. We’ve had problems with her leaving the classroom.”
“You are who you are. And I love that about you.”
Her eyes fixed on something in the distance.
She grew quiet. I exhaled.
How long had I been holding my breath?
I’ve been holding my breath forever.
Day one was in preschool, when sensory processing disorder took residence in the shadows of her giftedness. She is a twice exceptional – disability clinging to high ability.
By kindergarten, life at home was peaceful with its familiar routines. Life at school was unbearable, however: overstimulation and boredom forged chaos and anxiety. My daughter was in the principal’s office at least twice a week. I was embarrassed and confused, trying to mother a special needs child I did not understand. Blindsided, I placed blame on the classroom (too crowded) and the teacher (too rigid). I fumed in silence, nursing resentment from afar.
Until the final report card. Each measure, academic to social, showed phenomenal decline. Had there been prior notification of her struggles? Nothing systemic, from what I could remember. A note here. A phone call there.
I called the school and spewed five minutes of vitriol at the teacher, a young woman finishing up her second year. My anger barely relented as I listened to her cry.
That was three years ago. Now I know she did the best she could.
There have been other contrasts more palpable than a time-driven shift in perspective. My daughter can run a 5k but cannot ride a bike. She can devour Lewis and Tolkien but cannot legibly write about them. She can empathize with animals and young children but cannot always engage her peers. Where some would collapse under the struggle, my daughter has emerged victorious. Her disparities don’t define her; they are a path to our mutual refinement.
Together, we have learned to celebrate differences.
We have learned to see challenge as opportunity.
We have learned to fix what is broken.
We have learned to cherish what is not.
We have learned to love unconditionally.
We have learned to breathe through the storm.
She took a deep breath.
“I’ve decided something, mom.” The uncertainty was gone. Now, there was only fire.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I’m not abnormal, but I’m not normal, either. Can you guess what I am?”
“Tell me.”
“Extraordinary.”
You have a wonderful young lady there. Smart beyond her years.
Thanks, Sheila. We think so, too.
My eyes were glued to the words, hardly surviving the need to see the next one. My heart was in my throat until I saw her final resolution, “I am extrodinary.” Great job raising you lovely daughter.
Thank you. Sorry to stress you out!
I needed this so badly today. Thank you. You too, are exeptional.
So proud of her. And you.
Thank you
Tears from this mum. Joy and sadness. Your daughter is extraordinary, I hope that’s what my son will think of himself too because he is.
Hugs, mama. I’m sure he will.
“She is a twice exceptional – disability clinging to high ability.” This sums up our son. We haven’t had him tested but I am sure he is atwice exceptional child. Its amazing with academics how bright but simple things like tying shoes can be challenging. He also has sensory issues. I liked your article and so much of it rang true for me. My son is also extraordinary. 🙂
My daughter still can’t tie her shoes, either. I’m glad this resonated with you.
She is exceptional and talented in so many ways. I still can’t decorate a cake as she can.
Thanks, Eileen. It was so good to see you last weekend.
You know what struck me as I was reading this? God had a plan – He knew you needed a daughter like yours, but more importantly? He knew your daughter would need a mom like you.
It’s gotta be tough, and you definitely have trying days and challenges. Yet, keep your eye on the end goal – when she is able to use those skills you have taught her, be fiercely independent, and most importantly, be self-confident – because you instilled those values in her.
Know you are doing good work! The rewards may not be apparent right now, but they’re coming!
Anni, thanks so much. I needed to hear that!
Thank you for this. You just described my seven year old son. My greatest wish is that he will someday think about himself the same way.
I hope that for you, as well.
Wow! She seems to be such a delight to be around!
She is. Thank you.
Thank you for sharing this, it sounds like my daughter, right down to the reading but not being able to write legibly. She can write in-depth analysis and stories, but no one can read them except her, she has to read them aloud to us because her spelling and handwriting are so awful. Do you mind if I ask specifically about your daughter – do you know if she has dyslexia or anything that is keeping her from writing, or if it’s just a case of asynchronous learning? We are trying to figure out what is going on with our daughter, so I was wondering.
Hi Sally. I’m sorry your kiddo is struggling with writing. Gray does have motor control issues, but they are more gross than fine. As far as we know there isn’t any dyslexia, just sensory processing disorder.