By Rebecca Anne Nguyen

I was in the middle of a work presentation in front of 75 people when the phone call I’d been dreading finally came—it was the principal at my son’s elementary school, the only number set to ring while in Do Not Disturb. I excused myself to take the call and raced out the door to my car. For the third day in a row, my junior kindergartener had been physically restrained by school security because he’d become a danger to himself and others. I had already missed work every day that week for the same reason, but when you’re a single parent, being unavailable is not an option. Aden was kicked out of school for the day and I had to pick him up immediately. 

It took the first four years of Aden’s life to find an explanation for his behavior, let alone a diagnosis. He woke up every hour throughout the night like a newborn who never grows up. During the day, he’d scream for hours, hysterical and enraged, unable to articulate what was wrong. He flipped over tables and pulled art off the walls, shattering glass. When he was calm enough to be verbal, he’d threaten to throw himself down the basement steps or tell me how much he hated me, hated the world, hated being alive. 

When diagnoses finally started pouring in, it was vindicating. Finally, I had the names of real conditions to validate what so many doctors had flat out denied. My relief quickly turned to overwhelm: Aden had clinical depression, autism spectrum disorder, complex ADHD, sensory processing disorder, expressive and receptive speech disorders, vestibular issues, social anxiety, anxiety anxiety. One doctor summed it up: “Aden is what’s known in the DSM-5 as a DC. A Difficult Child.” She asked if I wanted to write that one down.

Even if Aden had been a typical, happy kid, my situation would have felt onerous. I was a single parent of two young boys. My ex, their father, was an over-the-road truck driver who saw the kids for a few hours per month, if that. With a demanding job that I needed to support a family of 3 by myself, I was already stretched beyond what I thought I could handle. When Aden’s challenges added yet another layer of difficulty, I went into survival mode, trying not to think about a future that looked less and less like what I’d hoped for: the life of a writer, where I could quit my corporate writing job and support my family by writing novels. That dream had always been a long shot, but once I was on my own with Aden, creative writing felt indulgent and impossible. I was always exhausted. There was no time. And even if I could find the energy and time, what would I write about? Not Aden. It was too painful. The last thing I wanted to do at the end of a hard day was to write about how hard things were. I wanted a break from reality. An escape.

Isolated and crawling out of my skin, I got up at 5am one morning before the kids woke up and opened my laptop. I couldn’t bear to write about Aden, but I started to write anyway—about a reality opposite my own. On the page, a bitter divorce became a destined love affair. A Difficult Child became the dream of a child not yet realized. A single mother shackled to home became a time traveler—a woman who could go wherever she wanted whenever she wanted. I started getting up at 5am every day to spend an hour immersed in this fantasy world before the kids woke up. Three months in I realized that, by trying to escape my own despair, I had inadvertently begun the thing I thought I didn’t have time for: I was writing a novel. Even stranger, working on a novel never felt like ‘one more thing to do’ but something I got to do. Writing was a balm, a way to escape from reality for a while so I could gather my strength to face it again. If Aden had been born an Easy Child, I bet I’d still be dreaming of writing instead of eagerly awaiting my book launch.

Looking back, I realize that the gift of getting to write was just a small part of the bigger gift of being Aden’s mom.  Becoming the parent he needs has turbocharged me and turned out to be my superpower.

Augmented My Presence in the Moment

When things are hard with Aden, people tell me to “take it one day at a time.” But I’ve weathered enough 45-minute screaming fits to know that a day can feel like an eternity, and that it’s more helpful to take things one moment at a time. The demands of parenting Aden have forced me to focus on the present moment and do what I can, right now, to help my son. I can worry about the next hour, the next day, the next year when it comes. It takes the same kind of presence to finish a novel one word at a time; to be present at work when I have a thousand things to do at home; to show up for my kids by really listening to them, laughing with them, looking into their eyes—and leaving the laundry for later. 

Empowered Me to Trust My Instincts

Parenting Aden has also taught me to trust my instincts. Doctors told me he didn’t have autism because “he makes eye contact.” They said his sleep issues were my fault because I wasn’t letting him “cry it out.” The answers didn’t sit right with me. I went to other doctors until I heard something that did: Aden has autism spectrum disorder. Aden also has a sleep disorder that requires prescription medication. I learned to follow that inner voice, the voice Aden helped me cultivate, in other areas of my life. When people told me to give up on my novel, I kept writing until I’d signed a book deal. When a supervisor at work told me a project I cared about was a waste of time, I finished it anyway, and it was that project that ended up earning me a promotion. Parenting Aden amplified my inner voice until it was no longer drowned out by everyone else’s. As I learned to trust my intuition as a parent, I learned to lean on that inner voice in other areas of my life as well. 

Taught Me to Erase “Should” From My Vocabulary

Finally, single parenthood of a child with a disability has taught me to erase “should” from my vocabulary. I’ve let go of all the ways I thought a family should be and learned to embrace how we are. I swapped out “I should write” with “I get to write.” And I especially let go of the shoulds that are impossible for a single working parent of two: I should chaperone the field trip, volunteer to bring the soccer snack, organize the play date. What I should be doing is what I’m capable of doing for my family on any given day. Thanks to Aden, I’ve learned to let that be enough. 

These days, I’ve added a few more phone numbers to my safelist. If I get a call while in Do Not Disturb, it might be Aden’s therapist letting me know the insurance company is denying Aden’s coverage because he’s made so much progress he no longer needs as much support. But it’s just as likely to be a call from my publisher letting me know that my novel just won a Reader’s Choice award. The time I spend with Aden when he’s calm is that much sweeter because I know what it’s like when he’s not. The time I spend writing, working, or juggling the spinning plates of single parenthood feels more and more like a privilege. It’s something I get to do. Something I never would have appreciated as much as I do if my son wasn’t exactly who he is.

Rebecca Anne Nguyen is an award-winning author, playwright, freelance writer, and speaker. She is the author (with Tom Voss) of Where War Ends: A Combat Veteran’s 2,700-Mile Journey to Heal the 2019 Foreword Indies Book of the Year Silver Award winner for Autobiography & Memoir. She is also the 2024 Readers’ Choice Book Awards Bronze Winner for her fiction debut, THE 23RD HERO.

For more information, go to her website.

Author photo credit:  @refinerymke

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