Lately, my heart feels like it’s cracking in two. Not because of my own pain—I’m recovering from cataract surgery, and physically, I’m okay—but because of the way Luke is hurting.
For Luke, even the smallest change can feel like an earthquake. Right now, it’s my glasses. I’ve worn them his whole life. They were part of the picture he knew, the stability he trusted. After surgery, I don’t need them to watch TV anymore. To me, it’s a relief. To him, it’s a betrayal.
When he looks over at me, expecting comfort in the familiar, he sees something different. And the difference cuts so deep that he takes it out on himself. He headbutts his own knee—hard, over and over again. My chest caves every time I watch him hurt himself because of something I can’t control. Because of something I thought would make things better.
This is the part of autism people don’t see on the highlight reels. The bruises that don’t come from the outside world but from inside the battle of a body and mind that can’t reconcile change. The pain that isn’t just his, but mine too, as I sit helplessly, wishing I could take it all away.
I ache for him. I ache for the unfairness of it all.
And yet—I remind myself: change is hard, but change can also be growth. Today, he’s fighting it. Maybe tomorrow, it will sting a little less. Maybe next week, the sight of me without glasses won’t be so jarring. Maybe one day, he’ll trust that my face without frames is still the same face that has always loved him, without condition, without end.
For now, I’ve slipped the empty frames back on during our TV time together. No lenses, just the illusion of what once was. It feels silly to me, but it feels safe to him. And if that tiny adjustment softens his pain, even just a little, then it’s worth every bit of it.
Until then, I’ll keep holding space for his struggle. I’ll keep wearing the pain in my own chest, because it’s lighter than the weight he carries. And I’ll keep believing that even in the hardest moments—when change feels impossible—Luke and I will find our way forward. Together.
