This is what love looks like right now

On the first day of official summer in our little world, I find myself rising early to walk our neighborhood. Knowing our freshly-graduated third grader will be fast asleep in bed for (hopefully) another couple hours, I relish the chilly June morning air trickling through the trees.

Transitional seasons are a lot for autistic brains to process. Ending a school year is a doozy. The comforting and known routine disappears overnight. The connection to teachers and peers evaporates as soon as the student leaves school campus. All the unknowns of the coming months looms large in a brain easily overwhelmed by change. I notice even if much of what’s coming is good, it’s still unknown and my brain struggles to make sense of it.

My attention drifts to my daughter and I reflect on a few challenges she faced during her sixth grade year. My throat constricts with emotion. On this last day of her sixth grade year, I think about all she navigated. I swell with pride. “She made it!”

Then a secondary wave of emotion rises. “It was a really hard year.” Many of you know those tears. The tears of supporting one of your close people while they go through a challenging thing.

It’s really hard, isn’t it? Sometimes you want to save them and fix it all and make it easy. Sometimes you have no idea what to do or say next as the other faces the reality of their situation. Sometimes you set boundaries and support them in new ways because this is their life to navigate. It’s confusing when there’s no straightforward plan. Just the decision to show up and pay attention to the situation as it unfolds and do our best to love them in creative ways.

Which brings me to the next sentence that rises in my constricted throat. “This is what love looks like right now.”

Somewhere in my being, the deepest part of me exhaled, “Yessssss.”

I watch as that reframe shifts my posture toward a hard season.

Instead of labeling the year a shit show and quickly shoving it in the box with their favorite school projects, I name what is more true.

Yes, it was really hard. It brought me to the edges of what I knew how to do. AND every idea, decision, long conversation, compassionate hug, box of tissues, and encouraging text message was how I loved her. It wasn’t just hard work. It was love.”

Sometimes we just need a good reframe. Maybe the thing we’re going through isn’t only the one narrative our brain wrapped itself around.

This is what love looks like right now.

Love is being honest.
Love is reaching out to hug them first.
Love is firmly setting a boundary.
Love is wading through appointment phone calls & scheduling.
Love is getting their favorite treat on a hard day.
Love is starting over. Again.
Love is taking care of you so you can support them.
Love is researching and gaining new perspectives.
Love is making space to really see your beloved in this season.
Love is inviting others to help so you don’t carry it alone.

As my walk continues, I notice a space open up inside me. That simple sentence creates spaciousness and possibility where there had been grief and lament.

Naming it as love gives me access to more resources. To compassion, empathy, gratitude, a renewed vision for what continues into the summer. Love sends me into abundance mindset instead of wallowing in scarcity.

Love takes so many forms. It’s imperative that we slow down long enough to notice and name it. Otherwise we are in danger of missing the nourishment we need to keep going in a challenging season.

If it is just a story of challenge, my resources may dry up fairly quickly. But if I name the energy that’s present too — that perspective change, however slight, gives me access to purpose, intention, and maybe even a little joy.

“I get to love my person in this way right now.” Maybe it even allows us to call it all beautiful.

Love renews.
Love helps us begin again.
Love changes angle and perspective.
Love is consistent.
Love heals.