His Own Antlers

This series emerges from a quiet dialogue between my son, who lives with ADHD and dyslexia, and myself—a mother shaped by similar sensitivities—through his encounter with a found deer antler.

His Own Antlers

My son found a deer antler in the forest—a fragment of life cast aside, a cold, hard bone. Yet, when it rests in his hands, it no longer feels like a dead object. It becomes his own.

He lives in a world that often feels misaligned, where the rules of the forest are thick and impenetrable. To him, this antler is not merely a talisman; it is an armor he has grown to protect his fragile heart.

I watch him from within our shared sensitivity. I see him preparing for the forest he must one day navigate alone—the one we call society. When that time comes, he will leave my side carrying these antlers: the strength, and the quiet thorns, he has claimed as his own.

I pray that the weight of this gift will guide him, turning uncertainty into resilience, and difference into a quiet, enduring dignity.