The Illusion of Us

This series emerges from a quiet dialogue between my son, who lives with ADHD and dyslexia, and myself—a mother who recognizes the same sensitivities within her own childhood and inner life.

The Illusion of Us

My son is not me. Yet sometimes, I fall into the illusion that he is—as if I were he.

He relies on the rustling noise of falling light more than on the written word. But should I apologize to him for that?

At times, I catch a glimpse of my own childhood within him—especially when he is overwhelmed by the incongruity he feels with the world, nearly drowning in fear and uncertainty. Surely, this is a sensitivity he inherited from me. I recognize these shadows, because I have walked through similar places myself.

My son is not me. Yet sometimes, I fall into the illusion that he is.
I hope this illusion stays gentle, allowing us to live fully—each of us as our own, distinct self.