Dreams, Diagnosis, and the Fire Within
These thoughts are probably best split into two separate posts, as they address different topics. The reveries of my mind has been swirling with reflections lately, so I'll start with the first.
The other night, I had the dream again. The scene was almost identical—third-person perspective, Baba Yaga, an old, dilapidated house. She was sitting at the kitchen table, seemingly waiting for me. But this time, there was a difference. She was holding a baby.
When I entered, I couldn’t see what the baby looked like. The long hallway in the back has a new flicker of light, casting faint illumination but remaining mostly dark. I watched myself step forward, trying to move toward the hallway, but Baba Yaga growled at me to stop.
"Stop... you're not ready for that yet."
In an instant, the growl vanished, replaced by the voice of an elderly woman.
"Sit. Let’s not argue this time."
So, I did.
Then things got strange. The entire time, she kept looking at the baby, but her face started to flicker. Not like candlelight, but as if she were a failing hologram in a sci-fi film. With every glitch, her face disappeared—only for mine to take its place. It was almost too quick to process, but it was me.
After I sat down, no more words were spoken. I finally focused on the baby. It was my youngest son.
Then, Baba Yaga finally spoke again.
"Don’t worry, WE have him. Time to get him safe." She infected on the word we heavily.
She stood up and walked down the hallway. I remained frozen in my chair, unable to move or speak. The last thing I heard from the darkness was her voice:
"It’s time for you to go now. See you next time."
BAM. I woke up.
That’s a lot to take in, and I have some serious pondering to do.
---
On a completely different note, my oldest son received his official autism diagnosis today, confirming ADHD + Autism. It’s a mix of emotions—worry, relief, and determination. I’m relieved that he can start getting the support he needs at an early age, but I’m also concerned about the challenges ahead. He’s such a kind-hearted kid, and things are already difficult for him.
The hardest part isn’t just helping him—it’s getting those around us to abandon the outdated “just discipline it out of him” mindset. They struggle to grasp that this isn’t a behavior issue; it’s a neurological condition, something he doesn’t have full control over.
That’s fine. He has a mom and dad who understand, parents willing to move mountains, overturn governments, and burn cities if that’s what it takes to help him.
