I’m not a big fan of saying, “I’m a work in progress.” It feels like a pretentious way of saying that I’m alive and still making changes every day. Whether it’s how I see the world, my life, or my person, I’m always striving to be better than I was yesterday. So, begrudgingly, yes. I am a work in progress.

For me, emotional moments hit a bit harder than they seem to do for other people. Love shines brighter. Anger burns hotter. Sadness cuts deeper. It’s a romantic way of saying that I feel things strongly and my brain, in an effort to accentuate this, finds angles on personal situations that others might not drift towards.

One common part of this whole process has always been negativity. For many years, I tried to work around my natural glide toward seeing the potential fallout from my happiest of moments. Even in my most joyous of times, a voice in my head would tell me to hold on tight as it would all be gone soon. Why? I don’t know. It’s a bummer, though, right?

Things have been great lately and, because of that, I’ve become keenly aware of my brain’s desire to twist the best of times into the worst of times. While this was something that I always dealt with, it was pretty surprising when it all came into focus. Knowing I should be grinning over life, but searching for reasons not to, told me that had long been my own silent tormenter this whole time.

So, why am I telling you this? It’s because pain and sadness aren’t just the result of mental tricks. They exist in real life and real situations. If I’m finding ways to make myself downtrodden during celebrations, what about the times that have no celebrations? What about the times when some depressing thoughts are bound to slip in?

For many of us, the totality of life brings a resume of happy and sad times. I’ve dealt with both and, for many reading this, the fact that I have a non-verbal 12-year-old son with autism who requires care can be one of those sad moments. On paper, no one would fault me for clutching a kerchief and crying on the corner about this rocky road we travel.

Luckily for me, I own no kerchiefs and wouldn’t do that anyway. Over the years, I’ve come to see my son’s special needs as more than a task, curse, or burden. In fact, I see him as none of those things. I’ve found an sense of autism appreciation and, as he’s grown, Lucas has shown me some of the most beautiful character traits because of it. He’s a truly wonderful person. In fact, he’s my truly wonderful person.

That said, there are jarring moments of forlorn introspection that still creep up. My son is no different than anything in my life, whether it’s my neurotypical daughter, work life, personal life, hopes, and dreams. He’s a part of who I am and, as I mentioned, even happy parts of my life sometimes bring me down. He’s a happy time.

Making happy moments sadder and sad moments unbearable is just a fun game that my bully brain does to torment me. Mental noogies, if you will.

When it comes to my son, those tortuous thoughts tend to pop up on occasion. They usually creep in as I step over a threshold to find a kitchen covered in cake icing after my boy has plunged his hand in a dessert set aside for later. There are handprints everywhere and, as I’m on my knees cleaning it up…in a towel because I was about to shower. Him? He’ll be crying. Why?

Because he wants to eat the cake that’s hanging off the side of the cabinet. If you want a test of temperament, patience, and sanity, this is one for the intermediate class.

As this happens, my brain will say to me, “Look. Look at this. Look how much work still needs to be done. He doesn’t understand enough yet and it’s all your fault. Look at you, cake boy. On your knees like a scrub. Some dad you are.”

When it comes to Lucas, though, my own words always sting a bit more. He’s one of the most important people in my life. To have someone, even if it’s me, imply that I’m doing him harm destroys me. In that moment, I wish my brain was another person so I could punch it in its face.

This brainy bullish voice hits every trigger it can during these times. It knows my fears and it knows my guilt, as it pokes every nerve I have about raising a non-verbal child. They say that people let their tormenters live in their mind rent-free. Well, what happens when your tormenter actually is your mind? By definition, it doesn’t pay rent to live there. It is there.

So how do I handle this? Well, that’s something I’m working on, as we speak. All these epiphanies and realizations about how I talk to myself are a bit new and I’m trying to become conscious of them. I’ve seen it in so many sections of my life. My goal is to correct them.

It’ll surprise many to know that this train of thought comes up the least, as it relates to Lucas. This one aspect of my life, which many would think could be the heaviest weight on my emotional shoulders, actually is one of my least trying times.

That’s because I know that I devote everything I have to my boy. I give him my time and I have nothing but his best interests at heart. Wherever my child with autism ends up, it won’t be a failure.

Any wrong decision that I ever make in his life, no matter how big or small, won’t be due to lack of care, attention, or understanding. It will be something that was done with his happiness in mind. He deserves the best dad he can have and that’s all I try to do for him every day.

Our brains have a lot of control over how we feel. It can cause us to doubt our choices and question our intentions. When it comes to my kids, my brain can’t tell me I’m doing things wrong. That’s because my heart tells that I’m doing things right.