Recent research into autism spectrum disorder (ASD) in girls remains limited. The emerging focus on gender-specific diagnostics suggests that the prevailing statistic of 4:1 boys to girls affected by autism could be significantly outdated. After my son’s diagnosis, I dove deep into research, ultimately uncovering that I too am on the autism spectrum.
Last summer, my son received his autism diagnosis. From the moment he entered the world, I noticed he was unique. Each time I observed a peculiar behavior, I reassured myself and others, “It’s fine; he’s just like me.” He was an exemplary baby. He slept peacefully, enjoyed solitary play, rarely cried, communicated non-verbally before he could walk, and displayed remarkable care, even handling glass objects safely by age one. By eleven months, he could spontaneously recite letters, numbers, and even musical notes (not just nursery rhymes). However, he always seemed slightly delayed in expressive speech and social skills.
As his fourth birthday approached without a single coherent sentence, I realized my reassurances were misguided. We consulted with the special education director from our local school district for an evaluation. What started as a paperwork session quickly escalated when she insisted that he needed immediate placement in a preschool program designed for special needs children.
In a haze of denial, I found myself signing consent forms, hardly processing the information being shared with me. Once my children were napping, I delved into the stack of resources she provided. It became clear to me that he was experiencing Sensory Processing Disorder. The arrival of his younger brother sparked an unexpected change in behavior. My calm, thoughtful little boy suddenly seemed irritable and distressed.
New quirks surfaced: he started crawling on furniture, obsessively spinning wheels, taking photos of his toys, pouring different substances into containers, walking on his toes, and avoiding anything sticky or loud noises—unless he was the one making them. I continued my research, convinced he might merely have sensory issues and a speech delay.
On assessment day, specialists engaged him in play-based diagnostics while I answered detailed questions about his daily behaviors and interactions. The conclusion from the team after nearly two hours was that he presented as “a conundrum.” They recommended observing him in a classroom setting to gain further insights.
During the weeks that followed, I wallowed in denial. My knowledge of autism was limited; it felt like a taboo subject that stirred fear in many parents. The day I received the call with the diagnosis, I struggled to contain my emotions. I spent the day in tears, grappling with the unfounded guilt of having “broken” my child, my beloved mini-me. I feared he would never live a happy life due to the label he didn’t choose.
The next morning, I aggressively sought information about autism—trying to understand its roots and how to support my son. The only clear correlation I found was genetic. “But no one in my family is autistic!” I thought. As my research progressed, I began noticing traits that resonated with me: inappropriate social responses, challenges in conversations, and a heightened sensitivity to sensory stimuli.
Recognizing these traits in myself, I came to understand that autism is deeply woven into his identity. It’s not something separate from who he is; it’s part of his essence. I find joy in the unique ways he expresses himself, from lining up toy cars to his intense focus on letters and numbers. It was becoming evident that he shared many of my own characteristics.
To navigate his challenges in a structured school environment, I sought out autism parenting communities online. While many groups expressed negativity toward autism, I found solace in a supportive community called “Autism Acceptance,” where both autistic individuals and parents share their experiences. The more I engaged, the more I recognized my own quirks and struggles reflected in the stories of others.
Despite friends and family insisting I’m “too normal” to be autistic, I related to the anxiety of social situations, the pressure to read body language accurately, and the difficulty in managing my emotions. My journey was filled with anxiety throughout school, especially when faced with disruptions and loud noises. I often felt isolated, as if I were an outsider, wearing different masks to fit in.
As I reflect on my past, I realize that my childhood was filled with a mix of creativity and confusion regarding social roles. I immersed myself in books and daydreams, often finding solace in imaginary worlds rather than real-life connections. My obsession with space led me to earn accolades at camp, but the journey to understanding my emotions has been much more complex.
With each new revelation about my son and myself, I’m learning to embrace our shared experiences. Resources like Make a Mom’s fertility supplements and Facts About Fertility offer invaluable support. I also appreciate insights from Intracervical Insemination as I navigate this parenting journey.
In summary, my son’s autism diagnosis has illuminated my own path, prompting profound self-reflection and understanding. Together, we are navigating the complexities of our identities, learning to celebrate our differences while seeking the best possible support in a world that can sometimes feel rigid and unyielding.