As we sat on the couch in the psychologist’s office, a sense of unease settled over us. We had already glanced at the evaluation while waiting, but hearing the words, “He exhibits numerous characteristics of Autism Spectrum Disorder,” delivered a jolt I wasn’t prepared for. There was no warmth or empathy accompanying the diagnosis; it was merely clinical language labeling my 7-year-old son. I wasn’t entirely shocked, but there’s a vast difference between having suspicions and hearing the confirmation.
After leaving the office, my husband and I shared a quiet lunch, grappling with the reality of our situation. I texted a close friend, “I need you,” fighting back tears amidst the restaurant bustle. That moment marked exactly one year ago. In that year, I’ve experienced a whirlwind of learning, challenges, and growth. My husband and I committed ourselves to understanding autism and how to support our son.
Our son now sees a counselor and an occupational therapist who specializes in sensory processing challenges. He participates in music therapy and follows a dietary regimen under the guidance of a psychiatrist who agrees with our cautious approach to medication. We even invested in a trampoline, as jumping is beneficial for him, and provided chewy sticks because he finds comfort in chewing on objects like Legos. We’ve eliminated food dyes from his diet and enrolled him in a Montessori school, allowing him the freedom to learn at his own pace. Above all, we’ve discovered who he is and how best to nurture and love him.
This journey has been emotionally taxing. I’ve shed tears out of fear and heartache, fully aware that he recognizes his differences. At times, I’ve tried to shield him from his own reality, downplaying his uniqueness, his anxiety, and his intense outbursts in an attempt to protect his self-esteem. I’ve wished for him not to know he’s on the spectrum.
Loneliness has also marked this past year. My husband and I often feel trapped, uncertain whether our plans will come to fruition or if our son will suddenly refuse to participate due to his anxiety and need for routine. Outside of school, one of us is always by his side; he has yet to find a caregiver he trusts, and those he does are ill-equipped to manage his more challenging moments. It can be isolating trying to explain our experiences to parents of neurotypical children who may not understand or offer advice that simply doesn’t apply to our scenario.
My son is a remarkable little boy—his appearance embodies the quintessential All-American child. Yet, beneath that exterior lies a mind that often struggles to navigate the world, creating a complex internal map. I’ve often felt the sting of judgment from strangers as my son has what we call an “epic meltdown” in public. I am not a bad parent raising a spoiled child; I am a dedicated parent nurturing a child facing unique challenges. Ironically, I once found myself judging others in similar situations. Now, I approach them with empathy, recognizing they may also be doing their best in a difficult moment.
There have been days when I’ve collapsed in despair, exclaiming, “I can’t do this anymore!” I’ve even had fleeting thoughts of driving my car off the road to escape the overwhelming weight of it all. But most days, I find gratitude. I am thankful for a son who pushes me to be a better, kinder, and more patient person. His love has given me a self-worth I never knew before. He views me as his safe haven, and in turn, he is mine. He’s shown me that I possess resilience and that I can confront the “what ifs” I used to fear, because I am living them and managing just fine. He has anchored me in ways I sought for years and has revitalized a marriage I thought was lost, allowing me to reconnect and partner with my husband after a decade of struggle.
He has taught me that greatness can emerge from the heart of suburbia. I’ve learned to persevere in seeking out answers and support, and we’ve been blessed with incredible healthcare professionals and educators who care for our son—and our family as a whole.
Above all, acceptance has been a pivotal lesson over the past year. I may not understand why he insists on wearing shorts even in winter or how he recalls events from before he should have memories. I’m puzzled by his ability to detect dog food from rooms away or memorize intricate details about superheroes, Legos, Minecraft, and Skylanders. His quirks are numerous and ever-expanding, and no one knows them better than I do. I’ve shifted my focus from questioning “why” to figuring out “how” to make our reality work for him and for us. I embrace him as he is and love him unconditionally.
Curiously, I looked up the term “spectrum” before writing this. I often seek definitions, a trait of mine. The definition I found resonated deeply: “A spectrum is a condition that is not limited to a specific set of values but can vary infinitely within a continuum.” This term was first used in optics to describe the array of colors visible when light passes through a prism. Over time, it has been applied to various contexts, suggesting a broad range of behaviors or conditions grouped under a single term for discussion.
This definition shifted my perspective. If a spectrum is indeed a continuum, then aren’t we all somewhere along that rainbow? Each of us is distinct and unique in our own ways, with some shining brighter than others depending on how we’re perceived.
In the end, this journey has transformed my understanding of love, acceptance, and the complexity of human experiences. For more insights on navigating such experiences, check out resources like UCSF’s Center for pregnancy and home insemination. And if you’re curious about home insemination options, you might find this guide on at-home kits helpful. Additionally, for those interested in strengthening pelvic health during pregnancy, this link offers great techniques.
In summary, my son’s diagnosis has been a journey of profound transformation, leading me to embrace acceptance, seek understanding, and practice unconditional love.