Parenting
How I Resolved the Autism “Challenge” in Our Home
by Laura Thompson
Updated: March 31, 2017
Originally Published: April 23, 2014
When my son, Ethan, who has autism, was four years old, he decided to snack on nearly every piece of a foam puzzle while I was in the shower. When I returned, he looked at me with his big, blue eyes, blinking innocently. He seemed unfazed, but I was understandably distressed.
“Why did you do that?” I asked, my voice trembling with concern.
He tilted his head up at me, completely unconcerned.
“Are you a goat?” I said, frustration creeping into my tone.
He just stared back at me, expressionless.
In that moment, I imagined he was thinking: “Her face looks better from a distance.” But, of course, he said nothing. After all, he was nonverbal due to his autism.
I shook my head firmly. “NO!” I exclaimed, pointing at the remnants of the foam he had munched. “NO EAT!”
He mirrored my head shake, again and again.
Even as he continued to shake his head, I bundled him and his brother in their snowsuits and drove to the Children’s Emergency Room. The doctors confirmed that the foam wouldn’t harm him much but decided to admit him for observation. Perhaps they felt sorry for me; after all, a pregnant mother shows up with two toddlers, one of whom has a habit of eating plastic. I didn’t even mention that I had a six-year-old daughter waiting to be picked up from school—I didn’t want to overwhelm anyone.
While Ethan was in the hospital, I requested a psychiatric consultation. Initially, I may have thrown a small tantrum, but after noticing the concerned looks from the staff, I opted for a more composed approach. The resident informed me that the child psychiatrist might not be available. Fortunately, he was mistaken.
Since Ethan’s diagnosis at age two, we had engaged with various therapists, psychologists, and speech professionals. Yet I still felt desperate and fearful of not doing enough. Some days, I found myself curled up in the kitchen, overwhelmed by the weight of “fixing” his behaviors. On other days, I created complex therapy plans to address his finger flapping, moaning, and various rituals that seemed to hinder his development. But we had never consulted a child psychiatrist, and the shadow of another incident like the foam puzzle episode loomed large. I had so many questions.
The psychiatrist was straightforward yet compassionate. For the first time, someone spoke candidly about Ethan’s condition, which was becoming a hot topic in the media. “Your son has classic autism,” he said. “There’s no cure. Anyone who claims they’ve cured their child of autism simply didn’t have a child with autism. It’s that simple.”
Rather than feeling disheartened, I experienced a wave of relief. It was a moment of clarity; I realized I could stop grappling with an invisible foe. The relentless fight was exhausting and ultimately fruitless.
What had been nagging at me for months was the uncomfortable truth: Ethan seemed genuinely happy being himself, autism and all. So, from that day forward, I decided to embrace who he was rather than try to change him.
This doesn’t mean I stopped enrolling him in occupational or speech therapy. It didn’t mean I didn’t seek out the best educational opportunities or set boundaries, like telling him “No” when he jumped around during family movie night. I still believed in therapy and support; I just began to adjust my expectations to align with what he could realistically provide. My goal became helping Ethan become the best version of himself, autism included.
Ultimately, I stopped trying to eradicate autism from our lives and instead welcomed it as part of who Ethan is—like his blue eyes and his penchant for munching on foam.
So, instead of battling an unseen adversary, I welcomed autism in for tea, on the condition it would behave itself. This approach feels far more manageable for me. I recognize that my acceptance may not resonate with everyone; some parents might perceive it as surrender. Still, I view it as a way to move forward.
I understand that the autistic community is often fractured over various topics. My acceptance of Ethan’s diagnosis shouldn’t ignite debate; there’s already enough contention surrounding these issues. After all, aren’t we all united as mothers of the flappers, jumpers, wanderers, and moaners—children who often draw curious glances?
Let’s not let divisive topics like vaccines, diets, or acceptance distract us. Instead, let’s unite against a common source of frustration—whether it’s the media’s portrayal of autism or, as some of us may agree, the opinions of individuals like Jenny McCarthy.
Summary
In this reflective piece, I share my journey as a parent of a child with autism, detailing how I transitioned from trying to “cure” my son to embracing him fully as he is. After a challenging incident involving a foam puzzle, I sought professional guidance and learned that autism is not something to be fixed. By accepting my son’s diagnosis and focusing on supporting his unique journey, I found a healthier perspective that allows both of us to thrive.