It’s 5 AM, and my 11-year-old son, Oliver, is shaking me awake. He’s bursting to share something fascinating from science class yesterday. He also wants to read a passage from the novel he’s writing.
“Sweetheart,” I say groggily, “I need just a moment. I’m really tired.”
“This is important, Mom!” he insists, darting back to the other room. I can hear him setting up to write, chattering away to himself while his fingers drum on the dining room table as his computer boots up.
As I shuffle into the kitchen, I notice he’s already tackled the dishwasher. For kids on the spectrum, anxiety can become overwhelming, and completing tasks can alleviate some of that pressure.
I prepare a cup of coffee and observe him typing fervently, pausing occasionally to flutter his fingers and chirp in excitement before diving back into his chapter. He’s crafting a science fiction tale about a humanoid robot that gains self-awareness, resembling all the other robots yet believing he’s a real boy. It’s a mix of Pinocchio and I, Robot, reflecting his own unique neurology.
“They think I’m like the other robots,” he reads aloud. “They don’t realize I have feelings and ideas. I learn and mimic just to trick them. I want them to really see me, but I’m scared to show who I am. What if they don’t care? What if they confine me?”
His narrative takes me back to when I first began questioning his behaviors.
“Thank you for helping us,” he once told the cashier at the grocery store. “You must be a good person for choosing a job that helps others. Not everyone decides to do that.”
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Three,” he replied, extending his hand for a shake.
No doctor had mentioned autism during his early years filled with speech and affection. He charmed everyone with his insightful, literal observations. But as he grew, his charisma gave way to awkwardness. Anxiety and mood fluctuations emerged during his elementary years, accompanied by escalating sensory issues and social challenges. Kids teased him for being “weird,” while teachers misinterpreted his unique hand gestures and pressured speech.
His meltdowns were often triggered by events I couldn’t comprehend. He had few friends, and despite therapy and ongoing school meetings, it took a significant amount of time to secure a diagnosis. When we finally received it, I was heartbroken.
Acknowledging my initial resistance to fully accepting my son was difficult.
Fighting for him in school and in life transformed my perspective. I felt anger rise as teachers outlined his perceived deficiencies. Why couldn’t they see his potential? My outlook shifted when doctors and therapists tried to mold him into a version of “normal.” I began to question why I was allowing anyone to dictate his identity.
At home, we supported him through reducing overstimulation and avoiding overwhelming situations. He built Lego spaceships with his siblings, assisted his dad in the kitchen, and took walks with me, sharing his aspirations.
We enrolled him in a school that embraced diversity and condemned bullying. As his teachers learned more about his needs, accommodating him with breaks and quiet workspaces, his school meltdowns drastically decreased. Within a year, he became a school ambassador and achieved straight A’s. He thrived, not only receiving support but also extending kindness to others who struggled.
It took longer than it should have for me to realize that this journey wasn’t about my expectations. It was about Oliver, learning to let go of my preconceived notions of parenting and simply loving my child. It’s challenging to admit that I shed tears when I first heard the word “autism,” reflecting on the distraught mother I once was. I lost sight of his infectious laughter, his soft hair, and those quiet moments when he’d ask me about space as he drifted off to sleep.
Oliver impacts everyone he meets. The more I understand him and the nature of autism, the less I feel the need to change or “fix” him. In many respects, he faces significant challenges, yet he also possesses extraordinary independence. Above all, he is humorous, intelligent, and affectionate—my baby boy, who I was meant to nurture and cherish.
I truly love parenting my autistic child.
For further insights on fertility, check out this post on boosting fertility supplements. If you’re looking for ways to make bath time enjoyable, this guide offers great tips. Additionally, for a comprehensive overview of your options, WebMD provides excellent resources on pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary
Emily Carter shares her heartfelt journey of parenting her autistic son, Oliver. Through early challenges, misunderstandings, and a long path to diagnosis, she learns to embrace his uniqueness and reject societal expectations. The transformation in their lives is profound, as Oliver flourishes in a supportive environment, showcasing his talents and kindness. Ultimately, she recognizes that the journey of acceptance and love defines their relationship.