It was a beautiful day in Southern California, with the sun shining down as my husband and our two older sons headed off to the local lagoon for some water activities with friends. Unfortunately, Charlie had therapy scheduled, so I stayed home with our two younger boys. We followed our usual Sunday routine: attending church and then spending quality time at home. To my surprise, Charlie’s therapist arrived promptly, allowing us to head off to church. About fifteen minutes into the service, I received a text from the nursery: “Come get Ethan.” This wasn’t unexpected; he often struggles in that environment. However, I remained optimistic about the day ahead.
After church, Charlie enjoyed some time outside, exploring our yard. Typically, he wanders aimlessly, but today, with a little encouragement from his therapist, he went down the slide and swung for an entire minute. It may seem trivial, but this was a significant achievement for us.
Despite the minor setback with Ethan, the morning was delightful. Charlie had a two-hour break before his next therapy session, which we often use as an opportunity for a family meal, usually at a less crowded fast-food restaurant to avoid unwanted attention during a potential meltdown.
His therapist arrived, dressed in bright, bold-patterned pants, ready for our new shopping adventure. Understanding that new experiences can be overwhelming for Charlie, I felt a flicker of anxiety but was reassured by his therapist that it would be fine.
Initially, everything went smoothly. I felt relief shopping with Charlie at a new store, and for a moment, I was hopeful. But then, without warning, it happened—the meltdown. I can’t pinpoint the cause; perhaps it was the harsh lighting or the vibrant colors surrounding us. Suddenly, my sweet boy was on the floor, screaming and banging his head on the unforgiving tiles. The therapist quickly intervened, urging me to step back. My heart raced as I struggled with the urge to comfort him, knowing that my presence might only exacerbate his distress.
As I watched him, tears filled my eyes. Bystanders gasped and whispered, their judgment weighing heavily on me. I felt like every moment of good parenting I had ever achieved was being undermined. Touching him only made things worse; all I could do was wait. Once he calmed down, I was left feeling exhausted and defeated. I wanted to escape, but his therapist insisted we proceed with our shopping.
Her clinical reasoning blurred into the background as I unloaded our items at the checkout. Charlie appeared to be fine, but I was a bundle of nerves. Why had I chosen to go out alone? I craved the calm presence of my husband.
We completed our purchase without incident, but just as we reached the exit, Charlie erupted again. This time, we were near a more secluded area where I could let my guard down. Then a voice cut through my thoughts: “Take him home already!” shouted a rude older woman. I was paralyzed, wishing to explain Charlie’s autism and the challenges we face, but I just kept moving toward the car.
To onlookers, Charlie may appear to be a troublesome child, flailing in the shopping cart, kicking, or even trying to hit those who come too close. But he isn’t naughty; he’s navigating a world that often feels chaotic and overwhelming.
When we first began applied behavior analysis (ABA) therapy, even a quick trip to the grocery store was a struggle. Shopping trips were restricted to familiar routes and routines, always starting with a trip for popcorn at Target.
I’ve faced numerous hurtful comments and judgmental glances. One particularly painful moment occurred when some acquaintances from a tee-ball team laughed about one of Charlie’s meltdowns, despite knowing about his autism. I try to keep my head high and focus on my children, ignoring the negative energy from others.
What many people don’t understand is that Charlie experiences life differently. He processes sensory information in unique ways and struggles to communicate his needs. I do my utmost to anticipate his requirements, working diligently to prevent meltdowns.
He thrives on order and predictability, and new environments can be overwhelming. Often, he’ll lie on the ground, absorbing the sensations around him. He’s a sensory seeker, needing to move to feel grounded in his body. Though it may sound unusual, this is our reality.
Charlie is not a naughty child; he’s trying to find stability in a world that feels unpredictable. Please refrain from judging him or me. We’re doing the best we can, and your negative input isn’t helpful.
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In summary, parenting a child with autism is filled with challenges, misunderstandings, and moments that require resilience. Rather than labeling behaviors as “naughty,” it’s essential to recognize the struggles these children face daily.