I find myself repeating this truth time and again, yet I still struggle to let go of the habit. Why do I care so deeply about others’ perceptions of my son’s needs? No more. I refuse to apologize, for myself or for him.
The sign at the inclusive children’s gym, “We Rock the Spectrum,” resonates with me. It’s liberating to be in a place where “I’m sorry” is never necessary.
Before my son, Ethan, was diagnosed with autism, I confided in my partner during a moment of frustration and loneliness: I longed for a space designed for families like ours. A place where Ethan could run freely without the fear of wandering off. Where flicking a light switch wouldn’t disturb anyone. A community of families navigating similar challenges, where we wouldn’t feel the need to justify our child’s behaviors or defend our choices. In that environment, I wouldn’t feel pressured to control every situation or apologize for any perceived “inappropriate” actions.
I explored a variety of options—Sensory Sundays at local fun spots, special movie screenings, designated times at children’s museums, and amusement parks that offered accommodations. Finally, we found joy at We Rock the Spectrum, LEGO Land, and Busch Gardens, making cherished memories tailored for families with disabilities.
Attending a boating festival for families of children with disabilities was a revelation. Each family enjoyed a private boat ride along the coast, embraced by acceptance instead of judgment. These experiences felt like an oasis, refreshing and uplifting, yet so rare.
Outside these welcoming spaces, the world often felt daunting. I felt compelled to apologize for the ways we didn’t fit in or for making others feel uncomfortable.
But why did I ever feel the need to apologize? I worried that others wouldn’t understand Ethan, that they would misinterpret his actions. And often, they did.
Ethan thrives when he can dictate the details—be it the color of his toy or the topic of conversation. He needs time to transition between activities and isn’t always ready to share. Sometimes, he may emit loud sounds or become overwhelmed, leading to moments of frustration where words escape him. He might seek solace under furniture or on the floor, trying to manage his sensory overload. He tends to take more than his share of food if it’s something he loves, and he has an insatiable curiosity for climbing stairs. Often, he requires quiet time alone or reassurance from me when everything feels overwhelming. If he doesn’t engage with you or respond as you expect, please don’t take it personally.
I’m done apologizing for him.
Ethan is learning and growing, trying to navigate a world filled with confusing social cues and sounds. His interests might focus on minute details that others overlook, and he might fixate on them, sharing his thoughts repeatedly.
I won’t say “sorry” anymore. He may not greet you or acknowledge your presence, or he might be glued to his iPad during an event, only looking up for someone else. I refuse to apologize—not out of malice, but because I will no longer shoulder the emotional burden of others’ feelings.
Reflecting on my past apologies, I realize they stemmed from a desire to regain control in a world that was changing too quickly for me. I was battling the wrong fights each time I said “I’m sorry” on Ethan’s behalf. I needed to stop and truly see him, to love him without conditions. I encourage you to do the same, with sincerity for those who genuinely care for us: I’m finished with apologies for both myself and my son.
For more insights into parenting and home insemination, check out this article on home insemination kits and learn about different conception methods at Intracervical Insemination. If you’re interested in pregnancy resources, visit Healthline for comprehensive information.