Parenting Insights on Autism
When my son, Ethan, who is on the autism spectrum, was four years old, he decided to consume pieces of a foam puzzle while I was in the shower. When I emerged, he looked at me with his bright blue eyes, appearing perfectly fine. However, I was understandably distressed.
“Why did you do that?” I asked, my voice trembling with concern.
He seemed unfazed and merely tilted his head, as if to say, “What’s the big deal?”
“Do you think you’re a goat?” I exclaimed, my frustration evident.
Ethan stared back at me, his expression unreadable. Perhaps what he thought was, “Mom looks better from a distance.” Yet, he said nothing—his autism made verbal communication challenging.
I shook my head firmly. “NO!” I gestured toward the foam remnants scattered around. “NO EAT!”
In a mimicry of my actions, he shook his head repeatedly.
Still shaking, we bundled him and his brother into their winter gear and headed to the Children’s Emergency Room. The doctors assured me that the foam posed minimal risk, but they admitted him for observation. Perhaps they took pity on a pregnant mother managing two toddlers, one of whom had a peculiar habit of eating plastic. I didn’t mention my six-year-old daughter, who was waiting to be picked up from school, likely wandering our neighborhood by that time.
While Ethan was in the hospital, I requested a psychiatric consultation. Admittedly, I initially resorted to a temper tantrum, but eventually, I composed myself and used my words. The resident informed me that securing a child psychiatrist might be difficult, but fortunately, I was wrong.
Since Ethan’s diagnosis at age two, we had sought help from various therapists, psychologists, and speech specialists. I felt overwhelmed and fearful that I was not doing enough. There were days I found myself curled up in the kitchen, paralyzed by the task of addressing Ethan’s behaviors, feeling as if I too were flapping and jumping. Other days, I created intricate therapy plans to manage his finger flapping, vocalizations, and rituals that hindered his ability to engage with the world around him. Yet, I had never consulted a child psychiatrist, and the prospect of another “goat episode” filled me with questions.
The psychiatrist spoke straightforwardly, delivering a mix of understanding and fear. It was the first time someone had candidly discussed our son’s condition, which was becoming increasingly prominent in the media.
“Your son has classic autism,” the psychiatrist stated. “There is no cure. Anyone claiming they’ve ‘cured’ their child of autism likely did not have a child with autism. It’s that simple.”
Instead of feeling disheartened, a wave of relief washed over me.
I realized it was futile to combat an invisible adversary. I no longer had to fight against something I couldn’t fully understand. I accepted that the relentless struggle against autism was detrimental to us all.
And there was a realization that gnawed at me for months, something I was hesitant to express but now felt compelled to acknowledge: Ethan didn’t seem to mind being autistic. In fact, he appeared genuinely happy.
From that moment on, I ceased my efforts to change who my son was. This didn’t imply that I abandoned occupational or speech therapy, nor did it mean I stopped seeking the best educational opportunities for him. I maintained boundaries, like telling him “No” when he bounced in the living room while others tried to enjoy a movie. I still believed in providing him with the best support.
What changed was my expectation. I began to accept Ethan for who he is, focusing on helping him thrive as himself. Most importantly, I stopped trying to erase autism from his life and started allowing him to coexist with it. It became a part of him, like his striking blue eyes and his unusual taste for foam.
This shift in perspective transformed my approach. Instead of battling an unseen foe, I welcomed autism into our lives, establishing a truce of sorts.
This acceptance might not resonate with every parent, and I acknowledge that some may view it as surrender or weakness. For me, it represented moving forward. I have no desire to engage in debates about autism—there are already enough divisive issues within our community.
As a mother, embracing Ethan’s diagnosis is not up for discussion. We are all united as parents of children who exhibit unique behaviors—those who flap, jump, wander, and make noise.
Debates over vaccines, diets, and acceptance merely serve as distractions. Let’s agree to disagree occasionally and focus our energy on the shared goal of supporting our children.
And let’s all unite in a common sentiment: our collective disdain for misinformation, like that perpetuated by certain public figures.
Summary:
This narrative illustrates a mother’s journey in accepting her son’s autism diagnosis, moving away from the notion of a “cure” towards embracing and supporting her child for who he is. Through experiences and reflections, she emphasizes the importance of understanding and acceptance within the autism community, encouraging a focus on unity rather than division.
Keyphrase: Autism acceptance journey
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