It’s a mantra I’ve repeated far too often, but no longer. I find myself questioning why I felt the need to care so much about others’ perceptions when it comes to my son’s unique needs. From this moment forward, I refuse to apologize for either myself or him.
The message at We Rock the Spectrum, an inclusive children’s gym, resonates with me deeply. It’s a space where apologies become unnecessary, a haven for families like ours.
Before my son Jamie’s autism was diagnosed, I often confided in my partner, overwhelmed with emotion, yearning for a sanctuary designed specifically for families who understand our struggles. A place where Jamie could be free to explore without fear of judgment, where actions like flicking light switches wouldn’t provoke stares or discomfort. We longed for an environment filled with families navigating similar paths, all of us doing our best without needing to justify our children’s behaviors.
I had discovered various initiatives—Sensory Sundays at local venues, special movie screenings, and designated hours at museums. Finally, we cherished our time at We Rock the Spectrum, LEGO Land, and Busch Gardens, relishing the opportunities these places provided for children with disabilities. We even enjoyed a family boating festival that allowed us to spend a blissful day at the beach without feeling out of place. It was liberating to be among people who understood, where acceptance reigned.
In everyday life, however, I often felt the weight of expectation, constantly needing to apologize for our differences and the discomfort they might cause others. But why did I feel compelled to say I was sorry? It stemmed from a fear that people wouldn’t comprehend Jamie’s actions or the complexities behind them, and in many cases, that fear was justified.
Jamie thrives on routine. He prefers to choose colors, paths, and even topics of conversation. Transitions can be tough for him; he often needs preparation before moving between activities. He may not be interested in sharing, may vocalize unexpectedly, or express frustration in ways that seem unconventional. There are moments he might hide away or throw himself on the floor, seeking to regain his equilibrium. He sometimes takes food without asking, climbs every staircase in sight, and often craves upside-down moments. He needs time alone, or by my side, especially when overwhelmed. If he doesn’t make eye contact or respond as you expect, don’t take it to heart.
I refuse to apologize for him any longer.
He is learning and growing, making sense of a world filled with confusing social cues and stimuli. His interests may center on details that seem trivial to others. He might repeat them, sharing his enthusiasm without concern for the audience.
I’m done apologizing.
He may not greet you when we see you, might be focused on his iPad during your gathering, and may only look up when someone else is present. But I will not say I’m sorry.
This doesn’t stem from malice; I genuinely don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. However, I’m done shouldering the emotional burdens of others. Reflecting on it now, I’m not sure why I ever felt compelled to apologize. My world shifted dramatically, and I fought to maintain a status quo that was no longer attainable. Each apology only hindered my ability to support my son. He needed me to stop explaining and start loving him for who he is. I encourage you to do the same. So with a heart full of love for those who care about us, I declare: I am finished saying I’m sorry—for both my son and myself.
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In summary, I’ve chosen to embrace my son’s journey without the weight of unnecessary apologies.
Keyphrase: Autism acceptance
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