As I reflect on my daughter’s life, I can’t help but remember the little quirks that made her so endearing. When she was born, her loud breathing resembled that of a sleepy old man, and it was utterly adorable. At one, instead of walking, she would clap and reach out with her chubby fingers, begging to be held—so cute in every way.
By the time she turned two, her vocabulary consisted of just one word: “Hi,” repeated endlessly. While I worried about her speech, others simply saw the charm in it. At three, sleep became elusive, and she would wander through the dark with her curly hair and sleepy eyes—oh, how cute!
As she reached four, impulsivity set in, especially during mealtime; food would often find its way into her hair and on her clothes, yet everyone still found it adorable. At five, nail-biting and chewing on anything in reach became her new habits, still met with a smile by those around us. Then came the diagnosis of autism at six. While some expressed pity, I still saw her as my cute little girl.
Fast forward to seven, where her stress led to accidents, and to eight, when anxiety caused her to undress in public. I kept these challenges to myself, as others only saw her adorable side. By nine, she had developed a unique passion for dancing, moving freely and without concern for onlookers—still charming! At ten, her return to public school showcased her struggles with reading and writing, but friends still found her efforts to be “so cute.”
Now, at eleven, everything has changed. She towers over five feet, shares my shoe size, and has entered the throes of puberty. With body odor and a casualness about her appearance, I find myself grappling with a new reality. She’s still goofy and awkward, laughing with her mouth full and eating like she’s racing against time. But I can’t help but wonder: Is it still cute?
Lately, I’ve been wrestling with this question. As her cuteness fades, I’m confronted with a fear that society may no longer accept her as it once did. The idea that her vulnerability might lead to mistreatment fills me with anxiety. The self-help mantras about ignoring others’ opinions seem irrelevant when those opinions directly affect how my daughter is treated.
The adage “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” has never felt more poignant. I find myself questioning how we can shift perspectives to see the beauty in all forms of difference. How can I help others see the beauty I see?
This isn’t just about my daughter; it’s a broader social issue. All children with special needs will grow up, and it’s crucial that we foster a culture of acceptance. I can’t control societal standards, but I can advocate for a new lens through which to view those who are different.
We should celebrate a messy eater as someone with a healthy appetite. The oral fixation that some might judge could be a valuable coping mechanism. Awkward dancing is a symbol of freedom, and mismatched clothing reflects a carefree spirit.
Ultimately, I hope that when you encounter someone who doesn’t fit the mold, you choose to protect and respect them. Let’s commit to seeing and celebrating the beauty in every individual, regardless of their quirks.
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Summary
As my autistic daughter approaches her teenage years, I grapple with concerns about how society will perceive her as she transitions beyond childhood. The cuteness that once shielded her may fade, leading to fears about acceptance and treatment. This reflection emphasizes the importance of redefining beauty and advocating for a kinder, more inclusive society that appreciates the uniqueness in all individuals.
Keyphrase: My autistic daughter teenage concerns
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