As I sat on the couch, the psychologist shared the results of my son’s evaluation, a document I had already perused while we waited. She meticulously went through it, and then stated, “He exhibits numerous traits of Autism Spectrum Disorder.” Those words, devoid of empathy or warmth, were simply a clinical diagnosis concerning my 7-year-old child. While I had my suspicions, hearing it aloud was a completely different experience.
After leaving the office, my husband and I sat in silence during lunch, both grappling with the weight of the news. I texted my close friend, “I need you,” as I struggled to maintain composure in public. It has now been a year since that moment, and I find it difficult to determine whether this time has felt like an eternity or merely a fleeting instant. I am no longer the same person who sat there feeling as if the foundation of her world had crumbled.
This year has been a journey of education, practice, experimentation, and transformation. My husband and I have committed ourselves to understanding everything about “the spectrum.” Our son attends counseling and occupational therapy to address his sensory processing challenges. He participates in music therapy and takes a dietary supplement, as we prefer to avoid medication unless absolutely necessary. We purchased a trampoline for his need to jump and chewy toys to help him self-soothe, as he often chews on Legos. We eliminated food dyes from his diet and enrolled him in a Montessori school, allowing him the freedom to learn at his own pace. Most importantly, we have come to understand who he is, learning to nurture and love him just as he is.
This past year has been deeply emotional. I have shed tears out of fear and heartbreak, knowing that he recognizes his differences. I’ve attempted to shield him from his own identity, downplaying his anxieties and intense outbursts to normalize his experiences, hoping to spare him from feeling inadequate. I wish to protect him from the label of being “on the spectrum.”
It has also been a lonely journey. My husband and I often feel like prisoners, uncertain whether our plans will come to fruition or if he will back out at the last minute due to his anxiety and rigidity. Except for school, one of us is always present with him; he has no caregivers he trusts, and the few he does are not equipped to manage difficult situations. It’s isolating to explain our experiences to others with neurotypical children, who often cannot understand or offer advice that is relevant.
My son is a remarkable child, presenting as the quintessential all-American boy. However, what is invisible to the eye is the complex mental roadmap that often loops in circles or unexpectedly veers off course. I have winced at disapproving glances from strangers when he has an “epic meltdown” in public. I am not a negligent parent raising a spoiled child; I am a dedicated parent nurturing a child with unique challenges. I’ve been guilty of judging other parents in the past when their children misbehaved, but now I approach them with empathy, recognizing that everyone is doing their best in their circumstances.
There have been moments when I’ve collapsed onto my bed, crying, “I can’t handle this anymore. This is not what I signed up for.” There have been times when I contemplated drastic measures to escape the overwhelming stress. Yet, more days than not, I find gratitude. I am thankful for a son who pushes me to grow in kindness and patience, fostering a sense of self-worth I never knew before. He sees me as his safe haven, and in turn, he has become mine. Through him, I have discovered resilience; I no longer fear the “what ifs” because I am living them, and I am managing just fine. He has anchored me in ways I had long sought. He has even revitalized a marriage I thought was beyond repair, allowing me to reconnect with my husband and finally realize that I am right where I belong.
He has shown me that I can achieve great things, even from the comfort of our suburban home. He has inspired me to keep seeking answers and support. Our family has been fortunate to find healthcare providers and educators who not only care for my son but also for our entire family.
Above all, I have learned acceptance over this past year. I may never comprehend why my son insists on wearing shorts even in the snow, how he recalls events from before typical memory formation, or how he can detect the scent of dog food from several rooms away. His unique traits continue to grow, and I embrace them without question. I no longer dwell on “why”; instead, I focus on how to adapt our reality to support him. I accept him wholly and love him unconditionally.
In my quest for understanding, I researched the term “spectrum.” This inquiry prompted me to write this piece. I sought a formal definition, as I am inclined to do. Here is what I found: “A spectrum is a condition that is not confined to a specific set of values but can vary infinitely within a continuum. The term was first scientifically used in optics to describe the range of colors in visible light when separated by a prism. It has since been applied to various contexts, suggesting a broad range of conditions or behaviors grouped together for ease of discussion.”
This definition resonated with me. If a spectrum represents a continuum, isn’t it true that we all occupy a position on that rainbow? We all exhibit our own unique differences. Some will shine brighter than others, depending on how we are perceived.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the author’s journey following her son’s diagnosis with Autism Spectrum Disorder. Through a year filled with learning, emotional challenges, and acceptance, she has gained insight into her son’s unique traits and has embraced the importance of understanding and supporting his needs. The author emphasizes the significance of love, resilience, and the value of community support in navigating the complexities of autism.