By: Jessica T.
On a bright Southern California day, my husband took our two older boys to the local lagoon for some fun in the water with friends, leaving me with our youngest, Noah. Charlie, my son with autism, had a therapy session that prevented me from joining them. We followed our typical Sunday routine: church followed by some playtime at home. Surprisingly, Charlie’s therapist arrived on time, allowing us to head to church without a hitch. However, about 15 minutes into the service, I received a text from the nursery asking me to come pick up Noah, who struggles to adapt to the nursery environment. I took it in stride, optimistic about the rest of the day.
After church, Charlie went outside to play in our yard. He typically roams aimlessly, so the therapist and I encouraged him to use the slide and swing for just a minute—an accomplishment we celebrated, given the effort it took to reach this point. Despite the small hiccup with Noah, I felt hopeful about the day ahead.
Charlie had a two-hour break before his next therapy session, which we planned to blend into a family outing at a fast-food restaurant during off-peak hours to avoid unwanted attention during potential meltdowns. When his therapist arrived, dressed in vibrant, patterned pants, we decided to try a new store—an endeavor that can be challenging for Charlie. Her reassuring words helped ease my apprehension.
Initially, everything seemed to be going well. Shopping at a new place felt liberating, and for a moment, I allowed myself to relax. Suddenly, without any clear trigger—perhaps the overwhelming colors, unfamiliar scents, or an intrusive stranger—Charlie completely lost control. I still feel emotional recalling that moment.
There he was, my sweet boy, on the floor, screaming and banging his head against the hard tile. The therapist stepped in, urging me to stand back, as my heart raced in panic. I wanted to comfort him, but in moments like these, he doesn’t want me nearby. It’s a painful realization, understanding that I can only watch as he navigates this overwhelming experience.
As I observed, customers passing by gasped, and I felt their judgment piercing through me, diminishing every positive parenting moment I believed I had achieved. I wanted to scream back, to explain how Charlie’s behavior is not indicative of a ‘naughty’ child but rather a response to an overwhelming world. Touching him would only exacerbate his distress, so I stood helplessly, feeling time stretch indefinitely.
After what felt like an eternity, Charlie began to calm down, but I was emotionally drained. Despite my exhaustion, his therapist insisted we finish checking out. I struggled to follow her reasoning as I unloaded our items onto the conveyor belt. Charlie sat quietly, almost as if nothing had happened, while I was left feeling frazzled and insecure. Why did I come here alone? I longed for my husband’s calm presence.
We made it through the checkout with just a few typical toddler protests until, right by the exit, Charlie spiraled into another meltdown. This time, I was almost in a space where I could cry without prying eyes. Then, a harsh voice broke through my thoughts: “Take him home already!” an older woman shouted. I felt frozen, overwhelmed. I wanted to explain everything—how I’m trying to help him manage outings and how I feel trapped by the confines of my own home. But I couldn’t voice my feelings; I simply continued towards the car.
To outsiders, Charlie may appear to act out, flailing in the shopping cart, kicking, and even attempting to hit if someone gets too close. It’s a reality we face daily. When he sees the world, he processes it differently, often struggling to communicate his feelings, which can lead to overwhelming reactions. His mind works in ways that many cannot comprehend, and the chaos of new environments can trigger his sensory issues.
Charlie’s love for order and routine often clashes with the unpredictability of public spaces. He sometimes lies down to absorb his surroundings, a behavior many do not understand. It’s essential to recognize that he is not a ‘naughty’ child; he is navigating a complex world that challenges him daily. Please refrain from judging either him or me. We are doing our best to cope.
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In summary, our journey with autism is filled with challenges, but we are committed to understanding and supporting Charlie as he navigates this unpredictable world. He deserves patience and compassion, not labels of misbehavior.