The moment we received the diagnosis was surreal. We sat together on a couch, the evaluation already in our hands, anxiously waiting for the psychologist. As she read through it, there it was: “He exhibits several characteristics of Autism Spectrum Disorder.” There was no comfort or empathy in her delivery, just a clinical assessment of my 7-year-old son. Was I surprised? Not really. But hearing the words out loud was a different experience entirely.
After leaving the office, my husband and I went to lunch, engulfed in silence. I texted my close friend, “I need you,” desperately trying to maintain my composure. It’s hard to believe, but that was a year ago. A year filled with a mix of emotions, lessons, and transformations. I no longer resemble the woman who sat there feeling as though her world was crumbling.
In this past year, my husband and I have committed ourselves to understanding what it means to navigate life “on the spectrum.” Our son attends therapy sessions with a counselor and an occupational therapist who specializes in his sensory processing challenges. He participates in music therapy and takes a dietary supplement, as we prefer to avoid medication unless absolutely necessary. We even invested in a trampoline for him to jump on and chewy toys to help soothe his anxiety. We’ve eliminated food dyes from his diet and enrolled him in a Montessori school that accommodates his unique learning style. Most importantly, we have come to truly understand and embrace who he is as a person.
The emotional toll has been significant. I’ve cried out of fear and heartbreak, knowing he recognizes his differences. I’ve tried to shield him from his own self-awareness, attempting to normalize his quirks and anxiety because I didn’t want him to feel ashamed. I wish he could be blissfully unaware of his diagnosis.
This past year has also been incredibly isolating. My husband and I often feel trapped, uncertain if our plans will unfold or if our son will withdraw at the last minute due to his anxiety and rigidity. Except for school, one of us is always by his side. The caregivers he trusts are few, and the ones who do assist him often struggle when things go awry. Explaining our situation to parents of neurotypical children feels like an uphill battle, as they often can’t comprehend our daily struggles or offer advice that actually applies.
My son is a beautiful child with the quintessential all-American look, yet inside, his mind often travels a winding road that can suddenly veer off course. I’ve faced judgmental glares from strangers during his “epic meltdowns” in public. I am not a bad parent raising a spoiled child; I am a dedicated parent nurturing a child with unique challenges. I confess I used to be among those who would judge others in similar situations. Now, I look on with compassion, recognizing that everyone is doing their best under their own circumstances.
There were moments when I felt overwhelmed, crying out, “I can’t do this anymore! This isn’t what I signed up for.” At times, I even contemplated escaping the pain altogether. Yet, surprisingly, most days I find myself grateful. Grateful for a little boy who pushes me to be more patient, kind, and resilient—qualities I never realized I could possess. He sees me as his hero, his safe haven, and I find strength in that. He has transformed my perspective, showing me that I can thrive even while living in the suburbs. I continue to seek answers and support, and my family has been fortunate to find healthcare providers who genuinely care for all of us.
Above all, this year has taught me the power of acceptance. I may never fully understand why my son insists on wearing shorts in winter or how he can recall events from before he should have memories. I don’t know why he can detect the scent of dog food from rooms away or why he can memorize intricate details about superheroes, Lego sets, and video games. His list of “quirks” is extensive, but I know them better than anyone else. Instead of dwelling on the “why,” I focus on how to make our reality work best for him and our family. I embrace him as he is, showering him with unconditional love.
Curiously, I looked up the term “spectrum” before writing this. It piqued my interest, and I wanted a formal definition—one of my own quirks, perhaps. The definition I found states: “A spectrum is a condition that is not limited to a specific set of values but can vary infinitely within a continuum.” Initially, I found it perplexing, but the more I pondered it, the more it resonated. If a spectrum is a continuum, then aren’t we all somewhere on that colorful range? Each of us is unique in our way, and some shine brighter than others, depending on how you perceive them.
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In summary, the past year has been a transformative journey of growth, acceptance, and love. Though it has been filled with challenges, I now see the beauty in my son’s uniqueness and embrace the life we share together.
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