Today was a day of realization—something I don’t say lightly, as most days my learning curve feels more like a steep cliff of mental exhaustion. But today, it finally hit me: my son has Asperger’s Syndrome. We received his diagnosis almost two years ago, but like a slow learner, I was dragging my feet on truly accepting it.
When Joey was first diagnosed, I brushed aside the notion. After all, I’ve worked with children on the Autism Spectrum for over a decade, so I thought my instincts were merely overreactive. However, his preschool teachers had a different agenda. They called me in for what I believed was a simple parent-teacher chat, only to present me with a “Does Your Child Have Autism?” checklist. I was furious! How could they presume to educate me about Autism? If my child had it, surely, I would know!
In hindsight, I see their inexperience in breaking such news to a parent. Instead of providing concrete examples of Joey’s behaviors, they relied on a list that allowed me to easily dismiss their concerns. After all, I knew he didn’t “flap,” so I could shove all their observations aside, labeling them as mere preschool teachers who didn’t know my son.
In tears, I turned to a trusted friend, Sara, a colleague who agreed to observe Joey in class. Over coffee at our favorite café, she validated my feelings, confirming that Joey wasn’t receiving enough attention and could thrive with a bit of one-on-one support. She suggested that an evaluation wouldn’t hurt. Given the state’s lenient criteria for Autism diagnoses, it seemed a no-brainer.
Joey’s evaluation in January 2013 was conducted by Dr. Smith, a physician I thought would be in my corner. And he was. After I recounted my observations of Joey, he asked me, “So what do you want, Emily?” It dawned on me then that this wasn’t about Joey’s actual needs but about my desire to leverage my connections to give him a boost. I requested an Asperger’s diagnosis and support services, and that’s precisely what I received.
Joey’s Occupational Therapist, a true gem named Lucy, instantly became his favorite person. She helped him climb, balance, and develop fine motor skills—transforming him into a kid who could finally play on the jungle gym with his peers. Thanks to her, he even started accepting new foods—a miracle in itself! Then, there was Jake, his TSS, who was not only engaging but also helped Joey break out of his shell, allowing him to play more freely with other boys (which was music to my ears, even if the teachers weren’t thrilled).
In a year, Joey was discharged from OT, feeding therapy, and TSS. During his second evaluation, the doctor hinted that if progress continued, Joey might soon lose his diagnosis altogether.
As we approached Kindergarten, I grappled with whether to disclose his diagnosis to the school. After all, the doctor suggested he might not even need a label by January, so I kept it under wraps, convinced he wouldn’t struggle in a mainstream setting. I didn’t want him to be stigmatized for no reason.
However, just two weeks in, his teacher reached out. Her email was compassionate, yet the behaviors she described mirrored the “Autism for Dummies” handbook. That moment was a wake-up call. I had to face the truth: this wasn’t just me being clever or overly cautious. My son was a little boy with Asperger’s who genuinely needed support to navigate the world.
I quickly replied, acknowledging my misjudgment in believing Joey could thrive independently. I had fooled myself into thinking that because he was bright—yes, a brilliant genius—he could conquer Kindergarten without any help. We’re now poised to meet with the school psychologist to determine if Joey needs Special Education services to assist with focus, direction-following, and appropriate behavior. During this meeting, I’ll have to apologize for withholding crucial information, possibly out of denial or fear of a label.
But you know who I owe the biggest apology to? Joey. By avoiding the truth for the past two years, I inadvertently made the realities of his condition feel shameful in my mind. This child is a treasure; he is perfect just the way he is.
He is my heart walking outside my body. When I gaze into his eyes, I feel as though I’ve known him forever, even before his birth. He embodies the finest parts of me mixed with even more exceptional qualities. This diagnosis doesn’t define him, yet it undeniably shapes his experience in the world. He’s a kid who could read by two, devour books by three, and who impressed everyone with his memory daily. He even won a space trivia contest at four! Yet he’s also picky about food, routines, and transitions, and he has daily meltdowns over the tiniest issues. Looking back, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize this sooner, but parents do odd things in the name of protection.
Today, I finally learned what I should have grasped long ago. It took three teachers, one psychologist, and a cascade of tears for me to see that my son isn’t perfect, but he is perfectly himself.
The takeaway? This journey is daunting and real, and it won’t just disappear. Denying it won’t help. What truly matters is the profound love of our little family and my unwavering belief that my son is extraordinary and destined for greatness, even if I stumble along the way. From now on, I’ll embrace our “Aspie” journey proudly, knowing it won’t define him, as he is utterly unique. I am endlessly grateful to be his mom.
For more insights into parenting journeys, check out an interesting post on home insemination that offers valuable perspectives. And if you’re curious about enhancing your fertility, visit Make a Mom. Plus, for fantastic pregnancy resources, explore March of Dimes.
Summary: This heartfelt piece reflects on a mother’s journey to accept her son’s Asperger’s diagnosis. Initially in denial, she learns to embrace his uniqueness and the support systems that help him thrive. It emphasizes the importance of facing reality, the love within their family, and the recognition that while challenges exist, her son is destined for great things.