Last week, I stumbled upon a headline suggesting a connection between autism and circumcision. Naturally, I couldn’t help but chuckle. Over the years, I’ve encountered a plethora of theories regarding the origins of autism, including:
- Autism is linked to mercury exposure.
- Lead may be a contributing factor to autism.
- Difficulties in maternal bonding can initiate autism.
- Certain pesticides might trigger autism.
- The presence of plastics in our environment.
- Gluten may exacerbate autism spectrum disorder.
- A diet rich in strawberries could benefit individuals with autism.
- Excessive automotive exhaust is a significant factor in autism development.
- Chemicals in non-stick cookware might contribute to autism.
The claim about maternal bonding resonates with me personally. I struggled to connect with my son, Alex, when he was an infant. He cried and fussed for what felt like an eternity. Although he started sleeping through the night at six weeks, that bliss was short-lived, and I found myself overwhelmed. My husband, Mark, and I were constantly at odds, and it seemed like our marriage was slipping away, much like sand through my fingers.
At that time, my first child, Ben—who was sweet and easygoing—only highlighted Alex’s fussiness. Yet, I can confidently say that no one is more bonded to Alex today than I am, and guess what? He still has autism.
So, what causes autism? Drum roll, please! According to my five-year-old son, Tom, Alex was simply “bornd-ed” with it. I genuinely believe autism has a genetic basis. Mark’s DNA mixed with mine, resulting in a child who perceives the world differently. Perhaps Alex’s unique genetic makeup makes him sensitive to certain environmental factors like lead, mercury, or plastics.
I still wonder about the strawberry theory. For years, I blamed Mark’s side of the family for the autism gene. However, during a recent family gathering, I had my doubts.
While at a café, a woman approached me and introduced herself as Lily’s mother. Lily is in Alex’s fifth-grade class. As we chatted, she mentioned that a boy had called Alex “weird.” My stomach knotted. “Yes, that happens,” I responded. But then Lily had defended Alex, telling the boy that he’s exactly how he is meant to be.
This moment left me in a dilemma. If I started advocating that autism is an epidemic needing urgent solutions, it might contradict the message of acceptance and understanding I aim to promote. Our carefully constructed glass house, built over years of progress, could shatter.
On the flip side, autism does seem to be on the rise. Other families will have children and may wish to understand how to prevent this complex spectrum disorder. If automotive exhaust is indeed a cause, then we should all consider switching to electric vehicles. But I don’t want to focus so much on the “what” and “how” that I forget about the “who.”
Ultimately, I don’t care where it originated from. Yet, I can’t help but feel a twinge of curiosity. It doesn’t matter to me why Alex has autism, but having that knowledge could be beneficial. There’s nothing inherently wrong with him, despite the occasional lengthy discussion about the various types of gum available at the grocery store.
I wouldn’t change a thing about him. I celebrate the wonders of autism, even though it sometimes leads to endless conversations about gum and shopping. He is both whole and broken in his own way. Autism is not anyone’s fault.
I could throw away our non-stick pans or avoid Tupperware, maybe even force him to eat strawberries, even though he dislikes them. Perhaps if I had loved him differently as a tiny swaddled baby, things would be different.
As you can see, my feelings regarding Alex’s autism diagnosis are as multifaceted as a prism reflecting a spectrum of emotions. Some days, my doubts are mere whispers in my heart; other times, they feel like shouts in my ear.
I may not be a scientist, but as a mother, I understand autism from a deeply personal perspective. I know the rigidity, the obsessive behaviors, and the challenges he faces at school. I empathize with the disappointment, fear, and the quiet longing that accompanies being different, as I see it every day.
Living with someone who has autism means frequently using the phrase “for now.” For now, the music is set to the right station. For now, he’s not upset. For now, he’s sleeping peacefully. For now, he’s safe.
So, for now, I choose to believe that Alex’s autism stems from genetics. I strive to add vibrant colors to the scientific narrative of autism, weaving together the tapestry of our experiences until a clearer picture emerges. I may not fully grasp what that picture entails yet, but I envision a harmonious blend of science and humanity—a utopia filled with strawberries, puppies, and vast selections of peppermint gum.
In this dream, there are tall, blonde girls named Lily and boys with glasses named Alex. Off in the distance, you might spot a glass house glistening in the sunlight, breathtaking in its beauty. A closer look reveals a phrase etched on its door: “He’s exactly the way he’s supposed to be.” Those eight words hold immense power, offering solace amidst uncertainty, illuminating the dark night with hope and pride.
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In summary, autism is a complex condition with no single cause. While theories abound, my personal belief is that it is rooted in genetics. Through acceptance and understanding, we can embrace the uniqueness of each individual, celebrating both their challenges and triumphs.
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