On a beautiful sunny day in Southern California, my husband took our two older boys to the local lagoon for some water fun with friends, leaving me with my youngest son, Noah. Due to Noah’s therapy schedule, I couldn’t join them, so we settled into our usual Sunday routine of church followed by some family time at home. Just as we were beginning the service, I received a text from the nursery asking me to come pick up my son, who was struggling to adapt to the environment. This was no surprise, but I was determined to make the most of our day together.
Once home, Noah enjoyed some time outside, exploring our yard, which was a significant step for him. With gentle encouragement from his therapist and me, he even went down the slide and swung on the swing—small victories worth celebrating.
The morning had its ups and downs, but I was hopeful for the afternoon. After a two-hour break before his next therapy session, we decided to venture out to a new store. This was a big deal for Noah, who often found new places overwhelming. His therapist confidently assured me that we could handle it.
At first, everything seemed to be going smoothly, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. However, without any warning, Noah suddenly melted down. The bright lights, vibrant colors, and unfamiliar smells became too much for him to handle. My heart sank as I watched him collapse onto the floor, screaming and banging his head against the hard tiles. His therapist stepped in, guiding me to stand back while she protected him from injury. I felt helpless, knowing that in that moment, he needed space, not comfort.
The seconds stretched into what felt like hours as I stood by, tears welling up in my eyes, while onlookers passed by, some whispering and laughing at the scene before them. I wanted to scoop him up and whisk him away from this chaotic environment, but touching him would only exacerbate the situation. Finally, as he began to regain his composure, I felt drained from the experience. Yet, his therapist insisted we continue our shopping trip.
As I placed a few items on the checkout conveyor belt, Noah sat quietly, almost as if the earlier meltdown had never occurred. But I was far from calm, battling insecurities and doubts. Why had I chosen to go alone? I longed for my husband, whose steady demeanor always calmed the storm.
We completed our purchase without any major incidents, but just as we approached the exit, something set Noah off again. This time, we were almost in a safe area where I could finally breathe. Then, a harsh voice pierced through my thoughts. “Take him home already!” an older woman shouted at me. My insides twisted, and I felt frozen in place. I wished I could explain to her about Noah’s autism and how I was striving to help him navigate the world, one outing at a time.
To the casual observer, Noah might have appeared to be a misbehaving child. He flails in the shopping cart, kicks, and has difficulty interacting with strangers. But this behavior stems from his autism, making everyday situations incredibly challenging for him and for me as his parent. I am always vigilant, anticipating potential triggers that could lead to meltdowns.
When we first started applied behavior analysis (ABA) therapy, Noah couldn’t sit in the grocery cart for more than a few minutes. Our shopping trips were limited to specific stores and routes, always adhering to a strict routine.
The comments and glances from others were hurtful. One particularly painful experience involved fellow parents discussing Noah during one of his meltdowns, despite knowing about his condition. It stung deeply, but I tried to stay focused on my children, blocking out their judgment.
What many don’t realize is that Noah’s perspective of the world is vastly different from ours. He processes sensory information in unique ways, often leading to overwhelming experiences. He thrives on structure and predictability, and new environments can send him into a tailspin. Sometimes, he simply lies on the ground to absorb his surroundings, while other times, he needs to move constantly to feel his body in space.
Noah is not a naughty child; he’s simply striving to find his place in a chaotic world. I urge you not to judge him or me. Please, go about your day without offering unsolicited comments. We are doing our best. If you’re looking for more information on navigating these challenges, check out this resource for planning and support.
In the end, we are all just trying to find our way, and I hope for a day when compassion leads the way over judgment.
Summary
This article shares a heartfelt account of a mother’s experiences with her autistic son, Noah, during a challenging shopping trip. It highlights the misunderstandings and judgments faced by parents of children with autism and emphasizes the importance of compassion and understanding in navigating daily challenges.