“When you can’t look on the bright side, I will sit with you in the dark.” — Alice in Wonderland
Receiving the news that your child has autism or any neurological condition is an overwhelming experience. Whether you suspected something was off or were completely blindsided, the moment changes everything. Your child remains the same, but the future looks entirely different—not just for them, but for the entire family.
When my son was diagnosed, it felt as if a label was stamped on both his forehead and mine. I believed this label dictated our future, and that thought was terrifying. Adding to the challenge, I found myself surrounded by people who couldn’t grasp what I was going through or how to support me.
I brought my little boy into that appointment. Just look at him—perfect in every way. Yet, every day felt like an uphill battle. He struggled to sleep, was rarely at ease, and communication seemed out of reach. Despite my efforts to connect with him, I often felt like I was failing.
Then came the diagnosis—a simple piece of paper with the psychologist’s words: our child was autistic. In that moment, it felt as if my world had stopped. Everything shifted. I wanted to fix it all while simultaneously feeling paralyzed. The weight of his diagnosis rested heavily on my shoulders, a burden that continues to linger nearly four years later.
Looking back at photos from when my son was three fills me with sadness. I have two beautiful boys, but I often struggle to remember those moments fondly. In one particular picture, my son, Oliver, is in constant motion—always moving and pushing away from me while I wear a forced smile. What you can’t see is the anxiety boiling within me. We were at a public event, and it was painfully clear that Oliver was different. He didn’t talk or play; he was overwhelmed, running and screaming, all while I felt utterly lost.
After taking that picture, I spent days in tears. This was one of those moments that would stay with me forever. What many don’t realize is that there’s a part of the grieving process where you simply need to sit with your feelings. It’s okay to be sad. I felt resentment towards those who tried to rush me through my grief, urging me to see the silver lining without understanding my struggles. I needed to confront the reality of an uncertain future with severe autism.
I had to accept that this diagnosis was not going away; it was a permanent part of our lives. It was serious, and there was no escaping it. I, like any other mother, had dreams for my child—conversations, hugs, baseball games, school plays, and more. When I realized these might not happen, fear and loneliness enveloped me. I craved a friend who would listen without trying to fix everything.
What I needed most was someone to sit with me in that darkness for a while. I wasn’t ready to focus on the positives or recognize my blessings; I needed to process my emotions first. It’s important to acknowledge that such feelings are valid; they will eventually lead to newfound strength and the ability to advocate for your incredible child.
Once you’ve navigated your own journey, I encourage you to be that friend for someone else facing a similar situation. Validate their feelings. Let them express their frustration and sadness. It’s crucial to allow them to voice their fears and doubts. Offer a listening ear when they question their past choices or feel overwhelmed. Simply being present can offer immense comfort.
Grief doesn’t follow a straight path; it can return unexpectedly. Be there for them—answer the late-night texts or early morning calls, or even reach out if they don’t. Sometimes, just showing up is enough. Allow them the space to rest or weep without judgment.
Eventually, when they’re ready, help them see the brighter side. Highlight the beauty that comes from nurturing a vulnerable child and providing them with the best life possible. They will arrive at that point, just as you have, and just as we all will.
If this resonates with you, it’s likely because you’ve faced similar challenges with an autistic child. It’s not about love or commitment; it’s about grappling with fear and confusion.
Be kind.
For further insights on this topic, you can explore resources such as Cleveland Clinic’s guide to Intrauterine Insemination, or discover more about home insemination at Make A Mom. If you need support, don’t hesitate to reach out through our contact page.
Summary
The journey of parenting a child with autism is fraught with emotional challenges and uncertainty. The author shares their personal experience and emphasizes the importance of allowing oneself to grieve and process feelings before seeking the silver linings. They encourage others to be supportive listeners for those navigating similar experiences.