On a radiant day under the Southern California sun, my husband took our two older boys to the local lagoon for a day of water sports with friends. This left me at home with my two younger sons, including my son Max, who has autism. With Max’s therapy schedule on the books, I was determined to make the most of our Sunday morning, which typically includes church followed by some quality playtime at home.
Max’s therapist arrived right on time, which was a pleasant surprise, and we headed off to church. Just 15 minutes into the service, I received a text from the nursery: “Come get Liam.” This wasn’t unexpected; Liam often struggles to stay calm in nursery settings. Still, I was hopeful that the rest of our day would go as smoothly as I had imagined.
After church, Max enjoyed a bit of time outside, navigating our yard and learning how to engage with his surroundings. With some encouragement from his therapist, we managed to get him to go down the slide and swing for a whole minute. It may seem trivial, but it was a significant achievement for us.
Despite the hiccup with Liam, I felt optimistic about the day ahead. Max had a two-hour break before his next therapy session, which we usually spent enjoying a meal together at a fast-food restaurant during quieter hours to avoid unwanted attention during potential meltdowns.
As his therapist arrived dressed in bright, patterned pants, we agreed to explore a new store. I was nervous, given that new environments can be overwhelming for Max. Yet, the day started off well—Max seemed to be managing just fine. I was almost relieved, thinking we might actually enjoy this outing. But then, without warning, everything changed.
The source of his distress was unclear; perhaps it was the harsh lighting, the overwhelming colors, or an unexpected stranger. Suddenly, Max was on the floor, screaming and banging his head against the hard tile. My heart raced as his therapist took charge, urging me to step aside. In that moment, I felt torn. I wanted to comfort him, but I knew that touching him would only escalate the situation.
As I stood there, my heart ached, and I felt the stares of onlookers piercing through my resolve. Some customers gasped and murmured among themselves, and I could feel the weight of judgment pressing down on me. I wanted to shout out that he wasn’t being naughty; he was simply struggling to cope with a world that felt chaotic and unmanageable for him.
It felt like an eternity before Max began to calm down. When he finally regained his composure, I was left feeling drained and vulnerable. Despite my exhaustion, his therapist insisted we check out and finish our shopping. I fumbled to unload our items at the register, while Max sat quietly, seemingly unfazed by the earlier chaos. I, on the other hand, was a bundle of nerves, questioning why I had ventured out without my husband, who is always the calm in our storm.
As we exited the store, Max experienced another meltdown, this time just outside where I thought we could breathe a little easier. It was then that a rude, older woman yelled, “Take him home already!” My heart sank. I wanted to explain everything, to share how hard we worked to get him to tolerate these outings, but all I could do was keep moving toward the car.
To the casual observer, it might have looked like Max was simply a “naughty” child—kicking and flailing in the shopping cart, reacting aggressively when strangers approached. But this isn’t about bad behavior; it’s about navigating autism in a world that often misunderstands it.
When we first started applied behavior analysis (ABA) therapy, Max couldn’t sit in a shopping cart for more than a few minutes, and we could only shop at one store using the same route every time. I’ve faced countless unkind comments and judgments from strangers, including acquaintances who should know better. They often laugh at what they don’t understand, and I find myself fighting back tears over their ignorance.
What many don’t realize is that Max perceives the world differently. He has difficulty expressing his needs, and his responses often stem from sensory overload. Order and routine are his anchors, and changes in environment can send him spiraling. He loves to move, often seeking sensory input to feel grounded in his body.
Max is not naughty; he is simply trying to find his balance in a world that can feel overwhelming. So please, don’t judge him or me. Just let us be. We’re doing the best we can, navigating this journey one step at a time.
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Summary:
Navigating parenting an autistic child presents unique challenges, especially in public settings. It’s crucial to understand that behaviors often perceived as “naughty” are manifestations of an overwhelming world. With love, patience, and understanding, families can work toward creating a supportive environment for their children.
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