It’s even more complicated than it sounds. As a child psychologist, I took pride in my straightforward approach. No one left my office without a proper diagnosis, and I often frowned upon parents who hesitated to disclose their child’s autism diagnosis, fearing the stigma of being “labeled.”
But then I became a parent to my own son with autism, and I found myself doing the same thing I once criticized.
I only uttered the A-word when absolutely necessary—on insurance forms, during meetings with professionals, or when searching for resources online. Most of the time, my son was simply “our little Alex.” If someone pressed for further details, I would mention “special needs” or “some developmental delays.” Usually, that was enough for people to back off.
I understood what autism encompassed, with all its nuances. However, when it came to discussions with others, I often felt uncertain. I essentially put Alex in the “autism closet,” a place where others have found themselves too. For example, Upworthy featured a story about Jamie, a talented artist with autism, who mentioned, “On a personal level, I believe it’s easier to keep these things to myself.”
Now that I’m a mother, I don’t want to lead with the A-word. Autism is just one part of Alex’s identity, similar to how my own vision issues define only a small part of who I am.
The analogy of my vision problems is a simple way to illustrate that we both face challenges we didn’t choose, for which no one is to blame, and there’s no cure. We just have to accept it and move forward. But it’s important to note that my glasses provide immediate benefits, while the current treatments for autism don’t offer the same level of assistance for Alex. Plus, my thick lenses are visible to everyone, whereas Alex’s autism is not as easily recognizable.
A Memorable Moment
When Alex was 5 and ready to start kindergarten, we visited a whimsical play center in Washington, D.C. It was a treasure trove of themed rooms—everything from cooking to rock ‘n’ roll. Dressed in a sparkling black outfit complete with a cape, Alex took the mini-stage with a toy guitar. As he strummed, he danced with an enthusiasm that made my heart swell. I snapped photos while holding his baby sister on my lap.
“Isn’t he adorable!” another mother remarked. “He’s really got the rock star moves!”
“Thank you,” I replied, beaming with pride. Not just adorable, but downright cool.
Then, in a gravelly voice, Alex belted out, “All the weirdos in the world are here right now in New York City!”
He then raised his arms dramatically and growled, “He killed his grandmother and tortured his mother’s dog. My kinda guy. Carnage!”
The other mother’s face drained of color as she hurriedly gathered her daughter and left, leaving me speechless. I quickly turned to the remaining mother, who was too pregnant to move, and said, “I’m so sorry. He has autism and is just echoing a line from Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark,” hoping to clarify things before she assumed my son was a budding villain.
In that moment, I felt like a traitor. When Alex exhibited behavior that seemed outlandish, I was quick to label it as a consequence of his autism. Yet just moments before, when he was charming and engaging, I didn’t feel the need to disclose his diagnosis.
Instead of allowing Alex to be the multifaceted individual he is, I slapped a label on his negative actions to shield myself from judgment.
While there’s a greater awareness about autism today—people are increasingly familiar with successful individuals and the unique skills associated with it—I realized that my approach was skewed. My awareness campaign seemed more focused on apologizing for negative behavior.
I’m not suggesting I need to wear a T-shirt that says, “This is my autistic son, Alex.” With brief interactions, I often let things slide.
However, many of the people in our lives—including neighbors who rely on Alex to care for their pets, a man who enjoys tossing a football with him, and his sister’s piano teacher who admires his kindness—don’t know he has autism. If I want them to grasp the full spectrum of what autism entails, I need to be upfront about it.
Before becoming a parent, I understood this lesson, and now I find myself learning it all over again. What benefits the broader autism community will ultimately benefit Alex too.
For more insights on parenting and support, check out this blog post, or learn about home insemination techniques at Make a Mom. Also, Healthline offers valuable information on intrauterine insemination.
In summary, while I initially hesitated to embrace my child’s autism fully, I’ve come to realize that being open about it is essential for both Alex and those around him. It’s about understanding the full person and advocating for a deeper awareness of autism’s complexities.