Recent research into autism in young girls is still in its infancy. The traditional understanding of autism affecting boys at a rate of 4:1 compared to girls may be outdated. After my son was diagnosed, I dove deep into research, which ultimately led to the realization that I am also autistic.
Last summer, my son received his autism diagnosis. From the moment he was born, I sensed he was different. I often reassured myself, saying, “He’s just quirky, like me.” He was an ideal baby—slept soundly, played independently, rarely cried, and communicated non-verbally before he could walk. He even began reciting letters, numbers, and musical notes from Tchaikovsky at just 11 months old. Yet, despite his advanced skills in some areas, he lagged behind in expressive speech and social interactions.
As his fourth birthday approached, the absence of any spontaneous, coherent sentences made me confront the reality that my self-assurances were misguided. We met with the special education director in our local school district for testing. What began as a paperwork session quickly turned into a recommendation for emergency placement in a preschool program for children with special needs. In a haze of denial and shock, I found myself signing consent forms while the educator’s words barely registered.
Once home, I delved into the resources she provided and quickly identified signs of Sensory Processing Disorder. My son’s behavior changed dramatically after his younger brother was born. He went from a calm, independent child to one who seemed perpetually agitated. New behaviors emerged—crawling on furniture, obsessively spinning wheels, taking photos of his toys, and avoiding anything that felt sticky or made loud noises. I kept questioning whether he simply had SPD and a speech delay.
On the day of his evaluation, specialists and therapists surrounded him, trying to engage him in play-based assessments. He thrived on the attention, often ignoring his brother. As they observed him, I answered detailed questions about his routines and social interactions. A nagging feeling grew within me.
After what felt like an eternity, they concluded he was “a conundrum.” They suggested they observe him in a classroom setting with peers. Over the following weeks, I simmered in denial. My knowledge of autism was minimal, just a term whispered among parents who feared it so much they would risk not vaccinating their children. It felt like a daunting, painful label.
When I received the call with the diagnosis, I fought back tears. I felt ashamed, believing I had somehow “broken” my perfect child. I worried that the challenging behaviors he exhibited would mean he wouldn’t lead a happy life. The stigma surrounding autism felt unfair, especially considering it was a label he never asked for.
The next morning, I began scouring credible websites, educational videos, and library books on autism. I was desperate to understand the root causes and how to support him. The only clear link was genetics, which puzzled me since I thought no one in my family was autistic.
However, as I continued my research, certain traits began to resonate with me: inappropriate social responses, challenges in understanding conversational cues, and difficulties processing sensory stimuli. I started to see reflections of myself in these traits, realizing that his autism was intricately woven into his identity. There was no clear line between his personality and his autism—they were interdependent, and I wouldn’t change a thing about him.
As I recognized his unique traits—his intense focus, memory, and fascination with how things work—I felt a surge of clarity. The challenge now was helping him navigate the structured demands of school and later, the workplace.
My education accelerated as I sought out autism parenting groups on social media, but many were disheartening. Parents lamented how autism “ruined” their children. I quickly left all but one group, “Embracing Autism,” started by a mom blogger who shared a more positive perspective. There, I found solace in the stories of autistic adults and parents, realizing many of my own childhood experiences mirrored theirs.
When I expressed my concerns to friends and family, they would chuckle, saying, “You’re too normal to be autistic.” I could read people’s emotions well, but often second-guessed my reactions and struggled with social cues, leading to anxiety in social settings. Even as an adult, I grappled with understanding my own feelings. It took days to process emotions after disagreements. I often felt like I was wearing a mask to fit in, only to be told I was different once people got to know me.
Anxiety plagued my school years, with disruptive classmates sending me into spirals of distress. My coping mechanisms were largely unaddressed, and the notion of autism was never brought up. Years later, I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder. Crafting, gardening, and other hands-on activities became my therapeutic outlets.
Floating through life with feelings of isolation, I only connected deeply with a select few. My social struggles were often dismissed as quirks of being “gifted.” I felt the pressure of social expectations, never quite fitting into predefined roles. I sought solace in books and imagination, often feeling more at home among fictional characters than with peers.
In retrospect, I can see how my own experiences shaped my understanding and acceptance of my son’s diagnosis. The realization of our shared traits has opened up a new narrative for both of us. I now strive to support him in a world that can often be rigid and overwhelming.
As I navigate this journey of self-discovery alongside my son, I’m committed to finding ways to help him thrive, celebrating our unique perspectives and experiences. It’s a journey filled with challenges, but one that brings me closer to understanding both myself and my child.
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Summary:
The journey of discovering my child’s autism diagnosis revealed my own autistic traits and experiences. Through research and reflection, I embraced our shared journey, seeking support and understanding. This exploration has deepened my connection with my son as we navigate a world that often presents challenges.