It’s 5 AM, and my 11-year-old son, Oliver, is at my bedside, gently shaking me awake. He’s eager to share insights from his science class yesterday, but also insists on reading a passage from the novel he’s been crafting.
“Sweetheart,” I murmur, “I need just a moment. I’m really tired.”
“This is important, Mom!” he insists, darting out of the room, and I can hear him setting up to write. He’s animatedly chattering to himself, fingers drumming on the dining room table as his computer powers on.
Dragging myself to the kitchen, I notice he’s already unloaded the dishwasher. Managing anxiety can be tough for kids on the spectrum, and this small task is one less worry for him.
As I brew my coffee, I observe him typing fervently, pausing occasionally to flutter his fingers and chirp before diving back into his chapter. He’s weaving a tale about a humanoid robot that becomes self-aware, resembling the other robots but believing he’s a real boy—a fusion of Pinocchio and I, Robot, with an unconscious reflection of his own unique neurology.
“They think I’m like the other robots,” he reads aloud. “They don’t realize I have feelings and ideas, mimicking what I see just to deceive them. I wish they could see me, but I’m terrified to reveal my true self. What if they don’t care? What if they imprison me?”
His words evoke memories from years ago, when I first began to question his behaviors and quirks.
“Thank you for helping us,” he once said to a cashier while we were shopping. “You must be a good person for choosing a job that assists others. Not everyone decides to do that.”
“How old are you?” she asked, surprised.
“Three,” he replied, extending his hand for a shake.
No professional had mentioned autism back then, despite his early speech and affection. He charmed everyone with his literal interpretations of the world.
But as he grew, that charm morphed into awkwardness, with anxiety and mood swings surfacing during his elementary years. Sensory sensitivities intensified, and social difficulties compounded. He faced bullying for being “different,” while teachers misinterpreted his unique gestures, rapid speech, and social misunderstandings.
He experienced meltdowns triggered by enigmatic causes I could never quite identify. Friends were few and far between. Despite ongoing therapy and frequent school meetings, it took years for us to secure a diagnosis. When it finally came, it left me reeling.
I struggled to accept the reality of my son’s autism, grappling with the way I had previously envisioned our lives together.
However, fighting for him in school and the broader community transformed me. I found myself frustrated as educators listed his challenges. Why couldn’t they see his potential? My perspective shifted drastically as I realized that some professionals aimed to mold him into a version of typical kids. I questioned why I would allow anyone to shape my child at all.
At home, we fostered an environment that minimized stimuli and avoided overwhelming situations. He built Lego rocket ships with his sisters, assisted his dad in the kitchen, and took peaceful walks with me, sharing his dreams and aspirations.
We eventually moved him to a school that valued every learner, where bullying was not tolerated. As his teachers became more attuned to his needs, providing him with short breaks and a quiet area to work, his school meltdowns decreased significantly. After a year, he was chosen as a school ambassador and earned straight A’s. He not only required support but also began to uplift others, forming friendships with kids who felt marginalized.
It took much longer than it should have for me to grasp that this journey wasn’t about my expectations; it was about Oliver. I had to let go of preconceived notions of parenting and simply show up to love my son. It’s a difficult truth to admit that I cried when I first heard the term “autism,” recognizing the heartbroken mother I had become. I lost sight of his infectious laughter, his soft blonde locks, and the way he cuddled close as he asked me about the cosmos before drifting off to sleep.
Oliver has a remarkable ability to touch everyone he meets. The more I understand him and autism itself, the less I desire to change or “fix” him. In many respects, he faces significant challenges, yet he is also profoundly remarkable and self-sufficient. Above all, he is humorous, intelligent, and loving—the little boy I was meant to cherish and guide.
I cherish every moment of parenting my autistic child.
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In summary, parenting an autistic child has been a transformative journey filled with challenges and profound love, reshaping my understanding of what it means to be a parent.