It began as a faint echo within me—a realization that something was amiss. Why doesn’t he make eye contact? Shouldn’t he be more engaged? Is this typical behavior for boys? If I were a better mother, I would understand. I brushed aside these thoughts for months, immersing myself in playdates, preparing for the arrival of my second son, and planning family outings, convincing myself that he would eventually catch up. After all, boys often develop at a slower pace than girls. He will talk. He’s just shy and contemplative. Perhaps he’s simply being obstinate.
But deep down, I felt responsible. Had I not read to him enough? Was he exposed to the wrong types of books? Should I have introduced him to sign language sooner? Maybe I should have opted for organic baby food. Was it the music I played—Lady Gaga instead of Mozart? Should I have enrolled him in art classes rather than gym? The weight of guilt was overwhelming, pulling me under like a tidal wave.
As months rolled by, that quiet voice transformed into a resounding declaration: He’s not speaking. He avoids eye contact. He doesn’t respond to his name and struggles to convey emotions. Sometimes it feels as if he’s looking right through me. He walks on his toes, flaps his arms, and spins in excitement. Something is different. It’s autism. You know the signs; you were an educator before becoming a parent.
I reached out to a local child psychologist. “I’d like to schedule an appointment for my son. He just turned two, and I suspect he has autism.” Saying the word out loud felt like an avalanche crashing onto my heart. After the call, I curled up on the couch and wept. My firstborn—autism. What had I done wrong? Why us?
Time passed, and despite the initial shock, we found joy in our lives. We celebrated his second birthday, and soon after, welcomed a newborn brother who nearly arrived in the car. Life felt fulfilling, and gradually, the guilt began to dissipate.
Two months later, I found myself sitting on an uncomfortable couch next to my husband, our newborn cradled between us while our toddler stayed with a sitter. Before us sat a stern woman who seemed to belong on a reality show about fashion faux pas. Her demeanor was serious and unyielding, yet her words would redefine our world. “Based on our discussions, tests, and observations, I can confidently say your son has moderate autism. The results are conclusive.”
At that moment, my life transformed. Our family dynamic shifted. Surprisingly, it changed for the better. The guilt I had harbored vanished. This wasn’t my fault—none of this was. Goodbye guilt. Goodbye weight on my heart.
Now, I possess a clearer understanding of my son’s unique traits. He is different, and that’s perfectly acceptable. My son has autism, and without it, he wouldn’t be the amazing boy he is today. He’s playful, enjoys tickling and wrestling with his dad, loves exploring nature, and delights in watching Elmo on YouTube. He has a passion for music and dances freely at school.
Just yesterday, while shopping at Target, he cupped my face in his little hands and planted a big, slobbery kiss on my lips. You might take moments like that for granted, but for me, it signifies progress, connection, and sheer joy. I had longed for such moments, and there I was, crying by the Halloween costumes, overwhelmed with gratitude. He’s teaching me to become the mother I aspire to be. I wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world. Autism doesn’t alter that; in fact, it enhances it.
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In summary, while my son’s diagnosis of autism initially filled me with fear and doubt, it eventually brought clarity and acceptance. His differences are part of what makes him unique, and I have learned to embrace this journey with love and gratitude.
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