Research on autism in young girls is still in its infancy. The current understanding, which suggests a 4:1 ratio of boys to girls diagnosed with autism, may be significantly outdated. After my son received his diagnosis, I immersed myself in research and ultimately discovered that I, too, am on the spectrum.
Last summer, my son was diagnosed with autism. From the moment he arrived, I sensed he was different. Whenever I noticed his “quirky” behaviors, I reassured myself and those around me, saying, “That’s just how I was as a child.”
He was an ideal baby—sleeping soundly, content to play alone, rarely crying, and even showing non-verbal communication skills before he could walk. He was so careful that we felt secure letting him hold glass at just a year old. By eleven months, he was spontaneously reciting letters, numbers, and even musical notes from Tchaikovsky. However, while he excelled in some development areas, he lagged in expressive speech and social interactions.
As his fourth birthday approached, his inability to form a single coherent sentence made me realize my self-deceptions were unfounded. We visited the local school district’s special education director to begin the assessment process. What was supposed to be a paperwork session quickly turned into a recommendation for urgent placement in a preschool program designed for children with special needs.
In a daze of denial and shock, I found myself signing consent forms while absorbing little of what the educator was saying. After getting home and putting the kids down for a nap, I pored over the mountain of paperwork and resources I had received. It became clear that he had Sensory Processing Disorder, especially after he exhibited unexpected behaviors following the birth of his brother.
What happened to my perfect little adult-baby? Suddenly, he appeared agitated and angry, a stark contrast to his previous self, who enjoyed baking, gardening, and exploring new places with me. New behaviors emerged, such as crawling on furniture, obsessively spinning wheels, and pouring anything that would fill a container into another. His dislike of sticky substances and loud noises intensified.
As I dug deeper into research, I came across characteristics of autism that resonated with me, but others did not apply. I kept questioning whether he just had SPD and a speech delay.
The test day involved a team of specialists and therapists who interacted with him through play-based assessments. While he enjoyed the attention, all the while ignoring his brother, I answered extensive questions about his daily habits and social interactions. Little did I know, I was beginning to feel an unsettling gut instinct.
After two hours of testing, the team described him as “a conundrum.” They needed to observe him in a classroom setting, which they did for several weeks. During this time, I wallowed in denial. My knowledge of autism was limited; I had only heard it whispered among parents who feared the stigma associated with it.
When I received the call confirming his diagnosis, I fought to suppress my devastation. I felt guilty, convinced I had somehow broken him. As I cried, I worried that my son might never love me or live a fulfilled life. These feelings of shame over a label that he didn’t choose were deeply unfair.
The following day, I began an exhaustive search for information on autism. I needed to understand its causes and how best to support my son. The only correlated cause I found was genetic, which left me puzzled—“But no one in my family is autistic!” I thought.
Yet, as I continued to research, I identified traits that mirrored my own experiences: inappropriate social responses, difficulty gauging when to speak or remain silent, and immense challenges processing sensory stimuli. Connecting these dots with my family members revealed that autism is likely genetic. It also became clear that my son’s autism is deeply woven into his identity; there’s no distinct boundary between his autism and his personality.
I cherish his intense focus, remarkable memory, and curiosity about the world around him. Observing his habits, I realized that I had similar quirks as a child—like arranging toys in precise lines or displaying an all-consuming interest in particular subjects. This realization brought about a clarity that shifted my focus to how I could help him navigate the structured demands of school and life.
My quest for knowledge led me to autism parenting groups on social media, but many left me disheartened. I quickly left those filled with negativity and found solace in a smaller group called “Embracing Autism,” started by a fellow mom blogger who shared my frustrations. In this supportive community, I discovered that many of my own childhood experiences mirrored those of others on the spectrum.
Despite my friends’ teasing that I was “too normal” to be autistic, I recognized the struggles I faced with social interactions and anxiety. I still battle with second-guessing my words and replaying conversations in my head, wondering if I said the right thing. My own emotions often elude me, and it sometimes takes days to process my feelings.
In school, I grappled with anxiety that stemmed from being overwhelmed by disruptive classmates. I was often labeled as the “teacher’s pet” or “little professor,” and my struggles were brushed aside as mere worries. My mother’s attempts for help mirrored the struggles I now face with my own child.
Throughout college, I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder, and I discovered coping mechanisms that helped, such as crafting and gardening. Yet, I still carried the weight of feeling isolated, slipping between different facades in social settings. My resting “thinking” face often gave off the wrong impression, causing misunderstandings with peers.
Despite being labeled as “gifted and talented,” my quirks went unaddressed, allowing me to grow up in a constant state of anxiety, confusion, and rage. I often felt caught between societal expectations of femininity and my personal interests. I lost myself in books and dreams of space travel, pouring my energy into pursuits that allowed me to escape.
Ultimately, the journey of understanding my son’s autism has led me to confront my own identity. As I navigate this path, I remain committed to supporting him and finding ways to thrive together. For those interested in similar experiences, check out our insights on home insemination kits and how they can aid in your fertility journey at Make A Mom. For anyone considering insemination, Cryobaby offers excellent resources. If you’re looking for guidance on IUI, an excellent resource is available as well.
In summary, my son’s autism diagnosis has not only reshaped my understanding of him but also illuminated my own experiences. The journey has presented challenges but also a deeper connection to my child and myself.
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