
As a parent, having hopes and dreams for our children is natural. We envision their futures, full of promise. But what happens when those dreams are overshadowed by concerns about our child's development?
I navigate these conversations more frequently these days. My daughter is a bit older than the kids in our friend/family/community group.
We've been down the Autism diagnosis road, and it's sometimes a bumpy one. As someone publicly familiar with the road, I get questions and calls about our journey.
And. I’m always willing to talk/listen.
I'm finding -- that in conversations about neurodivergent aspects of behavior -- words along the lines of "I think everyone is a bit autistic" come up. My radar has begun to hone in on the fact that one of two paths follows this kind of statement.
The first path is that no one close to the person speaking truly struggles with Autism, and the second path is one of absolute denial.
I got a message from a mom last night asking...How did we know? When did we start thinking something was happening with our daughter? What was the first step we took?
I invited the mom and her daughter over. In our household, we've developed a sixth sense of these things…
They arrive, her daughter with stuffie clutched tight into her chest. She is shy. My daughter says hi and shows her to the gameroom. I hear them talking, laughing...
It's natural.
It's easy.
Nothing scary.
The mood eases.
The mother sits on my kitchen chair, and I begin talking, but it's just an opportunity for space and time for the mother to speak.
As she speaks about her daughter, she fights back tears. I don’t have to guess why. I’ve shed a ton of them myself.
Tears of fear.
Tears of guilt.
Tears of frustration.
Tears of loss.
And she fights these tears at every opportunity they present.
I see her battle herself to keep control, as if her composure keeps everything together.
These burdens we volunteer to carry as parents. Anything to keep from cracking, from breaking...least we never go fully back together.
She leaves with a list of steps we took, and resources to call.
More importantly, she leaves with permission to cry.
To crack.
To break.
To feel raw.

It's okay to mourn the life you had pictured for your child. It's okay to be scared. The possibility of a child being on the autism spectrum can be overwhelming.
It's a journey into the unknown, filled with fear, confusion, and an avalanche of emotions. As a parent, giving yourself permission to acknowledge those feelings is essential.
Amidst the tears and the heartache, there is also hope.Â
You are not alone in this journey.Â
There is a community of support and resources available to guide you through. While the path may not be what you expected, it can still be filled with love, joy, and remarkable achievements.
You will get through this.Â
Personal Note: Our first step was setting an appointment with a child psychologist for an evaluation. I recommend this wholeheartedly as a first step to take.
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