No one signs up to climb Mount Everest thinking it will be easy. Incredibly, Autism parenting is the same—without a map, without a tour guide, and sure enough—no reassurance. The only difference between the two is that no one signs up for the other.
People ask me all of the time, “How do you do it?” I’ll admit two things—autism parenting is hard, but it is equally beautiful!
So, how do I do it? I’ve found joy in sharing what I’ve learned with all willing to understand. Everest does not rush you. It teaches you to move at your child’s pace, to rest when others are still climbing, and to celebrate survival instead of speed.
Some days, the mountain is kind, with mild winds revealing breathtaking views. Other days, the wind howls, progress stalls, and the climb hurts. There are so many hard days of embracing Autism. For me, personally, the regressions are the hardest. Regression is when a person with a neurological condition loses an acquired skill or ability, and the worst part is, there is no single cause. Imagine witnessing your kid work so hard and so long to learn and finally obtain a fundamental skill, only to lose it all due to stress, a sensory overload, a change in routine or environment, additional neurological conditions, or even the wrong diet.
I was recently deployed to an early morning, multi-intelligence agency undercover mission. A mouthful, right? To my surprise, at that hour, the site was filled with people traversing throughout the building. The K-9 Unit was there, SWAT was there, and all the other intelligence agencies’ pomp and pageantry were all there. You probably walked straight by me and didn’t even recognize me, or knew that I was in full blown disguise. But, in no time, I caught sight of our target. I reached into a component of my backpack to retrieve an accoutrement, and when I looked inside, I inevitably burst out laughing. I’m talking about, I could not catch myself. My bag was filled with crayons! There I was—in the middle of an entire mission regarding National Security, with a bag filled with crayons. The broken ones, for some reason, caused me to laugh even harder.
As parents, we often get so caught up focusing on the challenges and struggles of autism that we hardly realize the beauty of it, fighting its way to the front. Similar enough to climbing Everest. Some folks are too busy fighting the wind and miss the incredible view of the glowing sunrise on snow—a view that’ll take anyone’s breath away.
So, how do I do it? A little more patience and a whole lot more laughter. Saying it’s the best medicine may be considered cliché, but it’s actually spot on. I’ve learned to smile and laugh with my son a tad bit more—even if I have to make something up.
Ever since doing this, I’m witnessing my sporadically aggressive child blossom into a less aggressive, goofy kid—who is learning to embrace his typical neurodivergent self. He loves sneaking into my bedroom and hiding under my blanket when it’s time for bed. And although I’d be exhausted, a tickle fight and sharing that moment of laughter with him allows the beauty of his condition to permeate.
I know all too well that being the parent or guardian to a person with a disability is hard; it’s easy to feel forgotten, considering you are still required to work and perform the same forty hour work-week as everyone else.
So, how do I do it? When I’m feeling overwhelmed, physically and or mentally fatigued, I take days off—without feeling guilty! Your job and the people around you won’t ever quite comprehend what you go through, or that some days are going to be a bit harder than other days, because they aren’t living your reality.
Did you know that you’re allowed to feel tired and still be a good parent? No longer do I come straight home from work and start cleaning my house if I’m exhausted. I look at the dirty dishes and tell them I’ll see them tomorrow, or even the next day! I’m not even going to acknowledge the laundry basket filled with clothes needing to be folded—I can slot them in for next week.
What you decide to do when you’re at your witts-end is your decision, not anyone else. Climbing Everest taught us not to allow the world to stigmatize Autism as a life sentence of gloominess, depression, and struggle just because it’s hard. Be unapologetic about choosing laughter and intentional about creating your peace from the beauty of your reality.
