The word “autism” echoed through my life, a distant concept that seemed worlds away from my reality. Surely, it couldn’t touch my family, my child—right? I was wrong. My son entered this world like any other baby, and as he reached developmental milestones at his own pace, I reassured myself that he was progressing normally. A late roll-over, delayed crawling, postponed walking—each step, I believed, was just part of his unique journey.
As time passed, my optimism waned. He wasn’t talking at one, and the well-intentioned reassurances from others echoed in my mind: “He’ll catch up, don’t worry.” I wish I had trusted my instincts sooner. Finally, at 12 months, I decided to share my concerns with the doctor, hoping for a comforting dismissal. Instead, at 15 months, my son received an autism diagnosis.
Shock consumed me. How could this be possible? Denial lingered briefly, but I knew it was time to accept the truth and take action for my son’s well-being. The road ahead was uncertain, but the quicker I embraced the diagnosis, the sooner I could provide him with the support he needed.
Determined, I delved into every available resource to help him. Acceptance became my compass, guiding me towards interventions, therapies, and a network of support. With time, my son, now six, is not just progressing but thriving. He’s a testament to resilience and the power of early intervention. He now speaks 40 words and is a bundle of affection—a love bug in every sense. Looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing about him; he’s perfect just the way he is