On the anniversary of our diagnosis…

It has been 4 years. Four years since I sat in a room with a developmental pediatrician for hours talking about my son, showing videos, answering questions, managing his anxiety as I could tell he wanted to leave the room. I sat there praying we were wrong. Praying she would look at us and say, “it’s not autism.” But instead, she smiled… and told us our son was autistic. I smiled back. With a shaking hand I took her diagnosis letter, picked up my 2-year-old son, and left the office.

In some ways it feels like yesterday. I remember every step out of that office. I remember fighting back the tears because I didn’t want my sweet boy to see me cry. I remember leaving and sending a photo of the letter to my family and not knowing what else to say except, “we were right.” I don’t remember how they responded. I remember I sat in bed and cried myself to sleep. I know I wrote a prayer in my journal. I know I prayed aloud. My written prayers were nice, but in my vocal prayers, I was angry. I screamed and cried and asked God why us? Why our boy? I cried so long and so hard that I finally fell asleep. I don’t remember waking up. I don’t remember the next day, or the day after that. Honestly, that entire year post-diagnosis is a complete blur.

During that first few months, I was mad. I sat back and watched friends become pregnant with their second child, and their first borns hitting all the milestones with flying colors. I watched as they vacationed. I watched as they flourished. I was an angry hermit living a life full of jealousy of others. But I also spent that year learning. Learning that our life may look differently, but it’s not any less beautiful. Learning that no one would fight for my child like his mom and dad and learning that autism was not a bad word. I also learned that the world has a WAYS to go when it comes to inclusion.

I feel like I finally “woke up” a year later when I shared our story. I waited a full 365 days before I told some of our closest friends and family that Channing was autistic. I was not embarrassed. I needed to be knowledgable and prepared. I needed to be confident. I needed to no longer be so angry I could snap at any moment. And that took time for me. It took time for my husband and I to digest and shift our focus from what we had imagined, to the life we were given.

Once I shared, a weight was lifted. I was no longer hiding or pretending to live a life we weren’t living. I shared and continue to share because I want others to know that there is so much beauty in being different. There’s beauty in being who you truly are and there’s beauty in autism. I didn’t know any one with autism before my son was diagnosed. I always thought of “Rain Man” and the standard stereotypes of autistic individuals. But it’s not that… it’s quirky and unique, it’s happy and joyful, it’s moments of immense pride that come from achieving a goal that you never imagined possible. It makes you strong, it makes you capable, it makes you appreciative of the smallest things the world has to offer. It makes my son who he is and it makes me who I am.

And four years later, here we are. An autism family (I don’t care if you like that term or not — it’s us) ready to share our journey with the world in hopes to make at least one person feel seen, heard, and validated. So happy 4 years to us. We’ve come so far and I can’t wait to see what the next 4 years brings.