It’s been a year since B was officially identified as being on the autism spectrum.
It’s been such a full year and it’s been so hands-on and taking action since then, that I haven’t really stopped to reflect on it.

When you become a parent, you want to prepare your children for life, be there for them, show them things, share your experience, teach them what you know. Funny thing is, in the middle of all we’ve done together this past year, B has been the one teaching me. I’ve realised it the way Daniel-san realised Mr. Miyagi’s “wax on, wax off” tasks were really lessons.

When I was pregnant, people often asked me what I would like B to be like, what talents would I like him to have, what things I’d like him to like. I always told them that I didn’t want to shape my child to my image, I wanted to discover him as he came. I wanted to discover his appearance, his voice, his talents, the things he liked in whatever way they would come.

I always say the Universe has a great sense of humour and in my case, he had fun putting me to the test on this one. Which brings me to:

Lesson number one - All rules are out the window.

Of course I accept B as he is and love discovering new things about him everyday. What is important to say, and I’m not ashamed to say it, is that it took a boat-rocking period to realise that anything I experienced from having a niece, godson or any other close children would be completely deconstructed. The same rules don’t apply here and it’s a whole different reality.

I was “set” to act and react in a certain way that doesn’t make sense with a neurodivergent child. Is that really an issue? In the beginning, lost and programmed as I was, yes, it was a struggle. I was clueless, this was uncharted territory. I didn’t think I would be capable of providing what my son needed. Now? Not so much. As soon as I let go of what I knew as “normal” and took in this reality as the new standard, I was able to navigate it.

That took me to:

Lesson number two – you become a vehicle of change and education.

Growing up I would often hear “don’t do scenes in public”, or “everyone’s staring at you” or “what will people think?”. Well, when you have to deal with a meltdown in a café of shop or any public space, you quickly learn to strip away those thoughts and not only not care what people think - they don’t know your situation and if they judge you, that’s their own problem – but also to be a force of education and change. You don’t really need to justify yourself, but if people are aware that an autistic child is uncomfortable in certain situations and that it’s natural to have a meltdown or not to act as other children, or not to answer or smile at them, then maybe it would become “normal” and accepted as it is, without the stares and the judgement.

Lesson number three – You work through your own issues

I didn’t grow up with a lot of “well done!” or “that’s great!” or “congratulations!”, but rather with “Oh good. But I know you can do better”. Doing my best was seen a bit like my obligation, so pushing me to always do better was my family’s view on showing their support, not so much verbalising encouragement for each achievement. So naturally I became an adult who rarely acknowledges her own worth, feels odd accepting compliments and silly when cheering simple achievements.

Guess what I had to start doing?

One of the things that makes B happy and open to learning is cheering him on when he achieves something. He even says it automatically now when doing tasks, it’s so cute.

Every task or action he does is followed by my cheers. I became a person who naturally goes “well done!” and “that’s great!” with everything he does. It no longer feels odd. It feels natural. I love doing it. Another thing is verbalising feelings. Feelings in my family were shown, but never said out loud. I never struggled with it in my own relationships, but doing it with B represents the breaking of a cycle in the family. I say “I love you” to B all the time. I also have to show him what feelings like anger, sadness, frustration mean, so I have to be aware of them and verbalise them.

Lesson number four – You cherish the smallest thing like a treasure

B was non-verbal, then slowly began to use words and now does a few very simple sentences. He started hugging not that long ago, but still doesn’t do kisses. It was always difficult to get him to do something we asked or to get his attention.

So now when he calls me “mamã” or “maman” (his father’s French), when he asks me to do a particular animal sound and then laughs his head off because he finds it funny, when he wakes up and snuggles against me or comes over to hug me during the day, when he shows a new skill, completes new tasks, reacts to something I ask, I treasure those moments in a way I would never believe possible.

They’re so simple, but enormous at the same time. They allow me to be a part of his world and to share it with him, and that means everything.

There are other lessons – a structure to doing things, being organised, finishing started activities before moving on to new ones – so many ongoing lessons. And so many still to come.

I guess our children are the real Jedi. We’re just young Padawans.