Dyslexia

We are all living in a world full of challenges, chaos and conspiracy theories that can keep us teetering between laughing and crying (hello flat-earthers). That kind of heaviness might weigh us down, maybe even leave us feeling helpless. When I think about what I can do to help relieve some of this pressure, I come back to the idea that, while I may not be able to heal the whole world, I can make improvements in my own little corner. My hope is that – just as ripples on a pond move ever outward – my positivity can also extend far beyond its starting point.

Ah, Mother’s Day! Breakfast in bed, summer basil planted in the garden, peace and good will among all siblings… well, maybe. Mother’s Day invokes so many memories, sometimes I honestly get teary recounting the acts of love. And yet, motherhood for those of us raising neurodiverse children can be a different – and often difficult – path to travel. In appreciation of Sunday’s upcoming holiday, I offer these thoughts on raising our very special children.

In 1988, United Artists released the Academy Award winning movie Rain Man, introducing autism to the general public and to me. Like many other movie goers, I didn’t quite understand the condition back then – what it was and how it affected people. Rain Man was my debut, and it left me curious to know more. In fact, the movie, which received both applause for its depiction of autism as well as criticism for stereotyping, left many people interested. In response, funding for autism research increased in the 1990’s significantly. Fast forward to April 2025 and the current Secretary of Health and Human Services’ claim that by September 2025 – yes, that’s right, just five months from now – he would have the answer to what causes autism. And, he said, “we'll be able to eliminate those exposures,” assuming the science would back his claims that environmental toxins cause autism.

As we approach the end of April and Autism Awareness Month, let’s talk about autism in all its forms. And really, autism -- as it is defined today -- shows itself in many, many ways. Three of my four sons fit somewhere on the autism spectrum, from mildly to moderately affected. They are lucky in many ways, not least of which is growing up at a time when there is much more understanding and acceptance about how differently some people interact with the world around them.

I’m a patient person by nature. I don’t mind repeating myself, the incessant patter of noisy kids doesn’t bother me, and I am willing to put less-important goals on the backburner while I focus on more pressing needs. But let’s be real, sometimes our kids’ actions can test the very best of us.

When my boys were young, life was hectic. I mean up-in-the-middle-of-the-night, temper-tantrum, when-do-I-get-to-shower? kind of hectic. With four young boys, all falling under the neurodiverse umbrella, I was overtired, overwhelmed and over-extended. But I had some non-negotiables: I found time almost every day to exercise and spend time outdoors – for me, I knew I needed these things to stay mentally fit. I walked instead of driving to appointments that were close by, I used my lunch hour to fit in a run, and I took my boys on “adventure walks” on vacation days. My desire to stay active and feel the sun on my face isn’t for everyone, but the need to prioritize particular activities that help us stay whole when we are caring for others is universal.

Last week, on Friday, March 21, 2025, President Trump announced that the federal Department of Education would no longer supervise the special needs programs provided primarily through I.D.E.A. since 1975. Issues on the national stage get personal very quickly when they affect our families.

When my youngest son was in preschool, he was the boldest kid on the playground. He lost recess privileges because he wouldn’t abide by the school’s safety rules (Who says he’s not allowed to climb to the top of the jungle gym… and maybe jump off?). He happily ran to greet kids on the street he recognized from the baseball diamond or the soccer field, and he was never intimidated by the big kids on the bus. But something changed when he was in grade school.

When our kids are young, it is easy to -- even expected -- that we structure their lives from breakfast to bedtime. As they grow, however, we are meant to release the reins so our children can learn to make their own choices and live with their decisions – good and bad. But what happens when our children are on a different developmental timeline?