OCD

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?

When my boys were younger, our local school district spent time and money on programs about bullying – cyber and IRL – and how parents could support their children who were victims of bullying. We heard from psychologists, school administrators, and other child professionals. There was much conversation about how to help our kids if they were being bullied (“Stand up for yourself!” “Just ignore it!”), but these panels and conversations did not address a possible result of bullying: trauma. And they didn’t address how bullying and other types of trauma can affect the neurodiverse population in particular.

On the heels of Valentines Day, I have been thinking about how we show our children love. Listening, I believe is the surest way to create an atmosphere where tenderness, respect and caring can thrive. To that end, I offer four lessons I have learned listening to my wonderful, noisy, neurodiverse sons.

Adaptive technology in the classroom and at home offer help in myriad situations, and contrary to some assumptions, they are not a crutch. Not only do they not get in the way of our children progressing, but they actually can also lead to success and growth where our kids would otherwise be hampered by circumstances beyond their control.