One year ago, my son was diagnosed with autism.
It was confirmation to the anxieties I already had, and honestly, I felt relieved — finally, there was an answer for his regression.

Before I took him to the doctor, let me tell you what I noticed. And now, with more knowledge, what I might’ve missed. Keep in mind: every child is different. Some parents may relate to what I saw, while others may have had totally different experiences.

Since he was little, my son would shake his head a lot, flap his arms, run on his tippy toes, and laugh in his sleep. He couldn’t climb things. He couldn’t feed himself with a spoon. And he didn’t point — to this day, he still doesn’t. He also didn’t socialize in the typical way, and that’s something I missed.

I take him everywhere. He’s the happiest kid I know (unless he’s hungry or tired — then, watch out!). In a crowd, he’d smile and laugh, and I thought he was interacting. But he wasn’t — he was in his own world. He didn’t make eye contact or respond to people.

Though I didn’t know it then, the signs were there. But what finally led me to seek a diagnosis was when he stopped singing songs and saying words. He went back to babbling.

At the time, it was concerning. All I wanted was to find answers so I could get him the support he needed. People ask me if I was scared or sad when I found out he had autism. My answer?
Not. At. All.
What I was worried about was how quickly I could get him the help he deserved. I’d heard the horror stories — waitlists for months, even years. I didn’t want that for my child.

Once I started doing my research and making calls, the doors started to open. He started ABA therapy three weeks after his diagnosis, and speech therapy followed soon after. My biggest goal is that one day, my son will be able to advocate for himself — and hey, maybe get potty trained soon too (haha).

Through this process, I’ve also learned a lot about myself.
When I’m determined, I can succeed.
When I need to, I become momma bear.
But I also have to remind myself not to compare. Not my life. Not my child. Not our path. Especially when it comes to families with neurotypical children.

My son will grow at his own pace. And progress is what matters.

At the end of the day, I choose to hope for the best and visualize the best — because my anxiety, if I let it, could hold both of us back.

I’m sharing this because no two journeys are the same — and that’s okay.
But hearing someone else’s story can be the thing that helps you feel seen.
And above all, I want you to know: you are not alone.