What started as an effort to advocate for ALL the kids in the class somehow turned into social exile. It was a reminder of how delicate school politics can be and how quickly alliances can shift.

Through this journey, I’ve realized that there are two kinds of people in the world: those who truly accept and include others and those who like the idea of inclusion but draw the line when it inconveniences them.

Another Take on Getting a Diagnosis

When Blake was diagnosed with autism, I thought it would be a turning point. I imagined friends and family gaining a deeper understanding and acceptance, maybe even reflecting on how they might have misjudged him in the past.

But the reality was very different.

Watching friends take their neurotypical children to sports tournaments, music lessons, and summer camps can stir up a complicated mix of emotions. Jealousy sneaks in, even when you don’t want it to. You feel happy for your friends and their children, but there’s also a pang in your heart, a quiet voice that asks, Why not my child?

Fear, I’ve realized, often comes disguised as love. I want the best for my son, but that doesn’t mean I have to be consumed by what-ifs. Acknowledging that fear is my limiting belief—one that narrows my vision and clouds my hope—has been the first step in loosening its grip.

What if, after all the assessments and meetings, they tell me my child just has bad behavior? Or that it’s simply an emotional issue, and there’s nothing more they can do?

The joy of watching the kids turned to worry as I scanned the crowd, only to realize he wasn’t there. My mind raced, fearing he had wandered off, as he's known to elope when he’s overwhelmed.

Blake started swimming when he was just eight months old, and now, at 5 1/2, we still go every week. It’s not because he loves it—far from it! He actually doesn’t enjoy going most of the time. But swim class has become a powerful lesson in endurance, grit, and acceptance.

Today, I witnessed something astonishing that underscored the challenges children with additional needs face in our school system.

When my husband and I arrived, we found our son, Blake, standing in his classroom, wide-eyed and with his tongue hanging out—the environment in disarray.

When I fully accept Blake for who he is, things tend to go smoothly. But when I’m stressed, wanting him to slow down or be less reactive, I start seeing his behavior through a lens of frustration…