The other day, while taking my son for his quarterly check-up at Baragwanath Hospital, I witnessed an encounter that took me back to some of the most challenging moments of my journey as an autism mom. Sitting in the waiting area, I observed a young mom enter with her visibly autistic and non-speaking daughter, who was immediately restless. The child (aged around 4 or 5) grew increasingly agitated, demanding to look inside her mother’s handbag and when she didn’t get her way, she reacted with aggression – throwing herself on the floor and hitting her mother in frustration.
What struck me the most was not the child’s behavior, but the mother’s reaction. Although she restrained herself, she was seething with internalized rage. I observed the manner in which she gripped her daughter, the tightness in her posture and lips pressed together in silent fury – It was clear that she felt trapped and unable to express her frustration openly because of the watchful eyes around her. The tension was palpable, not just between mother and child, but throughout the room. Some people voiced their opinions loudly, telling the mother to either leave the child alone or get her something to eat. But this young mom was not having it. She was visibly exhausted – likely worn down by the ordeal of public transport and the long walk to the Child Psyche Unit with an irritable toddler in tow.
Yet, in that moment, she seemed determined to match her daughter’s escalating energy.
I couldn’t shake the feeling this incident left me with. Days later, I found myself still reflecting on it and I realized the reason it struck me so deeply is because, once upon a time, I was that mother.
I remember feeling the same rage, the same exhaustion, the same….helplessness! There was a time when making everyone around me comfortable took precedence over my son’s meltdown. I wanted so desperately for others to see me as a competent, capable mother that I would often resort to physical punishment when my son wouldn’t cooperate. However, as a true Rebel, my son fought back, and this only fueled my anger further. It was a vicious cycle, playing out again and again, leaving both of us emotionally drained and utterly miserable.
During those dark days, I carried a deep anger inside. I was hard and closed off to the world, harbouring deep resentment towards my son. Those were the days when I really hated my own child. I remember praying to God, pleading for an end to the suffering, even asking for either my life or his to be taken because I saw no other way out.
It would take years and years of struggle, reflection and inner work for me to finally wake up to the truth that my son was not a “naughty” child. Like any young boy, he had his moments of mischief, but beyond that, he was simply trying to communicate. What I had labelled as defiance and misbehavior was actually his way of expressing his inner fears and frustrations of a world that seemed to constantly be at war with him. All he really wanted in those moments was his mother – not the disciplinarian, not the punisher, but the loving, nurturing figure who could offer him safety and comfort.
It also took time for me to fully understand what acceptance on this journey truly means. Acknowledging a diagnosis and exploring the various intervention models is just the beginning, because full acceptance of your child requires so much more. It involves embracing their challenges, being empathetic to their struggles, and learning how to model compassion and understanding to others. It is about ensuring that your child is seen, heard and respected in every situation, and that they feel safe in their connection with you.
I learnt that our children, especially those on the autism spectrum, are deeply interconnected with us as their parents. They rely on us to understand and navigate their unique needs, and when we fail to meet them with understanding, they push harder. This is not defiance – it is their way of teaching us, guiding us through the lessons we need to learn on this journey. The more we resist, the more we delay both theirs and our own healing and growth.
The truth is, autism is a journey, and it comes with many lessons along the way – some hard, some frustrating and some seemingly impossible to overcome – but every single one of them essential to the mission at hand.
For me, the lesson was clear: empathy, patience and love are far more powerful tools than aggression ever was.