Our family’s journey of therapy acceptance and understanding

When my daughter was first diagnosed with autism, my husband and I felt immense relief. She wasn’t a bad kid. We weren’t bad parents. She was just Autistic, and not a badly-behaved neurotypical child.  

After my relief faded,  I was then left with worst-case scenarios. Being neurodivergent myself, I knew first-hand how painful growing up could be without an early diagnosis and support. What if I didn’t give my daughter the right kind of intervention? Would she get the love she deserves and be surrounded by people who are kind and compassionate?  What if this neurotypically-wired world would dim her beautiful inner light? I couldn’t let any of the above happen. 

I told my daughter’s then-preschool principal about her autism diagnosis which helped to explain my daughter’s rigidity, anxiety and demand avoidance. She was a very kind lady, and her first question was, “What therapies are you sending her to?”. 

My immediate response was, “Play therapy and occupational therapy”. She nodded in approval, and I felt that warm glow of motherly pride. But, I also felt a sense of discomfort. That discomfort, I later realised, was the default assumption that my Autistic daughter was defective and needed therapy to ‘fix her’.  

I was on a mission to get her into the best therapies I could afford. I had very lofty goals, but the reality proved to be a very hit-and-miss experience. On the recommendation of my speech therapist friend, I hired an occupational therapist to come to our house in the hopes that she could help my daughter with her sensory struggles. After observing how unhappy my daughter was with the sessions, we let the occupational therapist go. 

Over time, I learned that the therapists who accepted and supported my daughter’s neurotype were a much better fit for her. Any therapist who suggested my daughter mask and hide her Autistic traits was not suitable. After this lightbulb moment, I took my time to interview therapists before introducing them to my daughter. When I interviewed a play therapist and shared my concerns, she immediately put me at ease. I knew that my daughter would be safe with her. Even though it was quite a long drive to get to her centre, it was worth it.  

It wasn’t easy though, especially being the one in charge of driving my daughter to her therapy appointments. My youngest daughter, who was neurotypical, felt like she was missing out on special time with her Mama.  She wasn’t to know that I was driving myself to literal exhaustion. My spoons were running low. I had to juggle my own chronic pain flare-ups, caring for my younger daughter, and trying to get my part-time work hours done too. 

 When my Autistic daughter was younger, I was her preferred parent, and I had to literally be bedridden from the cold for her to agree to her father taking her to therapy. Despite my exhaustion, I pushed myself to keep going. After almost a year and a half of play therapy, her therapist gently told me that it was time for her last session. She had learned so much and was so much better at tolerating frustration. I couldn’t believe it and felt so nervous about letting go. 

Eventually, my daughter’s developmental paediatrician said it was okay to stop her occupational therapy sessions too. By this stage, my daughter was enjoying her weekly gymnastic sessions. Her core strength was improving, and so was her balance and confidence. It was a relief to let go of her occupational therapy too. My biggest relief was when I could let go of the external pressure that I had internalised around therapy for my Autistic daughter. My mother-in-law was raised in a very ableist generation and didn’t view autism as a different neurotype that deserved acceptance and support. She had a lot of fears for my daughter, and I had unwittingly absorbed them. When I could separate her fears from mine, I could then see my daughter through new eyes. I finally could see her as a wonderful, loyal and brilliant little girl with a bright future. She is enough, as she is, and always will be.  
 
I’ve been parenting my Autistic daughter for almost a decade now. Being her mother has been the most transformative experience of my adult life. I’ve also realised that it’s okay for me to slow down and just rest with her. It’s okay to enjoy watching her sketch anime characters. It’s okay to bake together and watch her favourite cartoons with her. I recently spoke to a mother of an Autistic boy who spends thousands every month on therapy for him. I hope that one day, she’ll feel relaxed enough to slowly let go, and trust in herself and her son.

This story was written anonymously by an Autistic parent. We have chosen not to disclose their identity for privacy reasons, but all the details included in this story are true and based on their real-life experience. This article represents the perspective and opinions of the individual author.