A Touch (Or a Truckload) of the ‘Tism

I knew at some point I’d write a mostly serious post. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon—or for it to be about autism.

But first, a word from our sponsors…

Please understand: this post is about my experiences, feelings, and opinions on autism. I’d love to hear yours, too. I don’t expect everyone to agree with me, but I do expect respect and kindness. Thank you.

And now, on with the show.

Autism can be a hot-button issue, but I’m asking you to read with an open mind. My experience is deeply personal. I have a child with autism. Honestly, I probably have two children with autism. And I have a husband with autism.

Some days, that’s a lot of autism—especially in a very small house.

I have two biological adult children, and one soon-to-be adopted adult child.

My daughter, Mae, was never tested for autism. My son, Nick, was tested three times but never formally diagnosed—he had too many tricks that masked his autism.

Autism presents differently in girls than in boys. For Nick, it caused challenges at school. For Mae, it turned her into the “perfect” student.

Mae will tell you, “We have a touch of the ’tism.” I’m pretty sure we have a whole dump truck full! When my kids were small, I used to joke with my mum that research scientists would one day show up at our door and tell me we were the missing link to autism. And of course, offer me a boatload of money.

So yeah, we have a touch of the ’tism.

But I don’t want to talk about how autism has impacted my life… well, at least not today.

Today is about the recent “findings” that acetaminophen has been linked to a rise in autism.

Is it possible that acetaminophen causes autism? Sure. But it’s also possible that pregnant women showering on Tuesdays causes autism.

I’m worn out by the whole “What causes autism?” conversation. It feels like there’s this never-ending push to find the cause and, eventually, the cure. And honestly? I’m over it.

Why does autism even need a cure? We’ve known the cause of Down syndrome since 1959, but you don’t see campaigns rallying for a cure.

Now, some people might assume I feel this way because my autistic loved ones don’t need “substantial” support. But that’s not the point. The same is true for Down syndrome—some people need a lot of support, and others don’t. And still, we aren’t trying to cure them.

And if I find this whole cure-for-autism movement tiresome, how do you think autistic people feel? I can’t imagine the “find a cause, find a cure” campaign makes them feel warm and fuzzy. Or accepted. Or even wanted.

What are we missing out on when all we focus on is the diagnosis? If all we see is “autism,” are we even seeing the person? Or are we just seeing a checklist of undesirable traits?

I can’t tell you how many times people have told me they’re sorry Nick has autism. (I’m using Nick as the example here because his symptoms are the most “classically autistic.”) My response is always the same: “Why? I’m not.”

And I’m really not sorry.

Has autism brought incredibly difficult days? Absolutely. Kindergarten was so brutal for Nick that I cried every single day. Every. Single. Day. And if it was that hard for me, I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for him.

But autism has also brought joy. My kids are quirky, hilarious, and out-of-the-box thinkers. They challenge me, surprise me, and make me laugh every single day.

So no, I don’t want a cure. What I want is for the world to see my kids—and all autistic people—for who they are, not just for a list of diagnostic criteria. What I want is acceptance, support, and a little more compassion.

Because autism isn’t the end of the story. For us, it’s just part of the story.

Author’s note: I used Down syndrome here as a comparison point only. I do not believe people with Down syndrome need a cure.