Finding Acceptance in Divergent Paths of Parenthood
My elder daughter was diagnosed with autism and ADHD at the age of 5. School was, for the first year especially, traumatic both for me as a parent, and for my daughter. My daughter and I were the people other children and parents seemed to stare at with judgmental glares. As many other parents with children on the spectrum will attest, you can feel like the main attraction at school functions, when often all you want to do is blend into the background.
When my younger daughter was born, I did consider the possibility that she too could be on the spectrum-after all statistics indicate that children with an autistic sibling are 20% more likely to be autistic themselves compared to children who have neurotypical siblings. However, everything seemed to run like clockwork with my younger child. She walked at 1 year, and her first word was around 10 months. The speech especially came as a huge relief: I had spent hours obsessively googling delayed speech when my elder daughter didn’t talk until she was 3 years old.
Everything else seemed to follow the “cookie-cutter” timeline of childhood with my younger daughter too. She has walked confidently into nursery since she was 3 years old, whereas my 8-year-old still sometimes finds herself in tears when going to school. My first parent’s evening for my younger daughter lasted 10 minutes, with the teacher advising that she was working within the parameters of her age group in every way.
My elder daughter is in mainstream school but is supported by a robust Special Educational Needs Coordinator and has one-to-one intervention throughout the day. Before she was diagnosed and had intervention, we were speaking to her teacher daily due to her lashing out at classmates, something we later realized was a result of sensory overload. Since one-to-one support has been implemented, she no longer has these problems, but I still remember the feeling of trepidation I used to have when picking her up from school.
Her reading and math have improved immensely in the last year, but she is still working slightly below her chronological age. Writing is her main academic area of struggle though, as she finds it hard to use the correct pencil grip- unlike her sister who mastered the art at the tender age of 3.
It can sometimes feel like I am two separate people in the eyes of fellow parents at their school. The ‘lucky’ parent of the social butterfly who never cries when I am with the parents of my younger daughter’s classmates, and the recipient of forced smiles when my elder daughter has a meltdown at the school gates or the local shop. Initially, this disparity troubled me. I love both my daughters, and I am proud of them equally so I felt a sense of guilt when, for example, my younger daughter’s teacher remarked how well she could hold a pencil, and I felt a sense of vindication.
There is a child on the spectrum in my daughter’s dance class whose mother is often kept behind by the teacher to have a “word”. I sometimes find myself watching her like other parents used to watch me when I had to speak to my elder daughter’s teacher. I don’t watch this parent with judgment, but with admiration, as she confidently communicates with her child and the teacher. It has dawned on me that perhaps the other parents in my elder daughter’s class weren’t looking at me with disdain during her first year at the school but with regard.
While there is still a long way to go, I have personally noticed that society in recent years has become more accepting of neurodivergence, and I think that children of my daughter’s age are a lot kinder than my peers were. Despite my elder daughter’s social challenges, she has never been bullied. She has even made a best friend in the past year- something that I am perhaps happier about than any of her academic achievements.
I am an only child, and when I had my elder daughter, I made a conscious decision to have another child, with one of the reasons being that it would provide my daughter with a childhood ally that I never had. Therefore, I do feel a fleeting sense of sadness from time to time, when it seems as though they are on vastly different journeys. I have to remind myself that even two neurotypical siblings can have divergent relationships, and it is my job as their parent to create opportunities for them to foster a strong sibling bond, through dialogue, communication, and mutual understanding.
My oldest daughter loves Roblox which, while a common hobby for children her age, she seems to find more immersive than her peers. If left alone to play it, she could easily go the whole day without talking to another person. Therefore, I ensure that I provide alternatives for her and her sister to enjoy together: day trips out, visiting family, and doing arts and crafts, for example. I take such joy in forging these childhood memories with them and appreciating and enjoying every element of their unique personalities.
Watching my older daughter stim with excitement fills my heart with such pride; her autism is an intrinsic part of who she is, and without it, she wouldn’t be her. My younger daughter’s stoic resilience also fills me with joy-she is more understated than her sister and fits the mold of a typical child of her age more, but she is just as unique.
As time passes, they both surprise me more and more. They attend dance lessons every weekend, and I was shocked when it was my older daughter who confidently paraded on stage while my younger daughter, who so confidently goes to nursery, told me she didn’t want to continue the class.
The disparity between parenting my eldest and youngest child no longer troubles me. I have instead found acceptance and even a sense of gratitude for the different journeys of parenting I have been lucky enough to experience.
I am so happy that my elder daughter has a close friend, even if she sometimes struggles to communicate on a wider basis. When we walk home together, and she tells me about something funny her friend has done that day, I ensure I take a minute to appreciate the bond she is building. She still has meltdowns occasionally, and I can’t say that they are enjoyable-especially when they happen in public, but I have stopped worrying about what other people are thinking and focus entirely on helping my daughter deal with her emotions at that moment.
I am equally happy and proud of my younger daughter and acknowledge that despite not being on the spectrum, she too is a child who needs just as much support as her sister and shouldn’t have to live up to any expectations.
Parenting is the most challenging journey I have ever been on, and I am learning more each day, from both of my children. They have each taught me different lessons, but the most important is one that both girls have imparted: that of acceptance, for parenting in all of its forms.
