A man I was recently talking to – who had never even met my son – asked me in complete seriousness if I had an insurance policy on Na in case he “messed anything up in public.”
Let that sink in.
He wasn’t asking about Na’s favorite food. He wasn’t curious about his interests, his personality, what makes him laugh. He wanted to know if I had financial protection against my child existing in the world.
I wish I could say that was the worst thing anyone has ever said to me as an autism mom.
It wasn’t. Not even close.
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There’s real advice at the end of this post, I promise. But before I take the high road, let me show you the detours – courtesy of the rude and uninformed.
The professional who asked if we’d had his hearing checked.
This wasn’t even a conversation. It was a text. Mid-morning. “Have you had his hearing checked?” Then later, she criticized his tone. So he can’t hear, but also you have a problem with how he sounds? Make it make sense.
The woman at a social gathering.
She said it matter-of-factly, like she was delivering helpful information: “They want you, Heather. But not Na.”
I still don’t know who “they” are. I didn’t ask. I didn’t need to.
I told her what I’d tell anyone: We’re a package deal. I want nothing to do with anyone who looks at my child like a problem to be dealt with. I do not align with such people. I never will.
The school administrator who suggested I put him in a diaper.
At a meeting. In front of other people. About my son who is fully capable of using the bathroom – with support, patience, and dignity.
No.
The ice cream shop.
Na needed to use the restroom. I politely explained he has autism and we were working on potty training. The employee – repping trucker hat day hard – looked at us like drunk tourists causing problems and directed us to walk across the street to find a bathroom.
I don’t know if it was the hat or the complete lack of empathy. Maybe she was having a bad day. Maybe no one ever taught her better. But telling Na no when a bathroom is involved is like telling a hurricane to wait outside.
We left. I didn’t buy ice cream. And I never went back.
Every single look we get when he comes into the bathroom with me in public.
Yes, he comes with me. Every time. My name is Heather. I hydrate. I always have to pee. And I’m not leaving my child outside a public restroom so strangers feel more comfortable.
You can look. I’ll smile back.
Why I Still Take Him Out Anyway
Here’s what the research says: 40% of autism parents isolate themselves because of their child’s behaviors. Almost 80% say stigma has been difficult in their lives. And 79% of autistic people and their families experience social isolation due to misconceptions.
I get it. I really do.
It would be easier to stay home. To avoid the looks. To skip the bathroom battles and the meltdowns in public and the comments from people who have no idea what they’re talking about.
But here’s the thing: isolation doesn’t protect our kids. It shrinks their world.
Research shows that autistic children who participate in community activities experience better social skills, more confidence, and improved emotional health. Being part of their community supports their happiness, their sense of belonging, and their quality of life.
When we stay home to avoid judgment, we’re not keeping them safe – we’re keeping them hidden. And they deserve to exist in the world just as much as anyone else.
So yes, it’s hard. Yes, people will stare. Yes, someone might say something ignorant.
But I refuse to let the world’s discomfort become my son’s cage.
Here’s what people don’t see:
In 2021, I moved to Florida. Not long after, I went through a surprise divorce. I was terrified. I doubted my ability to take Na to the beach alone – to do any of this alone. I was facing everything with a smile while falling apart inside.
I didn’t know if I could handle the meltdowns without backup. The looks. The comments. The judgment. The running – because yes, we have a runner.
But I did it anyway.
I took him to the beach. I took him to the store. I took him to restaurants and parks and ice cream shops that didn’t deserve our business.
I kept going – not because it was easy, but because he deserves to exist in the world just as much as anyone else.
So no. I don’t have an insurance policy on my autistic child.
I have something better.
I have the hard-earned belief that we belong anywhere we want to go. I have the audacity to take up space. And I have zero interest in shrinking my son’s world to make ignorant people comfortable.
We’re a package deal.
And we’re still going out.
To the autism parents reading this:
Take your kid out. Let them be loud. Let them stim. Let them exist.
You don’t owe anyone an apology for your child. You don’t owe explanations to strangers. You don’t have to make yourself small so the world feels less inconvenienced.
You are not a burden. Your child is not a burden.
Go to the beach. Go to the store. Go to the bathroom together if you need to.
And if someone has a problem with it – that’s their problem. Not yours.
Your turn: What’s the worst thing someone has said to you as an autism parent? Drop it in the comments. Let’s talk about it. You’re not alone.
If you liked this post, you may also like these articles.
25 Things I Would Rather Do Than Go To An IEP Meeting
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50 Tools Every Autism Mom Needs in Her Calm Down Kit
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