My Son's Autism is an Invisible Disability
My son’s autism is invisible. When I first expressed my concern that Henry was two and had only spoken two words and had stopped saying them months ago, our pediatrician told me Henry looked just fine to him. Yes. A pediatrician. While it’s frightening that a medical professional, one I love and respect, could not see past the invisibility of my son’s disability, I can’t fully blame him. This is human nature. For many of us, seeing means believing. And not seeing, not knowing, terrifies us. We can find the worst parts of ourselves when we are faced with the unknown. I am guilty of the same well-intentioned, yet harmful misconceptions.
Before my son was diagnosed, when I first moved into my current home, there was a man who walked by my house, a lot. Back and forth, he walked past my house. My instinct was to lock my doors. Weeks passed and I began to see the man walking everywhere, all around town. I remained cautious. A few months later, Henry received his diagnosis, and I began to learn all about autism spectrum disorder.
One day, as I drove down my street and passed the man pacing my block, it dawned on me. Maybe he is autistic. Maybe his repetitive behavior that soothes him is walking. What if one day Henry finds comfort in long walks? What if someone sees him, misunderstands his behaviors and judges him? What if they are afraid of him? I began to look on this man with compassion; I began to look upon him with the same kindness that I can only pray that others will bestow upon my son. I haven’t seen the scary man surveying my neighborhood in a long time. However, I do see a man who is minding his own business, and enjoys long walks around my neighborhood, quite often.
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