It’s Not as If

It’s not as if I don’t want to attend reunions.
But my son gets overwhelmed by unfamiliar faces and large crowds.
The loud laughter. The awkward pinching of the cheek.
The sensory overload is suffocating.

It’s not as if I don’t want to travel like other families.
But I worry about triggers on a plane during a long-haul flight.
The stares are piercing. The rolling eyes are unkind.
Always bracing for what might happen.

It’s not as if I don’t want to join family day at school.
But my son’s motor skills are not quite there yet.
He tries eagerly to catch up. But I watch him cry out of frustration.
Bouncing back can take hours—time that we don’t have the luxury of.

It’s not as if I don’t want to join your daughter’s 7th birthday party.
But I worry he might ruin the fun.
The unfamiliar games. The shared friendships he doesn’t have.
Reading the room is foreign to him.

It’s not as if I want him on his screen for hours.
But house rules differ for us.
The odd looks from strangers. The calm the tablet brings.
The few minutes of peace just to finish a meal are a win.

It’s not as if I don’t want to go to church.
But I worry his stimming could disrupt others.
The “Sshhhh.” The “Control your child.”
The feeling that perhaps we were never welcome there.

It’s not as if I don’t want to enroll him in extracurricular activities.
But his social stamina is limited.
The missed opportunities. The envy I sometimes feel.
The reality that he might never get to experience the world that way.

It’s not as if I don’t want to shield my other children from his meltdowns.
But there is nowhere else to go.
The screams. The confusion in their eyes.
The helplessness I feel when I can’t console them.

It’s not as if I don’t want him to do things on his own.
But simple tasks don’t always come easily.
Tying his own shoes often leads to drama.
The “I can’t remember how.”
The fear of whether he’ll ever be independent.

I long for the day when the tides turn. When society is patient and kind to families like mine.

What if the world met him halfway?

A world where a parent is met with empathy.
Where nobody cares about the tablet at the restaurant.
Where the family photo makes room for a child who can’t stand still.
Where your child approaches mine with ease at the playground.

Until then, I will keep showing up. I choose him.

About the Writer

Nikki is a mother to a curious and creative 10-year-old son with autism who loves animating and editing, Pokémon, puppeteering, history, math, and his turtle named Torty. It’s Not as If draws from their family’s lived experiences—the everyday joys, adjustments, and realities of raising a child with autism in a world that is still learning how to meet him halfway.