we have a secret.

Dear Arlie,

Over the past five months, You and I have both gone on a journey of sorts. Well, me more than you. You have just been your yellow rain boot loving self. And now I feel the time is right to share our story. Since you are two, and your vocabulary is very limited to all things cookies, Daniel Tiger, and fruit snacks, I figured I’d take the reins.

I am autistic. You are autistic as well.

I’ve been sitting on this for a while, trying to find the right words. I worried people would fear would misinterpret my intentions, or feel like I am attention seeking. But if I am being truly vulnerable, this truly is a story of joy and affirmation; happiness and understanding. This has been a journey that started at the beginning of this year, and now we are just beginning to see the sun peek over the horizon. It’s like we were trying to understand a world of black in white when we were speaking only in colors and never knew why.

Back at the beginning of the year, we began to suspect that you may have a sensory processing disorder. I mentioned it to your doctor at a checkup. He suggested getting you evaluated for Autism. While it caught me off guard, we went in with an open mind. After two evaluations, you were diagnosed with autism. We were thrown into a crash course of reading materials, therapy, Soonerstart sessions, and much more.

As your Dad and I read about autism in littles, I began to make remarks like “Huh, I used to do things like this as a kid.” I didn’t think much about it until after speaking about it with your grandparents. In efforts to be supportive and love you as fully as possible, they had been doing research and reading up on autism on their own. They began to realize that I had demonstrated a lot of the same traits as a kid that you were currently displaying.

This is the part of the story that hurts to share, because it requires me to be vulnerable and open up, which is such a BARF thing to do. Growing up I never felt like I was on the same wavelength as my peers. I struggled maintaining more than one or two close friendships at a time. I didn’t understand peer groups. Eye contact was pure hell. Social milestones like college that are supposed to be reflected upon fondly are things that I process in therapy because they are filled with trauma and pain. Five months ago I remarked to my therapist that I often feel like life is a snowglobe that I simply hold and look inside of, but never take active participation.

I’ve hid these feelings my whole life. Growing up I treated social situations, fashion trends, and other things my peers participated in like a game. I found the acceptable pattern and mimicked it. I even forced myself to make eye contact as I counted the seconds until I could look away. If I reached a new time limit, I won.

After talking to my therapist and primary care doctor about your diagnosis, we all decided it would benefit you and I if I got tested by a clinical psychologist. After several hours of testing I found out what I had been suspecting for weeks. I am autistic. (Also I have a hella high IQ and used that to mask my symptoms my whole life, which is why I was never diagnosed as a kid.)

This diagnosis has given me such a peace and affirmation in my life that I have been searching for, well, for years. I have never been on the same wavelength as my peers, and I probably never will be. I will always struggle with understanding the emotions of others. I will probably overshare time and time again. But it is OKAY. That is who I am! Moreover, that is who you are. And I am so excited to help you grow into a young girl that realizes who she is, is more than enough.

Arlie-girl, your meltdowns make sense, because I have them too. When you get overstimulated, I understand. You line up your animals when you play. I listen to Elton John’s “Rocketman” on repeat for hours on end. It’s how we make sense of our world, and I love that about ourselves.

One day, I realize that you too may struggle to tap into the wavelength of the world, but that is where I promise to step in and remind you that I am on your wavelength. I get your quirks, your habits. And when your color palette just isn’t for everyone’s canvas, it will always be perfect for me, and your dad, and Po. You will always have a team of people that love you so much. Who you are is perfect, and I will never ask you to change. Who I am is perfect, and I promise I will stop trying to make myself small to fit the expectations of others. We are a team, and I will always have your back.

I love you endlessly,

Your Mother