One never forgets the day someone comes to evaluate one’s child for autism. In my case I had called around to a couple of local agencies to ask what to do when you suspect it, and I’d been referred to what was called Infant Program. The two leaders of the program came to visit. Two year-old Joseph sat in the living room, his back turned to us, while we talked.

They weren’t sure, but they suspected I was right about the autism and asked me to bring him along to the program. Their parting words were, “Stay in his face all the time. Don’t let him go off into his own little world.”

So far I’d been raising Joseph the opposite way. I would marvel at what an easy kid he was, looking after himself while I cleaned the house or whatever. It was a big deal to drop everything and stay in his face all of the time, but  I did my best. Then tutors started coming, and they stayed in his face when I wasn’t. Later, when we got involved with Relationship Development Intervention, I learned to use the many opportunities life gives us as a way to keep Joseph constantly engaged and relating.

Ten years after that visit from Infant Program, Joseph has turned out to be a very social kid — more social than his introvert mama! He loves his friends, is now inviting himself to their homes for sleepovers, and is still (sigh) asking us for a brother.

What I am learning about puberty, however, is that it’s time to step out of his face. Joseph is getting more private about things: going into his room and shutting his door, not readily letting us in when we knock. He got some time to play with Minecraft yesterday, and he sat underneath a blanket to do it so that I couldn’t see (and yes, I’m sure it wasn’t porn – we have filters set up 😉 ). Almost 48 hours went by recently without my seeing him, as he was with friends and at swim team, sleeping in in the mornings while I snuck out to work for the day.

It is an odd new practice for me. I am so used to being in his life, connected umbilically. It is natural that he  pull back — this is what puberty and teenagerdom is about — and yet it’s hard to get that “stay in his face” advice out of my head.

One of Love and Logic’s most beautiful teachings is that, when there have been or are going to be times of separation, like before bed or first thing in the morning, the parent touches the child in some way — as if to say, I missed you. So good to connect again. Our morning touching used to be a huge hug that we both loved. Now, when I try the hug, Joseph shrinks back. I find other ways: walking by, I’ll put a hand on his shoulder — but our cuddle times are now precious and few.

Sometimes I have to give myself a talk about the shrinking from touch and the decrease in connection. This is not the autism, I say. This is puberty. This is natural, this is right. It’s different, but it’s not bad. Panic is not necessary.  

I know that’s so. But the withdrawal kind of looks like autism, you know? So I get to work with myself.

Recently my dear friend Terese texted me. She’d been in the shower, thinking about something else entirely, when out of the blue she was given some advice that she knew she HAD to pass on to me. Dripping wet, she stepped out of the shower to put it into a text before she forgot the words. They were:

Remember: He is not the same person he was two years ago. If you can change, so can he. Trust in the process!

My dad, who passed away some years ago, was a seeker like me. At turbulent times we’d say to each other, “Trust the process.” I truly felt that my dad was speaking to me through Terese. I was reminded how very supported we are, by beings both seen and unseen.

Now, I am replacing the advice to “Stay in his face” with “Trust in the process.”

Wishing you trust in your process, and awareness of how very supported you are. Blessings.