Many of the things that once made me anxious faded, as I grew in my understanding and resilience. But new challenges appeared, ones I had never imagined. They were daunting, sometimes terrifying, and they changed my life in ways I hadn’t prepared for.
This journey was never just about learning. It was about adapting to a reality that kept evolving.
At age 39, I felt the weight of that journey became even heavier. My son was having a hard morning; nothing unusual in our world. He was stimming more intensely than usual, a behavior that was familiar to us, but can sometimes look intense or even alarming to those who don’t understand it. My husband and I decided he would stay home from school that day, as we had done on tough days before. My son liked to wrap things like a phone charger back and forth around his wrist, and on and off for pressure. I told the school that I was worried he would try and wrap other parts of his body, and I wanted to keep him home since he seemed overly anxious that morning. To us, it was a day like any other in our family’s journey.
Then, our world shattered. Four police officers in bulletproof vests appeared at our door and entered our home. The school had called in a report, labeling my son as “emotionally disturbed” and “unstable.” They hadn’t mentioned autism, not even once. The officers weren’t there for a child having a hard morning. They were there for someone they believed to be a threat. In that moment, I felt my heart sink with the realization that my son, my sweet boy, was not only misunderstood, but unsafe in a world that didn’t understand him.
Sitting there, waves of grief, anger, and disbelief crashed over me. I had heard stories like this before about other families of autistic children, parents like me, but now it was our story. After years of advocating, equipping his school team, his caseworkers, and our community with tools and knowledge to support him, I thought he was safe. But as my son grew, the stakes grew too. No longer seen as a child, the world saw him as a risk, a problem. I realized then that advocacy had never been just about building support, it was about protecting his very right to exist peacefully in a world unprepared for him.
The breakthrough for me didn’t come in a classroom or a counselor’s office. It came from “some of us” reaching out to “all of us.” A community of people who truly understood. Real families, sharing real stories that were raw, unfiltered experiences, and that matched the ups and downs we were navigating. In this community, we shared everything from daily struggles to the small victories, the tricks that worked, and often most importantly, what didn’t.
This was the connection I had been missing, and it was the “special sauce” that made all the difference. These weren’t just theoretical resources, they were lived experiences that felt tangible and real. Tips, strategies, and even practical day-to-day hacks poured in, ranging from therapies to finding a brand of shoes that didn’t tie, but still looked “cool enough” for a growing child. It was in these spaces that I realized we weren’t alone.
There’s an immense power in hearing someone say, “Yes, I’ve been there, too. Here’s what helped us.” These connections empowered me to show up for my son in ways I hadn’t even considered before. It reminded me that inclusion doesn’t only happen in classrooms or workplaces. It thrives in the spaces where we feel truly heard and supported.
In these moments of sharing, we built solutions, perspectives, and solidarity. Each shared resource became a lifeline that helped us not just survive, but truly show up for our children with strength and resilience.
I share this story not to evoke pity, but to spark understanding. There is an urgent need for people to see beyond labels and behaviors, to understand the person and the family behind them. Every small action, every shared story, brings us closer to a world where children like my son can be safe, understood, and valued, not because they fit the mold but because they are inherently deserving of acceptance.
At the end of the day, that’s what every parent wants; a world that truly sees their child. Until that world exists, we will continue to build it together; one resource, one conversation, and one powerful story at a time.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
JJ McLeod, founder of Autism Embrace, is a dedicated autism advocate with over 15 years of experience creating inclusive programs, championing disability rights, and building vital resources that empower families with real support and impactful stories. Honored as one of Pacific Business Times’ Top 40 Professionals in 2020, JJ brings both professional expertise and a unique,
personal perspective—she’s both an autism professional and a parent navigating this journey with her own child. As a certified Autism Specialist, Education Director, and PhD student, JJ proudly calls “mom of three” her most valued role. Her work is driven by a vision to empower communities and create lasting change.
JJ’s commitment is clear: to build a world where every family feels seen,
supported, and ready to thrive. For JJ, inclusion is more than a mission; it’s a commitment to making sure no one journeys alone. Learn more by visiting https://autismembrace.com
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