The ground was getting shifted from under me when the diagnosis of autism was first given to my son. I vividly recall sitting in the doctor’s office absorbing the words that would forever change how I viewed myself as a dad. My wife was gripping my hand tightly, but my thoughts were racing. I thought of dreams I had for my son—football games, family getaways, school, and friend talks—and suddenly wondered whether any of that was possible.
Initially, I went into fight mode. I read every book I could get my hands on, watched endless videos, and signed us up for therapies and programs. I wanted to be the ideal dad with all the answers, the one who would just “fix” things. But the more I pushed, the more frustrated I became. My son didn’t always react the way I hoped. Some days it felt like two steps forward and three steps back. I began to think I was the one going to be failing—not just him, but my whole family.
Guilt would creep up at night when the house would be quiet. I began to relive the times when I lost my temper or couldn’t connect with him. Was I really enough? Other dads would share simple parenting journeys, theirs would be almost like an uphill trek, and I was just not prepared for it.
Something changed, though. There came a day before long when I would be able to see my son play with his toy cars and feel as though he would not look at me, and he had not spoken to me for quite surely many moments but noticed that there was something about it: a smile. Quiet, genuine smile as he was lining his toys in a perfectly straight row. It made me realize that I should not force-fit things into what I thought fatherhood looked like, but that perhaps my role was making me present to celebrate his victories-as dissimilar to anyone else’s as they might ultimately be.
That moment was the beginning of a new beginning. Instead of failing at fixing, I began to notice. I learned to wait until it was inevitably that I should. I learned to celebrate when he looked at me, tried new food, or got really close for a quick hug. Very minor became milestone. Gradually I noticed the decrease in frustration and increase in connection with him.
But that was not easy-all that alone. I always felt like none of those understood the burden of being tagged as a father with autism. Well-meaning friends failed to understand these things. Sometimes even family comes to say some things that are noise like “he’ll grow out” or “you just need to be stricter.” All I sought for was a place where I would be open and honest without judgment.
This is when I found Autism Dad United Global. For the first time, I got to meet other dads who understood what I was going through. I didn’t have to explain why I felt tired after a trip to the local grocery store or why I couldn’t shake off the effects of a meltdown in public for hours. These dads had been through it. They told their stories, we celebrated together as one family.
My paradigm of fathering has shifted since then. Being a dad to my son means being there; it doesn’t mean being perfect. It means showing up even when things are tough. It means learning to be patient, practicing self-compassion, and finding happiness in the moments that count. Autism Dad United Global has given me a sense of belonging. I walk this journey with others who understand, and together we are figuring out how to become the dads our kids need us to be.
