Raising a Teenager with Autism

While Trying to Hold Everything Else Together

There are days when I look at my calendar and genuinely wonder how one person is supposed to do all of this.

Run a business.

Answer emails.

Fill orders.

Meet deadlines.

Volunteer.

Attend meetings.

Keep up with laundry.

Figure out what we are eating for dinner.

Try to keep the house from looking like a tornado passed through it.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, raise a teenager with Autism who is quickly becoming a young adult.

That last one will always come first.

I am a single mom to Conor, and for most of his life, it has been the two of us figuring this journey out together.

And what a journey it has been.

I Still See the Little Boy

Sometimes I look at Conor now and have a hard time reconciling the teenager standing in front of me with the little boy I remember so clearly.

There was a time when Conor didn't speak.

When other children were learning words and sentences, we were learning signs.

I taught him sign language because we needed a way for him to tell me what he wanted and needed when his voice couldn't do that for him.

We went through feeding therapy.

We worked on communication.

We worked through sensory challenges.

We celebrated milestones that might have seemed insignificant to someone else but felt monumental in our world.

And there were hard moments.

I remember his first haircut. Something most families probably don't think twice about became an experience that required restraint holds just to get through it.

Haircuts were overwhelming. The sounds, the sensations, the clippers, someone touching his head, it was simply too much.

At the time, I couldn't imagine a day when a haircut would be easy. Yet today?

Conor walks into the barber shop, pops himself into Marco's chair and calmly sits while Marco gives him a fade. Marco can even shave his face. His face!

There was a time when I couldn't imagine someone getting clippers anywhere near his head without a struggle, and now I can sit back and watch him calmly get a haircut and shave.

Those are the moments that stop me.

Because progress with Autism doesn't always happen in one dramatic breakthrough.

Sometimes you don't realize how far you have traveled until you suddenly look back at where you started.

His Voice Is Still Growing

Conor eventually found his voice.

That doesn't mean communication suddenly became easy or that the work stopped.

Even as a teenager, he continues working on his speech and communication.

The difference is that now he can advocate for himself in ways that little boy couldn't.

He can tell me things.

He can make choices.

He can express opinions.

He can joke.

He can work.

He can participate in conversations.

And we continue working toward more.

I think sometimes people view milestones as finish lines.

They aren't.

For us, they have always been stepping stones.

One skill leads to another.

One accomplishment creates the opportunity for the next.

And now many of the skills we are working on aren't childhood milestones anymore.

They are adult life skills.

From Therapy Goals to Life Skills

When Conor was little, the goals were things like communication, feeding, tolerating a haircut and navigating sensory experiences.

Today, our goals look different.

Cooking.

Laundry.

Work.

Responsibility.

Time management.

Making decisions.

Problem solving.

Self-advocacy.

Independence.

Conor is learning to cook for himself.

He is learning to do his own laundry.

He works alongside me in the business, where he isn't simply "helping Mom." He has responsibilities. He is learning what it means to complete a job, stay organized, follow a process and contribute to something bigger than himself.

I get to watch him develop skills that will matter long after childhood ends.

And that word, "independence", means more to me than I can adequately explain.

Because when your child is diagnosed with Autism at two years old, independence can feel like this enormous unknown sitting somewhere far off in the distance.

Will he ever live independently?

Will he work?

Will he be able to take care of himself?

Who will help him when I'm not there?

Those questions have lived quietly in the back of my mind for years.

They still do.

But now I am beginning to see some of the answers taking shape right in front of me.

The Questions Are Different Now

When Conor was younger, I wondered:

Will he talk?

Will he eat different foods?

Will he tolerate a haircut?

Will he communicate what he needs?

Will he be safe?

Today the questions are different.

What skills does he still need before adulthood?

What kind of job will be right for him?

How independent will he eventually be?

What support will he need?

How do I give him room to grow without stepping so far away that he struggles?

How do I protect him while also allowing him to experience the world?

And maybe the hardest question:

How do I learn to let him do things without me?

Because for so many years, my job was to step in.

Advocate.

Teach.

Protect.

Help.

Translate.

Anticipate.

Prepare.

Now part of my job is learning when not to step in.

That's harder than I expected.

And Then There Is Everything Else

Of course, motherhood doesn't happen in a vacuum.

While all of this is happening, I'm also running a business.

And running a small business doesn't exactly come with an "off" switch.

There are customers who need answers, orders that need to be completed, designs that need to be created, invoices that need to be sent, equipment that needs attention, problems that need solving and approximately 427 other things happening at any given moment.

But the business is also deeply connected to this journey.

When I watch Conor working alongside me, I'm not only looking at my employee or my helper. I'm looking at my son.

The same little boy I once taught sign language because he couldn't tell me what he needed.

Now he's standing beside me working.

Learning.

Contributing.

Taking responsibility.

Preparing for adulthood.

There are moments when that realization hits me harder than others.

We aren't just running a business together.

In many ways, we are building his future.

Then There Is My Volunteer Work

Giving back to the Autism community is incredibly important to me because I remember being that mom at the beginning of this journey.

I remember needing answers.

I remember needing resources.

I remember wondering what the future held.

I remember wishing someone could just tell me what everything was going to look like.

Now I know nobody could have answered that question.

Because every child's journey is different.

If I can make the road a little easier for another family, though, I want to.

But there are still only 24 hours in a day.

And apparently nobody has figured out how to add a few more.

And Then There's the House...

Let's talk about the house..... Or maybe we shouldn't.

There are absolutely days when the laundry wins.

There are nights when dinner isn't impressive.

There are piles I fully intend to deal with tomorrow that have apparently decided to become permanent residents.

Sometimes maintaining a household looks less like "maintaining" and more like keeping everyone alive and making sure we have clean underwear.

And I've had to learn to be okay with that.

Although now, at least, I have a teenager who is learning to do his own laundry.

I'll call that progress on multiple levels.

Because I cannot be everything to everyone, everywhere, all at once.

Something occasionally has to give.

Sometimes it is the laundry.

Sometimes it is an email that waits until tomorrow.

Sometimes I have to say no to something I would really like to do.

And sometimes I have to look at my schedule and intentionally carve out space for the person who matters most.

Conor Still Gets Priority

As Conor gets older, it would be easy to assume he needs me less.

In some ways, he does.

And that is exactly what we have worked toward.

But he still needs his mom.

Maybe not in the same way he did when he was two, five, eight or twelve.

Now he needs me to help him navigate becoming an adult.

He needs opportunities to practice independence.

He needs responsibilities.

He needs room to make mistakes.

He needs someone to recognize when to help and, equally important, when not to help.

He needs someone who believes he is capable of more without expecting him to become someone he isn't.

Most importantly, he still needs time.

My time.

Not the version of me answering emails while half listening.

Not the version of me mentally running through tomorrow's order list.

Not the version of me sitting next to him while thinking about everything else I should be doing.

Me. His mom. Present.

I haven't always gotten that right, but I am working on that more and more these days.

There are times when I realize I have been so busy taking care of everything that I haven't stopped long enough to simply enjoy the person standing right in front of me.

And those moments remind me to reset my priorities.

The orders will still be there.

The laundry will definitely still be there.

There will always be another email.

There will always be another meeting.

But Conor will only be this age once.

We Are Both Transitioning

People talk a lot about the transition from adolescence to adulthood for individuals with Autism.

We talk about employment.

Independent living.

Life skills.

Transportation.

Education.

Support services.

But I don't think we talk nearly enough about the transition their parents experience too.

Because Conor isn't the only one going through a transition.

I am too.

He is learning how to become an adult.

I am learning how to become the mother of one.

For years, success meant helping him accomplish things.

Now success sometimes means watching him accomplish them without me.

There is incredible pride in that.

And, if I'm being truthful, a little heartbreaking too.

Because every step toward independence is something we have worked incredibly hard for.

But every step toward independence also means he needs me just a little differently than he did before.

That's exactly what I want. And somehow, it's still hard.

Sometimes I Wish I Could Talk to the Mom I Was Then

Sometimes I wish I could go back and sit beside that younger version of myself.

The mom teaching her little boy sign language because he couldn't speak.

The mom sitting through feeding therapy.

The mom trying to hold her child still long enough with a bear hug embrace to get his first haircut.

The mom wondering whether he would ever communicate.

The mom lying awake at night wondering what his future would look like.

I wouldn't tell her everything was going to be easy.

Because it wasn't.

And it still isn't.

I wouldn't tell her Autism would somehow disappear from our lives.

Because it didn't. And won't. 

I think I would simply tell her:

Keep going.....

Someday that little boy will find his voice, and he will continue working to make it stronger.

Someday he will walk into a barber shop, climb into the chair by himself and calmly get a fade and shave.

Someday he will cook.

Someday he will do his own laundry.

Someday he will work beside you.

Someday you will look at him and realize you aren't preparing a child for his next milestone anymore.

You are preparing a young man for his life.

And you are going to be unbelievably proud of him.

At the End of the Day

I will probably never achieve perfect balance.

My house may never be completely organized.

My inbox may never reach zero.

There will always be another business idea I want to chase, another project that needs my attention, another family I want to help and another volunteer opportunity I wish I had time for.

But there is only one Conor.

Being his mom has shaped nearly every part of who I am.

It has influenced the work I do, the causes I care about, the business I am building and the future I hope to help create.

And now we are entering another chapter together.

One where he continues finding his voice.

One where he learns to cook his own meals and wash his own clothes.

One where work becomes more than practice and begins preparing him for a future of his own.

One where he discovers just how much he is capable of doing independently.

And one where I have to learn that stepping back doesn't mean I am abandoning my role as his mom.

Sometimes stepping back is the whole point.

So I will keep running the business.

I will keep volunteering when I can.

I will keep attempting to conquer the laundry mountain.

I will keep trying to figure out dinner.

And I will probably continue feeling like there aren't enough hours in the day.

But through all of it, I will keep reminding myself of the one priority that has never changed:

Conor comes first.

Because businesses grow.

Organizations change.

Laundry waits.

Emails can be answered tomorrow.

But I only get one chance to walk beside my son as he becomes the man he is meant to be.

For years, I held his hand while we worked toward independence.

Now, little by little, I am learning to loosen my grip.

Not because he doesn't need me anymore.

But because everything we have worked toward has been leading us here.

The goal was never for Conor to need me forever.

The goal was to give him every skill, every opportunity, every ounce of confidence and every bit of support I possibly could so that one day, when I'm not standing right beside him, he will know that he can stand on his own.

And watching that begin to happen may just be the hardest, and most beautiful, part of motherhood yet.

Written by:
Kerrie Mallory-Thompson
AKA: “Lou”
Co-Founder/Co-Owner