Ever since Manu received his diagnosis, navigating each new stage of his growth has been one of the defining rhythms of our lives. From potty training in the early years to selecting the right PA support now, every decision — big or small — pivots around him.
Along the way, we meet all sorts of people. The majority mean well, but cycling through the same conversation again and again becomes quietly exhausting. Sometimes we have the capacity to engage with patience and grace. Other times we simply nod along while our minds calculate the fastest route to the exit.
As his parents, it goes without saying that we have explored almost every mode of therapy and intervention available, and we continue to monitor research developments closely. What catches people off guard, however, is not our dedication — it's our composure. There is an unspoken expectation, particularly of mothers, that we should be visibly undone. When we aren't, it gets misread. Opinions form more easily than conversations, and guards that were built to conserve energy get mistaken for indifference.
We have lived with Manu's diagnosis for nearly twenty years. The pain did not disappear — it simply made room for pragmatism. What looks like detachment from the outside is really just a mismatch of timelines. People arrive expecting to meet parents fresh from the shock of diagnosis. Instead, they find parents who have quietly moved through every stage of grief and come out the other side — still standing, still planning, still fiercely present.
Doing what we can for Manu has become as natural as breathing. It is not a burden we carry; it is simply who we are. What remains genuinely hard are his meltdowns — unpredictable, varied, and draining. When we come through one, the last thing we want to do is relive it. We want to reset, move forward, and return to our full lives: as professionals, as friends, as people with our own emotional and intellectual needs that don't disappear just because we are raising a child with autism.
We are not defined by his diagnosis. Neither is he. And perhaps that is the most radical, most loving thing we have ever done for him — refused to let it be the whole story.