As I leaned over his cradle, a tumult of emotions swirled within me as I tuned into the gentle cadence of his rising and falling chest. His soft, rhythmic newborn breathing and those distinct half-lidded eyes – a trait he still clings to – whispered dreams beyond my comprehension. My fingers gently embraced his petal-soft, newborn hand, its warmth contrasting with my own anxious, cold touch. Holding him like that, he felt subtly vulnerable, and I hoped my embrace wouldn’t wake him from his sleep.
Tears threatened to flow and I internally chastised myself, echoing my mother’s belief that a new mother’s tears before her child could be a bad omen.
We had only been home for a week and the memories of the birth were still vivid. The birth had been a whirlwind of emotions, chaotic and intense. Yet my tears were not for that. Those memories, though raw, lay on a shelf reserved for later reflection. Instead, I felt overwhelmed by how vulnerable my baby looked and felt in my arms. When I let go of his hand, he clenched it into a small, protective fist. Even in the depths of his sleep he seemed to respond and react to the overwhelming sensations of this vast, unknown world.
He was our second son, born after an eight-year gap. The previous nine months had been a storm of emotions for me. A persistent inner voice had been my constant companion, incessantly whispering fears and suggesting that perhaps our child was too ethereal and too vulnerable for the grim realities of life. This voice had ignited an intense urge to protect him, and with its arrival that urge became even stronger. In those early days after giving birth, I found myself lost in his gaze, longing to cocoon him back into the safety of my womb.
Our journey since then, marked by challenges like sleep disorders, sensory processing, and food sensitivities, only confirmed my previous instincts. As I fought for advocacy and access to essential services, I often found myself on my knees, begging for the strength to be the mother he needed and praying for God’s guidance, longing for His role as the steadfast parent I needed. longed for so deeply.
Over the past few years, I have found myself among friends walking the harrowing path of an autism diagnosis for their child. With curious and hopeful eyes, they inevitably ask about the moment I felt the weight of our son’s place on the spectrum. As I think back, the memory comes alive, as vivid as the brushstrokes on a canvas.
I’ve always known it, ever since that long-awaited, silent, heartbreaking moment when the two little pink lines appeared, marking his imminent arrival. The joy I felt was overshadowed by a looming cloud of uncertainty. A fierce protectiveness welled up within me, reminiscent of a lioness prowling the arid savannahs of my native Kenya, always ready to protect her cub from unseen dangers.
The subsequent, almost natural question is always: Have I mourned the absence of a “typical” child? My heart answers with both a yes and a no. The stormy journey, the nights wrapped in heartfelt prayers, hoping for relief from both his and my worries – all this paints a profound story of our challenges. Yet woven into this tapestry of trials is the manifold beauty of neurodivergence: the brilliance of absorbing vast amounts of knowledge, versus the innocent challenges of mastering simple tasks like tying shoelaces.
It’s not that I wasn’t pained by the unexpected complexities of our son’s diagnosis. From the moment I held him in my body, there was an innate, motherly comfort in recognizing and accepting his uniqueness and creation. My deeper sadness came not from his neurodivergence, but from the nagging realization that the world might not perceive and cherish his unique beauty as instinctively as I do.
Recently, as we marked our ninth year wrapped in the bright and ever-evolving fabric of neurodivergence, one component shone brighter than others: my beloved husband’s awakening to his own position on the spectrum. For those who cherish and know him deeply, this insight was echoed in affirmative nods and unsurprising expressions of gratitude. This revelation is like the first rain that graces the parched earth: rejuvenating and liberating. It has deepened his self-understanding, strengthened his unique essence, revived our family ties and breathed new strength into our honeymoon.
My husband’s awakening within his own being was a soft echoing whisper from the divine creator into the yearning depths of my heart. A reassuring nudge from Jesus: “For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your good and not for evil, to give you a future with hope,” marking our son’s predestined path indicated (Jeremiah 29:11). He would not tread this path alone, but rather in the footsteps of his father and also of other men in our family, blessed with deep faith and gentleness, symbolic of the best virtues of humanity. Within their neurodivergence lies the revelation of such qualities as humility, empathy, diligence, and unwavering faith, revealing the deep depths of God’s true nature to us all.
Unlike the first nine months of anxiety, the past nine years have been a crucible that has refined and defined me. Through all the ups and downs, Proverbs 3:5-6 has resonated deeply: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.” A reminder of God’s continued presence and His desire for my continued surrender to His plan and goodness.
By entrusting my son’s future to Him, my worries were transformed into serenity. As I faithfully stepped away from a full-time career outside the home and embraced homeschooling, I began to watch my once-vulnerable child develop into a wise older brother, leaving me endlessly amazed at God’s handiwork. The child I once believed I had to protect is now the pillar of our family. He informs us about road trips full of wanderlust, shares insights into the world of the car and explores deep theological reflections. To say that I am humbled by the blessing of having a child and a spouse on the spectrum would be an understatement. And as I reflect on our journey, Psalm 139:14 sums up my emotions: “I commend you, for [We are] fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; which I know very well.“
*Photo by Nancy Nyabuti
