For as long as I can possibly remember, I have wanted to be a mother. Everyone said that I was nurturing and motherly from a very young age. I had a doll named Michelle who I kept well into my twenties* and treated her as I would my own baby, with tender love and care. The fluff from her insides diminishing under the weight of all my love. Her flickering eyes had gaps from where her eyelashes were supposed to be. Her hard head a stark contrast to her soft body. I rocked her and shooshed her and dressed her and loved her. When I met my now husband as a spring chicken-y 20 year old, having children was one of our very first conversations. On our first coffee date, we skipped past the small talk of hobbies and schools we attended and went straight to babies. I don't even know if our coffees had arrived before I pinned him with the question. Thankfully, he did want children so his first major green flag was granted. Phew, because I really liked him. I really wanted little people to love and call my own. My own kids. To love and to nurture. To teach and to ignite their imagination. To care for and adore. People would say that I was made for it. Made to be a mother.

I consider myself one of the lucky ones that I get to live my dream of having my own little ones. I have the very best kids, all three of them. They are simply amazing. But I am sure all mums say that. But seriously, mine are the best. No rose coloured glasses to be seen.

This story is about my first born. A sweet little baby that we so desperately wanted. This wonderful little girl who was diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder at the beginning of 2025, just before her seventh birthday. An official little diagnosis for an extraordinary little girl with a super-extraordinary little brain finding her way in a neurotypical world. The signs of autism have been there since she was a tiny girl. My husband and I have always known and in her seven short years on this planet, we have chosen to embrace her beautiful differences. She is, after all, very special. This is what I wish people saw. I wish people saw her and didn't try and make her fit into their boxes and expectations of how a young girl should be. What people see if all but a snapshot of who she is. They see a shy girl who is the only one not smiling in her school photos. A girl who covers her ears at assemblies or sport carnival days as the sensory input is simply too much. They see a fast little runner not wanting to do her favourite thing, run, because she is completely and utterly overwhelmed. They see a little girl having a meltdown on her way to school before because her shoelaces are not tight enough and we have to stop, time and time again having to redo them for the fifteenth time that morning (not even a record). What they see is a snapshot of my reality, but unfortunately, what people see is a massive misconception about her. Mothering a neurodiverse girl has its challenges, but my gosh she is magical.

My daughter is special of that I am completely sure. Her brain is beautiful and creative. She is the best artistic drawer that I have ever seen. She is kind and compassionate. She will always turn to a person in need. She is imaginative and wonderous. The make-believe stories she creates are truly mystical.

So why seek a diagnosis?

First and foremost, we did it for her.  As she continues to grow into a teenager and woman, we want her to be able to understand her autism and embrace her differences. If she doesn't want to attend a party because it is too loud, then she has the agency to say no. If she gets a gut feeling that a friend is not in fact a friend at all, listen. If she develops a deep love for animal figurines and other people think it is weird or strange, buy some more. The second reason we did it was so that she could understand her diagnosis and the label that would be given to her. We feared she was already thought of as the weird or quirky girl so why not change that label to another, more accurate one. The third reason we got the diagnosis was for the school. Ah school. A place you spend so much of your time, with a plethora of personalities, so many different people with different strengths and weaknesses. And I am just talking about the teachers. A mishmash of noises and smells and textures. A place where so many don't feel welcome, yet all need to attend.

Her year one teacher expressed concerns that she was unable to read at the expected standard despite coming from a very supportive, well-educated home and being a student keen to impress. As an undiagnosed dyslexic person myself, I thought perhaps this would be an avenue to explore. She was really struggling to read and if you know anything about the education system, if you can't read – you can't do maths or science or humanities or languages or technology. Being unable to read is so, so much more than just literacy. I trusted my gut feeling and booked her in to do a combined Autism Spectrum Disorder/Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder/Dyslexia assessment.

The autism assessment itself is a combination of parent and teacher questionnaires which is done alongside the American Psychiatric Association's Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM-5). To meet a diagnostic criterion for autism, a child must have persistent deficits in each of three areas of social communication and interaction, plus an additional two out of four types of restricted, repetitive behaviours. There are seven criteria in total, with a diagnosis diagnosed if five are met. She met seven out of seven criteria. It might have been the first test she passed with flying colours.

As the saying goes, if you've met one autistic person, you've met one autistic person. No two autistic individuals are the same and therefore shouldn't be treated as such.

Mainstream schooling is for mainstream kids. Parenting a neurodiverse child to fit into their mainstream system is hard. It's like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. Trying to get a fish to climb a tree. Trying to get a vegan to eat a steak. Impossible. We haven't told everyone about her diagnosis yet because people can be cruel and above all, people don't understand the unique complexities of a little autistic girl.

Don't get me wrong, while my daughter is incredible, parenting an autistic child can be difficult and exhausting and overwhelming. My nervous system is constantly rattled. I am always thinking about the next thing to upset her or worry her. I am always wondering how her day at school was and what sort of meltdown we might be presented with at home. Making sure I have packed her headphones and snacks because if she gets hungry, she has a meltdown. I am always on. The unwavering exhaustion hits me hard, and I go to bed thinking about what next, what battles I'll be presented with tomorrow and I wake up, exhausted and do it all again. It's the not knowing. The not knowing how she will behave at parties, if she will even be invited to them. The not knowing if she will have a meltdown as happy birthday is being sung or if she will run away. The not knowing if she will have a meltdown in public. It is the not knowing that gets your nervous system in tatters. The invisible mental load is exhausting, there no doubt about it. And yet, I wouldn't change this life for a single thing. She can be hard work but she is my hard work and I adore her beyond measure.

My daughter will go a long way because she is beautiful and kind and thoughtful and creative. Autism doesn't change who she is. It just provides a level of understanding of how her beautiful brain works. Autistic children are not broken. They're not something to be fixed. They are brilliant. And brave. And breathtakingly unique. And as I sit here, writing all about her and how she is a blend of contradictions, I live in hope that society and the world welcomes her with open arms. Mothering a neurodiverse child isn't always easy, but it is always worth it.

*This is a big fat lie. I still have her.