Dear Peanut Gallery, Please Stop! Another Unfiltered Look at Our Autism Journey

Picture this: We're at a family gathering, and I'm trying to coax my three year old son into trying a new food. As I navigate this delicate dance, a well-meaning family member sidles up and whispers, "But he doesn't look autistic." I swear, in that moment, I could feel my eye twitching, and my mouth forming the words… “what in the hell does autism look like?” 

Welcome to my world – a world where autism isn't just a topic of conversation, it's our everyday reality. Buckle up, folks, because I'm about to take you on another wild ride through the ups, downs, and sideways turns of raising my beautiful, autistic son, Cortland.

Let me tell you, nothing quite prepares you for the barrage of comments that come your way once family and friends learn about your child's autism diagnosis. It's like suddenly everyone's an expert, armed with Google searches and that one article they read in a waiting room magazine. "Are you sure? He makes eye contact sometimes," or my personal favorite, "I heard about this diet that cures autism!" Oh, Karen, if only it were that simple.

So, let's clear the air and address some of these well-intentioned but misguided notions that seem to pop up at every family dinner, playdate, or chance encounter with an old friend who "just wants to help."

The Myths We Need to Kick to the Curb (Like, Yesterday)

Just the other day, a family friend had the audacity to ask if Cortland will "grow out" of autism. I swear, sometimes I wonder if I'm living in an alternate universe where common sense took a permanent vacation. So, let's set the record straight:

- Can autism be cured? Nope. It's not a cold or a bad haircut.

- Will he grow out of it? Again, no. It's not a pair of sneakers.

- Can he develop and learn new skills as he grows? Absolutely! (And boy, does that kid surprise me every day)

- Might we face new challenges as he gets older? You bet. But hey, what part of parenting doesn't come with a side of "what fresh hell is this?"

Here's the kicker – I wouldn't change Cortland for all the peace and quiet in the world. (Okay, maybe I'd consider it for five minutes of uninterrupted bathroom time, but let's be real, what parent wouldn't?)

The Nitty-Gritty Truth: Our Daily Grind

Raising a child on the spectrum is like trying to assemble IKEA furniture without instructions – in the dark, while riding a unicycle. Most days, I feel like I'm juggling flaming torches while walking a tightrope. And just when I think I've got it all figured out, Cortland throws me a curveball that has me scrambling to rewrite the playbook.

I've become a master of the quick change – not outfit changes, mind you (though there's plenty of those too), but plan changes. One minute we're headed to the park, the next we're barricaded in the bathroom because the sound of a leaf blower two blocks away sent us into sensory overload.

And don't even get me started on the judgy looks. I've spent more Saturdays holed up at home than I care to count, all because I couldn't face another round of eye-rolls and muttered comments about how my child "just needs discipline." News flash, Karen: you can't discipline autism out of a child, no matter how hard you clutch your pearls.

Diagnosis, Not a Life Sentence: Embracing Our Reality

Now, let's address the elephant in the room – or should I say, the puzzle piece? To those who ask why I "allow" my child to be "labeled," I've got news for you: autism isn't a label I slapped on my kid for funsies. It's a diagnosis, and it's one we wear like a badge of honor.

I refuse to play the "maybe if we ignore it, it'll go away" game. That's not fair to Cortland, and it's certainly not going to help him navigate this wild world. So yes, we embrace the diagnosis. We shout it from the rooftops. Because understanding is the first step to acceptance, and my God, does this world need a heavy dose of both.

The Battles You Don't See: Behind Closed Doors

What the world doesn't see are the midnight meltdowns, the victories in buttoning a shirt that leave me misty-eyed, the way my heart shatters every time Cortland struggles to express himself. There are moments I'd give anything to absorb his frustrations, to take on his challenges myself, just to give him a moment's peace.

But here's the thing – those struggles? They make the triumphs that much sweeter. The first time Cortland made eye contact and smiled? I felt like I'd won the lottery, cured cancer, and climbed Everest all at once.

Mama Bear Mode: Activated

Let me be crystal clear: I've moved mountains for my child. I walked away from a cushy job, diving headfirst into uncertainty, all because Cortland needed me. Single parenthood? Bring it on. I've been flying solo on this journey since day one, and while it's not always pretty, it's ours.

Since June 20, 2014 – the day my world tilted on its axis and rearranged itself around a tiny, perfect human – every decision, every move, every breath has been for Cortland. So don't you dare tell me I need to "do better." I'm doing the best I can, and for my child, that's everything.

An Open Letter to the Peanut Gallery

To the stranger at the checkout line, eyeing us like we're a circus act: take a picture, it'll last longer.

To the drive-thru worker who gets huffy when I have to repeat our order three times: patience is a virtue, sweetie. To the "friends" and family who've disappeared faster than my free time: your loss, not ours.

And to anyone who's ever thought about telling me how to raise my child: unless you've walked a mile in my sensory-friendly, noise-canceling, always-on-alert shoes, kindly keep your opinions to yourself.

Love, Unfiltered and Unapologetic

Cortland Greer, my sweet, wild, brilliant boy – you are the beat of my heart, the spark in my soul, the reason I push through every tough day. Your autism isn't something I tolerate or accept – it's something I celebrate. It's the unique wiring that makes you you, and oh, what a masterpiece you are.

To every parent out there navigating the choppy waters of autism: you're not alone. It's okay to cry, to scream, to laugh maniacally when things get too absurd. Our journey might not be typical, but by God, it's beautiful in its chaos.

So here we stand, unapologetic, unfiltered, and unshakeable in our love. Autism and all, bring it on world. We're ready for you.