You know what I’ve learned after years of raising two autistic boys? The world moves way too fast. And in all that rushing about, it completely misses some of the most brilliant things happening right in front of it.
I’ve watched Matthew spend hours completely lost in a history book or watching a World War series on Netflix, absorbing every detail, every date, every political shift — and then talk about it with a passion that would put most adults to shame. And I’ve watched Blake throw himself into the things he loves with an intensity that takes my breath away. These aren’t children who are “stuck” or “obsessed” in the way people sometimes say it — like it’s a problem to be solved. These are children who are deeply engaged. Children who have found something that brings them joy, comfort, and meaning. And honestly? I think that’s something to be celebrated, not corrected.
The thing is, when you actually stop and pay attention — really pay attention — you start to realise that these passions aren’t limitations at all. They’re strengths. Huge ones.
Now, I want to be careful here — because I know from the autism community that not every autistic person has a so-called “superpower,” and I think it’s really important to acknowledge that. For some families, particularly those with profoundly autistic or non-verbal children, the idea that every autistic person must have some incredible hidden talent can actually feel quite hurtful. So I’m not saying that. What I am saying is that where there are passions and interests — whatever shape they take — they deserve to be recognised and celebrated, not dismissed.
Whether it’s art, music, technology, storytelling, or the entire history of World War 2 and the Rise of Hitler (yes, Matthew, I’m looking at you) — these things matter. They’re not quirks to be tolerated. They’re part of who these incredible people are.
And I’ll tell you something — there is nothing quite like watching your child’s face light up when someone takes the time to actually listen to them talk about the thing they love. Matthew doesn’t always find it easy to connect with kids his own age. But put him in a room with an adult who’s genuinely interested in what he has to say about history or politics? He comes alive. His confidence grows right in front of your eyes. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed as his mum.
These moments matter more than people realise. They really do.
So if you’re reading this as a parent, or a teacher, or anyone who spends time with an autistic child — please, take the time to listen. Ask them about the thing they love. Let them show you what they know. You might be surprised by what you learn. And more importantly, they will feel seen. Valued. Celebrated.
That’s all any of us really wants, isn’t it?
