Last week, I took my eldest son, Blake, clothes shopping. It’s something I only do once a year at most, because it’s an incredibly stressful experience for everyone involved. But he was heading to the cinema with his girlfriend, and since Primark was in the same retail park, I thought, why not? I said, “Let’s pop in and I’ll get you a couple of new tops.”
We were in and out within 15 minutes, but by the end of it, all three of us were in awful moods.
Blake struggled the entire time. “I’m tired… I’m thirsty… I need to sit down… I have a sore head…” He was overwhelmed — and more than anything, he just needed to get out of the shop. It was horrible to watch. I was moving as quickly as I possibly could, but shopping is never simple for Blake. Because of his sensory issues with clothing, he has to feel absolutely everything before he’ll commit to it.
In the past, I’ve tried going on my own — spending hundreds of pounds on clothes, bringing them home for him to try — only to return almost all of it. It’s exhausting. But at the same time, I truly understand how overwhelming the whole experience is for him too: the harsh lights, the crowds, the noise, the sheer unpredictability of it all. After years of trying, I still don’t always know the best way to handle it.
Anyway, after rushing through the shop, we finally found a top he liked the feel of. I was absolutely delighted. In my excitement, I grabbed two of each in five different colours — ten tops in total. In my mind, I’d just solved a year’s worth of shopping stress in one go. I felt so proud of myself.
On the way to the checkout, we passed the socks and boxer shorts. Blake was running low — by which I mean the seams had started to bother him, so I’d been quietly throwing them out one by one. I quickly grabbed a few, very aware that he was becoming more and more overwhelmed. By the time we reached the self-checkout, he was clearly struggling, and even his girlfriend was finding it hard to cope with his frustration. But we got through it — and we made it out of the store.
Later, I mentioned the experience to his dad, who spoke to Blake about it. He gently told him that he needed to try and appreciate the effort I was making, and not add to the stress of an already difficult situation.
Blake’s response?
“But Mum lied to me. She said we were going in for a couple of tops, and we came out with ten tops, boxer shorts, and socks.”
Honestly, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. When I heard that, I broke down. Because in that moment, I had completely forgotten how literal my children can be — and that, at least in part, is what had contributed to his meltdown.
To Blake, I hadn’t made a throwaway comment. I had given him a clear expectation… and then broken it. Entirely by accident — but broken all the same.
So now, on top of everything else, I have to be mindful of every single word I say. And some days, that feels really hard.
But that night, I sat down and started putting a plan together for next time. Before we go shopping, I’ll explain everything upfront: where we’re going, how long it might take, what we’re actually there for, and roughly how many items we could be buying. Because that clarity matters to him — it makes the whole world feel a little safer and a little more manageable.
Yes, it’s hard — really hard at times. But every challenge teaches us something. And each time we come up against a problem, his dad and I will work together to find a solution.
This experience reminded me again just how differently my autistic son interprets the world. I didn’t lie to him — I made what most people would consider a passing, casual comment.
But to Blake, words matter. And meaning matters.
And that’s something I’m still learning every single day.
