I want to start this chapter with something really important — and I mean it, so please don’t skip past it.
If you’re reading this chapter because you’re worried about your child, firstly, take a breath. The fact that you’re here, paying attention, asking questions — that already makes you a good parent. And I say that as someone who spent months feeling like the worst mother in the world simply for noticing that something felt different.
Now, I’m not a doctor. I’m not a specialist. I’m just a mum who’s been through it — twice — and who wishes someone had sat down with me over a cup of tea and said, “Here’s what to look out for, and here’s why it’s okay.”
So that’s what I’m going to try to do.
Every Child is Different — And I Really Mean That
Before I get into any of this, I need to say something that I genuinely believe with every part of me: autism is not one thing. It is not the same in any two people. My two boys are both autistic, and they are completely different from one another in almost every way. So please don’t read the signs below and think, “Well, my child doesn’t do that, so it can’t be autism.” It might still be. Or it might not be. That’s exactly why getting a proper assessment matters.
What I’m sharing here are patterns — things that might give you a nudge in the right direction. Think of it less as a checklist and more as a conversation starter.
Social Differences
One of the things that’s often talked about with autism is how a child interacts with the people around them. And honestly, this is the area where I think a lot of parents first start to feel that something is a little different — even if they can’t quite put their finger on what it is.
With Matthew, it was subtle at first. He wasn’t unfriendly. He wasn’t cold. But there were moments where the connection just felt… slightly off. Like we were speaking two different languages and neither of us had a phrasebook.
Some things you might notice:
Your child might avoid eye contact, or it might feel inconsistent — like they look at you sometimes but not in the way you’d expect during a conversation or a cuddle. I want to be careful here though, because Matthew actually did make eye contact with me — he’d grab my face and stare right into my eyes — and that’s partly why I convinced myself for so long that it couldn’t be autism. Eye contact alone is not the full picture.
They might prefer to play alone. Not because they don’t like other children, but because other children can be unpredictable and overwhelming. Matthew was perfectly content in his own little world.
They might struggle to read social cues — the unspoken stuff that most of us just get without being taught. Things like knowing when someone’s joking, or reading from someone’s face that they’re annoyed, or understanding that when someone says “fine” through gritted teeth, they are absolutely not fine.
And I say all of this with such love — because these differences don’t mean your child doesn’t want connection. They often want it desperately. They just might need a little more support figuring out how to find it.
Communication
This is such a big one, and it looks so wildly different from child to child that I barely know where to start.
Some autistic children don’t speak at all, or speak very little. Others speak a lot, but in ways that feel slightly different — maybe very formal, or very focused on their particular interests, or not quite picking up on the back-and-forth rhythm of a normal conversation.
Matthew was a fascinating one in this regard. He wasn’t saying the words you’d expect from a child his age — no “mummy,” no “juice,” no “no” (every toddler’s favourite word, in my experience). But he could spell. He had this little toy tablet, and he would sit and spell out words — car, dog, bus, pig — clear as anything. He just didn’t say them. It was as if the pathway between knowing the word and speaking it out loud hadn’t quite connected yet.
Echolalia is something you might also come across — and if you haven’t heard that word before, don’t let it frighten you. It basically means repeating words or phrases, often ones they’ve heard from TV, or from you, or from somewhere else entirely. It can look like your child isn’t really communicating, but actually, for many autistic children, echolalia is communication. It’s just a different kind.
You might also notice that your child doesn’t always respond to their name, even though their hearing is perfectly fine. That one used to baffle me early on. You’d call Matthew and he’d be in a world of his own — not ignoring you, just… elsewhere.
Again — none of these things in isolation mean autism. But if several of them feel familiar, it’s worth having a conversation with your GP or health visitor. A good one, hopefully. Not the one I got the first time. (We’ll not go back there.)
Behaviour and Routine
Oh, this one. This one.
If you have an autistic child and something unexpected happens — a change of plan, a different route home, the wrong colour plate at dinner — then you already know exactly what I’m about to say.
Routine is everything for many autistic children. And I don’t mean they just prefer a bit of structure, the way most children do. I mean that disruption to routine can feel catastrophic — genuinely overwhelming — in a way that’s really hard to understand unless you’ve seen it up close.
Matthew used to push toy cars and trains back and forth across the floor for hours. Just back and forth. Back and forth. It looked repetitive to us, but to him, it was clearly deeply satisfying. Blake had his own version of this too — his particular interests that he could lose himself in completely.
You might also notice repetitive movements — rocking, spinning, hand-flapping, or other things sometimes called “stimming.” These aren’t random. They serve a real purpose, usually helping a child to self-regulate — to manage big feelings or sensory input. Please, please don’t try to stop these unless there’s a safety concern. They’re not something to be ashamed of or trained out of a child. They’re your child’s way of coping with the world.
And speaking of interests — one of my absolute favourite things about autistic people is the passion they can have for something they love. My boys have both had their obsessions over the years, and honestly? The depth of knowledge and joy they get from those interests is something most neurotypical folk could only dream of. It’s a gift, even when it means sitting through the same episode of the same programme for the forty-seventh time in a row (we wore out the Mr Tumble DVD within weeks!).
A Little Word to You, the Parent
If you’ve read this chapter and found yourself nodding along — maybe with a lump in your throat, maybe with a strange mix of relief and fear — I just want to say: I see you.
Getting to this point is hard. Noticing these things is hard. And if you’ve had anyone along the way — a health visitor, a family member, a well-meaning friend — tell you that it’s nothing, or that you’re overthinking it, or that you just need to relax… I am so sorry. Because I know how that feels. And it is devastating.
But you know your child. You know them better than any professional who’s spent forty minutes with them in a clinical room. Trust that. Keep pushing if you need to.
Getting a diagnosis — or even just beginning that process — isn’t about putting a label on your child that defines them forever. It’s about understanding them. It’s about unlocking the right support, the right approaches, the right people who can help them flourish.
And trust me — they absolutely can flourish.
