Expressing and Feeling Emotions

There are many moments in this profound, nonverbal autism parenting journey that leave me completely stumped…like trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces.

Last week, Skyler attended his second group Spelling to Communicate (S2C) session. Since Skyler has only ever done S2C sessions individually, we were excited to see if he enjoyed being around other adults communicating about the same topic. However, soon after this class began, one of the adult participants became physically aggressive and attacked the spelling practitioner. For everyone’s safety, and because apparently men intervening would only escalate the behavior, Skyler and my husband were told to lock themselves in another room until the situation was under control.

Since that unfortunate event, Skyler and I have spelled together at home like we usually do without any issue. Tonight, we returned to his practitioner’s office for our weekly 1:1 session but as we approached the building, Skyler hesitated. He became visibly anxious and didn’t want to enter his usual spelling room.

Perhaps it was because that was the room where he had been taken for safety the week before. Maybe seeing the familiar hallway brought back memories of a frightening experience. Or could it have been something entirely different? The truth is…I don’t know.

And that’s one of the hardest parts of nonverbal autism and honestly autism in general.

When your child can’t simply explain or say, “Mom, I’m scared,” or “That really upset me,” or “I’m worried it might happen again,” you’re left searching for clues. Every pause, every hesitation, every behavior becomes a question instead of an answer.

As parents, we spend so much time trying to identify triggers. We become detectives, constantly looking for patterns, hoping to prevent fear, frustration, or discomfort before it overwhelms our children. Sometimes we figure it out. Most times, we’re simply guessing.

Experiences like this also remind me that just because someone cannot easily express their emotions doesn’t mean they don’t feel them deeply. We often assume that if someone can’t tell us they’re frightened, confused, or overwhelmed, they somehow aren’t processing those feelings. I don’t believe that’s true. I think Skyler navigates the world with the same emotion as the rest of us. The difference is that he can’t tell me or fully explain what’s happening inside his mind.

But as much as my heart hurts for Skyler, it also aches for the other family. I have zero judgement for them, only compassion.

I can’t imagine what it must have felt like for that man’s caregivers to witness him having such a difficult night. While everyone else saw the aggression, I imagine they saw something much deeper – a son whose body was communicating emotions he couldn’t put into words. Whatever he was experiencing, it came out in the only way his body knew how.

I’ve been on this profound, nonverbal autism journey with Skyler for 23 years and I know that those scary moments don’t just affect the people around us. They affect us too. They leave us wondering what our children were trying so desperately to say and wishing, more than anything, we could help them find another way to say it.

I don’t need all the answers. I don’t expect life to be free from difficult moments. I just wish, even for five minutes, I could step inside Skyler’s mind. I wish he could tell me what scared him, what comforts him, and what he needs from me when something unsettling happens.

Because if he could, I would move mountains to make it better.

Until then, I’ll keep doing what parents of non-speaking children have always done. I’ll watch. I’ll listen to what his body is trying to tell me. I’ll offer reassurance even when I’m not sure what he’s afraid of. I’ll be his safe place, even when I don’t fully understand what he’s carrying.

And in this situation, I’ll offer patience and wait for him to decide when he feels comfortable returning to his spelling practitioner’s office.

Sometimes love looks like having all the answers.

But more often, it looks like staying close when you have none.