The Things I Didn’t Do for My Autistic Daughter

Five years ago, I worried she wasn’t ready to leave home. Today, she’s headed to the other side of the globe.

This is the current state of my front room.

Suitcases. Laundry. Lists. Last-minute preparations.

In a few days, my 23-year-old autistic daughter will leave for Taiwan for two months of intensive Mandarin study.

Five years ago, I wasn’t sure she was ready to leave home for college. Not because she wasn’t intelligent. She’s always been smart.

I wasn’t sure she was ready for everything else.

The executive functioning demands. The social demands. The daily living demands. The sensory overwhelm of dorm life. The reality of navigating the world in a neurodivergent body that sometimes creates challenges of its own.

Truth be told, she wasn’t ready for it.

There were tears.

Anxiety.

Lots of texts and phone calls.

But, there was also perseverance.

What I’m reflecting on today, as I step over suitcases and piles of clothes, isn’t how far she’s traveling geographically. It’s how far she’s traveled personally.

Over the years, she has worked incredibly hard to build skills that did not come naturally. She has learned to navigate challenges that many people never see. She has faced difficult situations with roommates, professors, friends, and family members, solved problems, recovered from setbacks, and kept moving forward.

One of the most influential books I ever read as a parent was The Loving Push by Temple Grandin and Debra Moore (affiliate link). Its message is simple but not easy: don’t do for your child what they must learn to do for themselves.

That approach was uncomfortable, sometimes more for me than for her. There were many times I wanted to step in and make things easier.

The time her roommate’s guy friend walked into her dorm room unannounced while she was dressing. When another roommate let food spoil to the point that an odor was reported. I still get upset when I think about the professor who failed her for the entire course over a single assignment submitted five minutes late while she was sick with a high fever, despite maintaining an A all semester and communicating with him throughout her illness.

So many times, this mama bear wanted to rush in and save her.

And if I had, she might have gotten through those situations more comfortably.

But she wouldn’t have learned that she could get through them herself.

Instead, I took the book’s message to heart. At times, it was a monumental struggle for me. 🙊 But I stayed out of it, remained available for guidance and nearby while she figured things out.

And she did.

Today, she’s earning two degrees, maintaining academic excellence, winning scholarships, receiving departmental recognition, and heading to one of the most competitive Mandarin immersion programs in the world.

What makes me proud, though, isn’t just the résumé. It’s the effort.

The persistence.

The willingness to keep trying when things were difficult.

Really difficult.

I think that’s why I’m feeling surprisingly little anxiety about her traveling to the other side of the world, where I can’t get in my car and get to her in a few hours if she needs me.

Where most people don’t speak her language.

But, then I remember: the world has never spoken her language.

As an autistic young woman, she has spent her entire life navigating environments that weren’t designed with her in mind. In many ways, she’s always been learning how to function in a foreign land.

Taiwan isn’t the first foreign territory she’s entered.

It’s just the first one that requires a passport.

So I know she’s got this.

But okay, let’s be real. I’m going to ugly cry when I drive away from the airport.

I’m choking up now just writing this article, tears that are a mixture of joy, gratitude, love, and yes, a little nervousness.

But underneath all of that, I genuinely feel good about this.

I’m excited for her.

And I’m so damned proud of her.

I’ve spent years watching her do hard things. She’s prepared.

So, now I get to stand back and watch her fly. ✈️ ❤️

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