So Much More...

Every once in a while, someone looks at Becca with pity. Sometimes it's obvious. Sometimes, not so much. And sometimes they're not really looking at her at all; they're looking at me. I can almost hear what they might be thinking.

"That must be so hard."

"I can't imagine."

"I'm so sorry."

And truthfully? I can understand why people might think that. Becca is seven years old. She is nonspeaking. She still requires a lot of support for her daily tasks. She often wears noise-canceling headphones because the world can simply be too loud. She learns differently than most children. There are things she cannot yet do independently, and there are challenges our family navigates every single day. None of that is untrue.

But it also isn't the whole truth. Because when I look at my daughter, the first thing I see isn't Autism. I see Becca. I see a little girl whose laugh is so contagious that her whole body shakes. I see someone who knows exactly what she likes, and isn't afraid to let everyone know what she doesn't. I see a little girl who is determined, funny, affectionate, and full of personality. She has opinions. She has preferences. She has a mischievous streak that keeps me on my toes. And she has a smile that can brighten even the hardest day.

Becca isn't defined by her diagnosis. She's defined by who she is. And she is who GOD says she is. She is fearfully and wonderfully made, precious in His sight, His workmanship, never forgotten or overlooked.  She bears the image of God, and nothing about her diagnosis can diminish the dignity He has given her.

People often hear the word "nonspeaking" and assume "silent." But Becca has never been silent. She communicates all day long. She tells me when she's excited. When she's frustrated. When she's proud of herself. When she's nervous. When she's had enough. She tells me what she wants, what she doesn't want, and sometimes exactly what she thinks about my plans for the day. Over the years, we've learned each other's language. It isn't spoken English. It's built on trust, observation and relationship. On thousands of ordinary moments that taught me to slow down and truly listen with my eyes as much as my ears.

And yes, Autism shapes the way she experiences the world. It influences how she learns, how she processes information, how she communicates, and what kinds of supports help her thrive. But doesn't every child experience the world in their own unique way? As her mother, I've never believed my job was to make Becca fit someone else's expectations. My job is to understand how she learns. To teach in ways that make sense to her.

One thing I've learned over these past seven years is how easy it is to become consumed by measurements, milestones, progress reports, IEP goals. And yes, those things absolutely matter. They help us celebrate progress. But they were never meant to define our children, and if we're not careful, we can become so focused on what our children haven't accomplished yet that we stop seeing the incredible people they already are.

I've noticed something else, too. Sometimes, when I speak about Becca with hope or joy, people assume I must not understand "real" Autism.

"If your child were severely Autistic..."

"If your child couldn't speak..."

"If your child still wore diapers..."

"...then you'd understand."

But I do understand! This is my life. I know the appointments, the advocacy, the sleepless nights. Those who are closest to me are aware of the challenges we face each day. But we also know the beautiful. Both things can be true at the same time. Hope is not denial. Joy is not pretending. Choosing to delight in my daughter doesn't mean I ignore the challenges that come with Autism. It means I refuse to let those challenges become the only story I tell about her.

Because Becca is not a collection of deficits. She is not an IEP. She is not a diagnosis. She is not a checklist. She is my little girl - funny, determined, stubborn, joyful, and deeply loved. She is the most lovely person I know and she deserves to be known for who she is, not simply measured by what she cannot yet do.

Life with Autism can be hard. Sometimes, incredibly hard. But hard and beautiful are not opposites. In our family, they exist together.

So if you ever ask me what I see when I look at my daughter, my answer will always be the same. I don't first see Autism. I see my little girl. I see Becca.

And my prayer is that one day, the world will see her, not for what she cannot do, but for who she already is.