Telling My Daughter her Brother has Autism

My daughter was six when my son was born. We spoke about what it would be like when the baby was born

We talked about how things might change for a short time and that it doesn’t change how much I love her and that my time may be a little bit unfairly split for a while as babies need a lot of attention.

He came along and she was in love with him.

From the moment she got in the car from school she always asked how he’d been that day. She played with him and talked to him and as he got a little bit older she mothered him.

When my son was a baby he never grew out of the “newborn” phase. His sleep patterns remained scattered until he was 2 1/2. Sleeping any 6 to 8 hours in any 24 hour period. Then melatonin was suggested.

I was like a zombie and feeling guilt of not being the mother I was to her or the one I wanted to be.

I knew he was hard work and also knew he wasn’t meeting his milestones. Then came the 2 year check and I couldn’t answer most of the questions about him on the form.

I attended the appointment to explain why I couldn’t answer them and that’s when they asked me, “what do you think?”

I said I’d googled some of his traits and I said developmentally delayed or autism. The health visitor nodded and said “I think you’re right. Have you had this feeling for a while?”

Even though I “just knew” I had this moment that even though it wasn’t a clinical diagnosis, I still felt shocked that she suggested autism was the pathway we would be heading down.

A small part of me thought she was going to reassure me all kids are different or boys can be slower at meeting milestones and he will catch up.

That afternoon, my daughter now 8, got in the car after school and asked, “how was his appointment?”

I said OK.

I knew in the back of my mind that, autism or not, he was still going to need some sort of extra help.

I just “knew” this was just the beginning and further appointments would start and I didn’t want to lie.

My daughter had already noticed her brother wasn’t typically like her friends siblings around the same age.

So, I told her that autism had been mentioned and that it’s totally fine but it means he might need a bit more support than what she would have needed at that age.   I kind of told her in the tone of it’s like he had a cold but we would deal with it.

With this new information sinking into her head I could see her face change as she burst into tears.

She probably knew more about autism at that point than I did.

She immediately related our situation to a boy she grew up with at school. She had saw how much he had struggled with a number of different aspects.

I asked what part is the bit that upset her or worries her the most. And she said, she just wants her brother to be happy and never sad.

As a family that’s what we have tried our best to do ever since…make him happy. He used to be a child that didn’t show much emotion so unless you really knew him you wouldn’t know if he was enjoying something or was happy. You’d only know the opposite.

That’s now changed. He laughs and he smiles at the oddest things all be it.

My daughter is now nearly 10 and is a social butterfly. We make separate time just for her and we try to do things all together but sometimes we just can’t.

We have one night a month when she decides the activity and who with so she might have a couple of friends sleepover or we do the cinema and tea. She obviously does clubs and things.

She is so good and understanding.

She talks about where she might live when she’s older and talks about what job she would like to do. She has asked what all our futures might be like.

Will I be Nana to her kids which often leads to the next series of questions.

Will my brother ever live in his own house or have a job or his own family?

I don’t have a crystal ball but all I can say is hopefully they both will and if not it doesn’t mean he won’t be happy. Then we joke and I say I’d love to not work and live with my mam and dad all my life.

I don’t want her to ever feel  like she’s living life more than him. I don’t want her to ever feel guilty.

Written by, Emma Roberts

I am 34 years old and mum two beautiful kids Summer (9) and Mason (3).

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