When I turned 40, we were a little more than two years in the wake of Jeremy’s autism diagnosis, and about a year and a half following my own AS diagnosis.

It was a time of intensity and expansion.

Unlike the stereotypical autism-parent narrative that the mainstream autism organizations and media like to promote, Jeremy’s diagnosis was not the worst day of our lives. We discovered that we’d thought things would be much worse than they are. We’d thought autism was degenerative, that institutionalization was an inevitability, that severe cognitive impairment was an inevitability, and on and on. We discovered that autism is not degenerative, that outcomes can be greatly improved with the right supports and interventions, that autistic behaviors and ways of interacting with the world were not inscrutable or impenetrable or nonfunctional — but rather made a great deal of sense when viewed in context.

We were in the midst of a preschool program for Jeremy that touted itself as ABA-based — but was open-minded enough to work with us on priorities we set: skill-building and leveraging strengths, rather than normalization or “indistinguishability”.

I was trying to make sense of my life through the new lens that came with my own diagnosis.

We met and befriended more and more autistic adults as our journey progressed. This helped greatly, in envisioning Jeremy’s future, and in beginning to grapple with the issues that they faced and that Jeremy and we, too, would face in the future.

In fact I would count connecting with — listening to — autistic adults, respecting them as human equals, as one of the two most important pieces of advice to families new to an autism diagnosis.

The other is teaching preliteracy skills and establishing a reliable, trusted, and respected means of expressive communication. If your child is not developing expressive speech, that is Job 1. It will help him or her steer clear of maladaptive behavior as the only means of mitigating sources of distress. It will make him or her less vulnerable. It will open the door to further education.

But I digress. Happy 40th, Kristina!

Now 50 — that’s a source of cognitive dissonance for me. I don’t feel 52. (Well, except in an adult beginner’s class at Jeremy’s taekwondo dojang, when trying to put too much power into my kicks with not enough prior warmup netted me a nasty long bout with bursitis in my knee…)

Johannes Brahms, who was born on the same day as me, was 52 when he wrote his 4th symphony. I guess I feel more like the 52 of the scherzo of the 4th, than that of the first movement with its sense of wistfulness or that of the passacaglia with its sense of inevitability…

thanks for all the kind wishes and onward knowing I’m in more than excellent company!

My early forties were great…now I am sliding towards fifty and I admit, I am not really thrilled

But it’s better than the alternative!