Part 4: The Beautiful and Unexpected Joys of Autism

Embracing the Unexpected: A Family’s Journey with Autism

Part 4: The Beautiful and Unexpected Joys of Autism

When we first began walking through Joel’s autism diagnosis, the journey felt heavy—full of unknowns, grief, and fear. But along the way, beauty began to break through in the most unexpected places. It wasn’t instant, and it didn’t replace the grief—but it did begin to transform it. 
Slowly, gently, joy started to emerge.

Seeing Life Through a Different Lens

Around the time we were still deep in the diagnostic process, my dad told me about a documentary he had watched. It featured a father whose son had cerebral palsy. The father, like me, had initially moved through grief and despair—until he learned something that completely shifted my perspective:

“I learned to see life through my son’s eyes. And through that, life became simpler—and more joyful.”

It was like catching light through a prism. That sentiment stayed with me. I could see—if only faintly—how I might one day experience that same kind of joy. Autism was slowly stripping away so many non-essentials in my life, things I once thought mattered but really didn’t.

 Through the fire of refinement, our family’s focus was being sharpened. Life was becoming clearer. And in that clarity, there was joy—joy in slowing down, in loving well, in being present, and in embracing the gift of who Joel actually is, not who I imagined he would be.

The Psychologist’s Words That Changed Everything

One of the most meaningful moments during Joel’s evaluation came from an unexpected place—the psychologist conducting his assessment.

At one point, she held up four pictures and asked Joel to point to the butterfly. Joel looked directly at the butterfly but didn’t point. She smiled and said, “I know he understands me because he looked right at it.”

I replied, “I know! I just can’t figure out if he doesn’t understand or if he’s being defiant.”

She gently said something that changed everything for me:

“Oh, it’s neither. The autistic brain doesn’t experience the same social pressures we do. For Joel, it’s purely logical. He hears me ask him to point—but he doesn’t want to, so he doesn’t. He doesn’t feel the need to meet expectations, spoken or unspoken, the way you or I would.”

That insight shifted my understanding of how Joel experiences the world. But an even deeper realization came a few days later, when she officially gave us his diagnosis.
She shared a story from a book written by an adult with autism who described hand-flapping—a behavior Joel often does when he’s excited. The author pointed out that neurotypical people do this too—just in more socially acceptable ways. Think of people jumping up and down, waving their arms wildly on The Price Is Right. That’s joy, uninhibited.

But unlike neurotypical adults, who tend to suppress big feelings because of social norms, people with autism don’t always feel that same pressure. They feel deeply—and express it freely.

I turned to her and said, “That makes me think of what you told me before—how people with autism don’t experience social pressure the way we do. Maybe that’s why they express emotion—joy, sadness, excitement—with such purity. They’re not burdened by perception.”

She got emotional. So did I. We just sat there, quiet, feeling the weight and wonder of that truth.

As a therapist, I spend much of my time helping people reconnect with their emotions—trying to unlearn the habits of repression and rediscover how to live authentically. And here was my son, at just two and a half, already doing what so many adults spend years trying to relearn.

Because of his autism, Joel isn’t burdened by the agony of needing to appear a certain way. He simply feels. He lives with a vulnerability and freedom that I admire deeply. A tender vulnerability that is reminiscent of Eden… 

That realization fills me with so much joy. What a gift it is to witness that kind of emotional freedom—to see the world through his eyes, and to watch him embrace it without shame.

Learning to See More Deeply

Another unexpected joy of autism is how much time it’s given us to truly reflect on who Joel is—his strengths, his struggles, and what makes him light up. Between the many evaluations, therapies, and conversations with specialists, we’ve had the opportunity to slow down and really see him.

How often do we, as parents, get the chance to sit in a room with people whose entire goal is to know and understand our child more deeply? It’s a rare gift. And one I no longer take for granted.

That intentional focus on seeing Joel has started to shape the way we approach family life as a whole. We’ve woven it into the fabric of our home—through something we call “Rant, Rave, and Repent” during family meetings and devotionals. It’s a space where we reflect together: What are we struggling with? What’s going well? Where do we need to grow?

Autism has taught us how to pause. To look more closely. To listen more deeply. To notice not just what’s loud – but what’s true.

There are still hard days. There are still unknowns. But in the midst of it, there are profound and beautiful joys—ones I never expected. Ones I wouldn’t trade.

Joel has helped me see the world in new ways. He’s helped me untangle my heart from the unnecessary, and press into the things that really matter. He’s helped me see that a life that looks different than expected can still be rich with meaning and full of joy.

And for that, I’m endlessly grateful.

And it’s just the beginning…