Tag: Learning

Making Space for Stimming

by Julianna, posted in Learning

Since April is Autism Awareness Month, I wanted to spend some time talking about some of the things people often see in autism but may not fully understand.

One of those things is stimming.

Stimming is short for self-stimulatory behavior, and it refers to repetitive movements or sounds that help someone regulate their body or emotions.

For autistic individuals, stimming is often a natural and important way to process the world around them.

It can happen when someone is excited, overwhelmed, happy, anxious, or simply trying to focus.

And while the word might sound clinical, stimming itself is actually very human.

Many people stim in some way without even realizing it.

Think about things like:

• tapping your foot

• twirling your hair

• clicking a pen

• bouncing your leg while sitting

These are all small ways people help their bodies stay regulated.

For autistic individuals, those behaviors may simply look a little different.

Stimming can look like:

• hand movements

• rocking or swaying

• bouncing

• repeating sounds

• snapping or clapping

• pacing

• flapping arms

For August, stimming often looks like bouncing, swaying side to side, clapping, snapping his fingers, or flapping his arms when he’s excited.

Sometimes he makes little sounds while he moves, especially when he’s listening to music or feeling really happy.

Sometimes his stimming helps him regulate when he’s overwhelmed.

And sometimes it’s simply his way of experiencing joy.

Earlier in our journey, we didn’t fully understand stimming. Like many parents, our first instinct was to try to stop it.

But as we learned more about autism, our perspective shifted.

Now, instead of trying to stop stimming, we try to make space for it.

Because we’ve realized that for August, these movements help his body regulate and process the world around him.

And sometimes, they’re simply an expression of happiness.

Sometimes when people see stimming in public, they assume something is wrong.

But often, it’s simply a child expressing excitement or helping their body feel regulated.

Stimming is not something that automatically needs to be “fixed.”

In many cases, it’s an important tool that helps autistic individuals regulate their nervous system and feel more comfortable in their environment.

That doesn’t mean every stim is safe in every situation, but understanding why it happens is an important step toward compassion.

One of the things autism has taught our family is that behaviors often have meaning behind them.

When we take the time to understand those behaviors instead of immediately trying to stop them, we learn a lot more about what our children need.

Sometimes the best thing we can do is simply make space for someone to regulate in the way that works for them.

Stimming may look unfamiliar to some people, but it is often just a person’s way of helping their body feel calm, safe, and balanced.

And once you understand that, it starts to feel a lot less mysterious.

What ABA Therapy Actually Looks Like

by Julianna, posted in Learning

Since April is Autism Awareness Month, I wanted to spend some time talking about some of the big topics that come up when people talk about autism.

One of the first things many families hear about after an autism diagnosis is ABA therapy.

ABA stands for Applied Behavior Analysis, and if you’ve spent any time in autism parenting spaces, you’ve probably heard a lot of different opinions about it.

For some people, it can sound intimidating or overly clinical. For others, it’s something they’ve never heard of at all.

So I thought it might be helpful to share what ABA therapy actually looks like in our family’s life.

August attends ABA therapy at Mitchell’s Place in their comprehensive program. He goes Monday through Friday from 8:00 in the morning until 3:30 in the afternoon.

During that time, he works closely with two Registered Behavior Technicians (RBTs) who support him throughout the day. Those therapists are supervised by a Board Certified Behavior Analyst (BCBA) who oversees his program and helps guide his goals and progress.

If that sounds very structured, it is.

But what most people don’t realize is that ABA therapy doesn’t just happen at a desk or in a clinical setting. A lot of learning happens through play, movement, and everyday activities.

It might look like:

• practicing communication

• learning how to follow directions

• taking turns during play

• building tolerance for new situations

• developing self-help skills

• learning how to regulate big emotions

In other words, many of the things that come naturally to some kids are things August is intentionally being taught and supported through.

And that support has made a real difference.

Since starting ABA, we’ve seen so much growth in August.

His eye contact has improved, and he’s more engaged with the people around him.

He’s become better at following simple commands and responding when his name is called.

He’s learning how to communicate using an AAC device, which has opened new doors for him to express his needs and connect with others.

We’ve also seen more vocalizations and sounds, which is exciting as his communication continues to develop.

His play skills have grown, including beginning to explore pretend play, which is something that once felt far away.

His social skills are improving, and he’s becoming more comfortable interacting with others.

And one of the biggest changes we’ve noticed is his ability to regulate himself. Moments that once felt overwhelming are becoming more manageable as he learns new ways to cope and respond.

Progress doesn’t happen overnight, and therapy isn’t a magic fix.

But it has been an important piece of support for our family.

It’s also important to acknowledge that ABA can be a debated topic within the autism community, and every autistic person and every family has their own experiences and perspectives.

For our family, ABA has been a tool that helps August learn, grow, and build skills that support his development.

And at the end of the day, that’s what matters most to us.

One of the things autism parenting has taught me is that there isn’t one single path that works for every child.

Every child is different.

Every family is learning as they go.

And for August, ABA therapy has been one of the places where we’ve watched him grow in ways that make us incredibly proud.

The Childhood We Didn’t Expect (But Learned to Love)

by Julianna, posted in Fun & Family

There are a lot of things people associate with autism.

Therapy appointments.

Evaluations.

Meltdowns.

Sensory needs.

And yes — those things are part of our life.

But so is laughter.

A lot of it.

When August was first diagnosed, I quietly grieved the picture of childhood I had always imagined. The one where everything looked typical and predictable.

But over time, something changed.

Instead of focusing on what we thought childhood would look like, we started paying attention to what actually makes August happy.

And it turns out, the little things are where the joy lives.

August loves music. When one of his favorite songs comes on, he lights up. He’ll bounce back and forth and sway side to side like the music is moving through him.

Sometimes he claps along to the rhythm. Other times he snaps his fingers and makes silly sounds while he dances.

It’s impossible not to smile when you see it.

He also loves light-up toys and anything that makes sound. One of his favorite things right now is the Bluey keytar he got for Christmas. If music starts playing in our house, there’s a very good chance August is nearby, happily pressing the keys and dancing along.

Another thing August loves is connection.

He gives the best hugs and is always ready with a high five. And if you try to tickle him, be prepared — he will absolutely dissolve into laughter.

But if you asked August what his favorite activity is, the answer would still be easy.

Jumping.

More specifically, jumping and crashing onto his crash pad.

He will jump, crash, bounce back up, and do it all over again with the biggest grin on his face.

And when summer comes around, the trampoline has some competition.

August loves water play. The sprinkler, the hose, splashing in puddles — if water is involved, he’s all in. Watching him run through the sprinkler and laugh is one of those simple childhood moments that never gets old.

One thing autism has taught us is to never take small milestones for granted.

Things that once felt ordinary suddenly feel worth celebrating. Progress is noticed more carefully. Little victories matter more.

And because of that, the joyful moments feel even bigger.

Not every part of an autism diagnosis is easy or fun. There are hard days. There are challenges we didn’t expect— and still don’t know how to handle.

But we’ve learned something important along the way:

We still get to have fun.

Sometimes it just looks different than we once imagined.

Sometimes fun looks like dancing in the living room.

Sometimes it looks like silly sounds and belly laughs.

Sometimes it looks like a boy jumping full force onto a crash pad over and over again.

And sometimes it looks like a mom sitting on the couch watching all of it unfold… while silently wondering how one small human has this much energy.

We don’t spend our time mourning what we once thought August’s childhood would look like.

Instead, we’ve learned to celebrate the childhood he’s actually living.

And in many ways, this journey has shaped us as parents in ways we didn’t expect.

It’s taught us to slow down.

To notice the little things.

To celebrate progress, no matter how small.

And that perspective is something we now carry into raising Sawyer too.

Whether his path includes a diagnosis or not, we want to approach his childhood the same way — with gratitude, patience, and a deep appreciation for the moments that make him who he is.

Because at the end of the day, joy doesn’t have to look typical to be real.

And August brings a lot of it into our home.

(Along with an impressive amount of trampoline bouncing and full speed crashing.)

Room at the Table (even for bears)

by Julianna, posted in Learning

I’ve been thinking a lot about inclusion lately.

Not just for children with autism.

Not just for children with visible differences.

But for all children with different needs, abilities, temperaments, and learning styles.

Inclusion isn’t a trend.

It isn’t a “nice add-on.”

And it isn’t something we do out of charity.

It’s something we do because every child belongs.

Today, August was allowed to bring his bears to Sunday school so they could “learn about Jesus” too.

To most people, that might seem small.

To us, it wasn’t.

It meant he felt safe.

It meant he felt understood.

It meant someone saw his need for comfort — and made room for it.

That’s inclusion.

As a mom of a child with autism, I’ve seen both sides of this.

I’ve seen spaces where August is fully welcomed — where accommodations are made quietly and naturally, where headphones don’t draw stares, where patience is extended without making him feel “other.”

And I’ve seen spaces where inclusion feels conditional.

Where a child is welcome — as long as they don’t disrupt.

As long as they don’t need too much.

As long as they fit.

But here’s the truth:

Inclusion isn’t about convenience.

It’s about dignity.

And this doesn’t just apply to autism.

It applies to:

• Kids with anxiety

• Kids with ADHD

• Kids with physical disabilities

• Kids who learn differently

• Kids who are shy

• Kids who are loud

• Kids who struggle socially

• Kids who struggle academically

Every child carries something.

Inclusion means we don’t rank whose needs are “big enough” to matter.

It means we teach our children to notice difference without fearing it.

To make space instead of shrinking it.

To ask questions kindly.

To extend friendship intentionally.

And sometimes inclusion looks simple.

It looks like:

• A teacher adjusting seating.

• A church welcoming comfort items without hesitation.

• A parent explaining differences to their child instead of shushing curiosity.

• A friend inviting the child who struggles socially to sit with them.

Inclusion doesn’t require perfection.

It requires awareness.

It requires adults willing to model empathy.

It requires communities willing to flex.

It requires patience.

As parents, we can’t control every environment our children enter.

But we can raise children who make space for others.

That matters.

Because one day, our kids won’t just be the ones needing inclusion.

They’ll be the ones offering it.

And that’s the kind of world I want August — and Sawyer — to grow up in.