I realized recently that I’m not actually a helicopter parent. For one thing I’ve always disliked the idea of being one, but for years I have worried that others would view me as one. But at the same time I didn’t feel I had a choice, I had to mother my children and it seemed like everything I was doing was in a very up close and hovering way.

But this past year when I was advocating for my autistic son and I was explaining to a young caregiver his role and my role in passing on information to each other that I realized that I am in fact a translator- Not a hovering, can’t let go, needs to be up close and personal parent.

I realized that I am in fact my son’s translator to the world and people around him. If he spoke sign language, my role would not look much different than how I help him now.

When we go out in public and someone asks him a question or tries to greet him, I will often casually bring his attention to the situation and then he will look to me for direction. Here I will often change what the person said to him into words that he would understand. Then I will sometimes prompt him with how to respond or if I know he has the ability to answer for himself I will take a back seat and let him take over.

Over the years this role I have had in teaching my kiddo how to interact with the world around him has changed. It used to be very much hands on, not just because it was difficult for him to people, but for his safety as well. He used to elope, wander, move quickly and quietly. But looking back I wasn’t hovering to keep control over this little human I had brought into this world. Mr. L needed me to help guide him and teach him how to be safe and responsible for himself. Of course I still have this role to help him learn how to become independent, but as he gets older and as he puts in the work, he is needing me in new and changing ways.

But this is also how I have come to understand for myself that I am not a helicopter parent. Because as he needs me less for things- like getting himself ready in the morning, and making his own meals. I am more than happy to step back and watch him fly.

It’s just tricky when it’s a grey area… Those moments where he is getting the hang of something (like boiling noodles on the stove) and wants to do it on his own, but hasn’t quite figured out all the details yet (like scraping the bottom of the pan so the noodles don’t stick to it). So I sit in the next room over and glance in when I think he’s not looking!

Sometimes others will see him doing something completely independently, like walking into the gym by himself and go to swim practice without needing me to make sure he gets there ok. And they probably see me peaking in the window of the pool as I make sure he’s doing ok, not getting emotionally upset or being picked on. And I’m sure they are thinking “Chill out mom, he can obviously do this on his own”. But they don’t know his history.

We have moved a lot over the years and so the community we live in now didn’t see my little boy who would try to hide behind the toilet paper packages in the store because the world was too bright and loud. They didn’t see the toddler who would scream and bang his head because he couldn’t communicate his basic needs to his heart broken parents. They didn’t see the young boy who took off and wandered into the trees and didn’t know when his mother was screaming his name that she was panicking because she was pushing down the fear that she would never see her son alive again.

No. The community we live in today see a preteen boy who is the byproduct of years of hard work, tears, dedication, success, therapies, kindness, and love. They see a preteen who can walk himself into his school and through the loud and unpredictable halls filled with his neurotypical peers. They see a kid who is funny, loves to share his art and jokes with others, who is often quiet but mostly able to get not just his needs met, but can often share his frustrations and experiences with others.

My husband and I were told that our son would never speak. That his words were lost and would never come back, and now he interacts with peers on his swim team and communicates with his swim coach without much needed help from me. He is amazing and I am honored to be his mother. It has been a blessing to hold him in my arms when the world was too much and it is a gift for me to learn how to and when to let go.

I am not a helicopter parent. I am his translator, his advocate, his protector and above all else, his mother.