Being Mum to Harper: Loving My Autistic Child Out Loud

When I became a mum, I thought I had a rough idea of what to expect. I’d read the books, soaked up every parenting podcast, and planned for everything I could. But when Harper came into my world, she brought with her a journey I never saw coming—one that has changed everything I thought I knew about parenting, about love, and about what it means to show up for someone completely.

Early Days, Quiet Questions

Harper was always unique. Beautiful, sensitive, observant. There were things that made her stand out from early on—her love for patterns, her intense focus, the way she preferred being in her own little world. At first, I told myself not to compare. All children grow at their own pace, right?

But the questions kept growing. Why isn’t she speaking yet? Why does she get so upset when something small changes? Why won’t she look at me when I call her name?

The diagnosis came with a quiet finality: autism. And suddenly, there was a name for everything I had been seeing. It was both a punch to the chest and a deep breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

Rewriting the Parenting Manual

Being Harper’s mum has meant rewriting every part of what I thought parenting would be. There’s no “standard” roadmap here—no step-by-step guide to help me know what’s coming next. And some days, that’s terrifying.

But with Harper, every milestone—no matter how small—feels monumental. A new word. A moment of shared eye contact. The first time she let me hold her hand for longer than a second. These are things other parents might take for granted, but for us? These are miracles.

She’s taught me to slow down, to listen differently, to celebrate things that most people overlook.

The World Doesn’t Always Get It

If I could protect Harper from the outside world forever, I probably would. Because the world isn’t always kind—or patient. There are the stares when she melts down in public, the people who whisper or roll their eyes, the isolation that creeps in when invites to parties quietly stop.

People see a child “acting out.” I see a child overwhelmed by a world that wasn’t made with her in mind.

I’ve become her advocate. Her translator. Her safe place. I fight for her needs in schools and push for understanding in spaces that aren’t always ready to give it. And even on days I feel like I’m falling apart, I never stop fighting. Because Harper deserves a world that sees her the way I do.

The Love Is Different—And Bigger

Harper has a way of loving that’s pure. She doesn’t fake smiles. She doesn’t pretend to be someone she’s not. When she connects with you, it’s real. When she trusts you, it’s sacred. And when she laughs—truly laughs—it’s like sunshine pouring into your chest.

She’s made me a different kind of mum. More patient, more open, more resilient. She’s taught me to let go of expectations and live in the moment. To find joy in the details. To love someone exactly as they are—with no conditions, no timelines, no need for them to change.

To Other Mums Like Me

If you’re reading this and you’re parenting a child like Harper, I want you to know: you’re not alone. This road can feel lonely, but there’s a whole world of us out here—quietly carrying the weight, fiercely protecting our children, and loving harder than we ever knew we could.

It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be tired. And it’s okay to say this is hard—because it is. But it’s also full of moments so beautiful they take your breath away.

You’re doing an incredible job. And your child—just like Harper—is lucky to have you.