The bottom line: Receiving an autism diagnosis can trigger profound shock, grief, and denial, which are natural psychological responses rather than personal failures. Acceptance is not about certainty or predicting outcomes, but about engaging with the present in ways that protect mental health and emotional stability. For parents and practitioners, supporting acceptance through self kindness, realistic expectations, and emotional support can meaningfully improve well-being over time.
When I heard the words “Your son is autistic”, I felt myself leave my body. I remember sitting there as numbness spread through me, my ears filled with a loud ringing, and the sense that my life had shifted in an instant. It felt like being lifted by a sudden storm, disoriented and unable to find solid ground. I could not stand up until sensation slowly returned to my legs, allowing me to leave the meeting that permanently altered how I understood my future.
When my son received his autism diagnosis in 1996, it felt like a life sentence. I began questioning everything. My heart filled with fear and grief, and my instinct was to retreat into my head, searching for logic and certainty in a moment that offered neither.
At a deeper level, I knew the diagnosis was accurate. What I could not accept was the picture I had been given of my son’s future. Denial became a shield. When pain feels overwhelming, the mind resists it, protecting us from what we are not yet ready to hold.
For me, denial was not stubbornness or ignorance. It was a natural response to grief that arrived too suddenly and too intensely. When pain exceeds our emotional capacity, we fight it, hoping it might somehow not be real. That was my experience.
This period lasted for months. I followed professional guidance, committed fully to therapy, and worked tirelessly with my son. Yet emotionally, I was still resisting the reality of a lifelong disability. Acceptance felt distant and unreachable, not because I lacked love or commitment, but because I was still grieving the future I believed had been taken from us.
Acceptance does not follow a map. There is no timeline or checklist to complete. It begins when we allow ourselves to feel pain rather than avoid it. Only then can we begin to live with what is present, rather than what we fear might come.
Acceptance does not mean certainty. It means recognising that the future is unknowable, and that the only truth we have is the moment we are in. Today, my son is 33 and living independently. I do not have a crystal ball. I cannot guarantee his happiness or success. What I know is that, right now, he is content and curious about what comes next.
Had I tried to predict his life at the moment of diagnosis, the outlook would have been bleak, shaped by fear and limited expectations. Acceptance allowed me to step out of that darkness and into a more honest relationship with uncertainty.
Acceptance is permission to breathe again. It is the choice to stop living inside imagined futures and return to the life unfolding in front of you. It does not erase fear, but it loosens its grip. It creates space for hope without denying reality.
I know how difficult it can feel to rise from fear and face the emotional work that acceptance requires. I also know it is possible, especially when approached with patience, compassion, and support.
If reading this feels overwhelming, that may simply mean you are not ready yet. That is not failure. When pain feels too heavy, the most important thing you can do is care for yourself gently. Seek comfort, rest, and whatever helps you feel safe enough to continue.
If you feel ready to take a small step, begin simply. Pause and take three slow, deep breaths. Look for one small moment of gratitude, even if it feels distant. If gratitude feels unreachable, picture your child’s smile. Allow yourself to feel the love you hold, and let that love remind you that hope still exists.
You may find it helpful to repeat a simple reassurance: “All is well. I will be OK. We will be OK.” Use your own words if they resonate more deeply.
Set aside moments of quiet each day, however brief. Use them to breathe, to reflect, or simply to be still. When hope fades, return to gratitude, even in its smallest form.
Above all, practise kindness towards yourself. Acceptance does not come from force. It grows through patience, self compassion, and the courage to face pain at your own pace. Through self kindness, we find the strength to live with what is, and to move forward with grace.
Brigitte M. Volltrauer Shipman is an author, life coach, speaker, and teacher. She specialises in coaching mothers with children diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder (ASD). Her current book is A Mother’s Guide Through Autism, Through The Eyes of The Guided.