
I always knew my kids were different — not in a way that needed fixing, but in the way they experienced the world so deeply, with such focus, intensity, and passion.
The way my son would hyper-focus on his latest obsession, the way unexpected noises could send him into a meltdown, the way they found comfort in routines and patterns. But for a long time, I didn't have the words for it.
It wasn't until I began the journey of seeking a diagnosis for my sons that I started seeing those same traits reflected in myself.
Suddenly, all the things I had once brushed off — my own struggles, my sensitivities, my way of seeing the world — started to make sense in a way they never had before.
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How I realised my sons were neurodivergent.
Each of my sons had their own unique journey to diagnosis, and I learned a lot along the way.
With Sebastian, I didn't even consider autism at first.
He was incredibly intelligent, met all his milestones, and gave eye contact, all things I had mistakenly believed ruled out autism. But looking back, I see the signs were there all along.