Last week my son invited me to be his plus one for a photography gig at a concert.
I’ll gloss over the bit where ‘my son asked me to be his plus one’ although I know many will appreciate how precious that moment was!
This concert was held in a venue that carries a thread through three generations of my family.
It was a dance hall in the 60s. My parents dated and danced there.
It was a nightclub in the 80s and 90s. I partied there.
It’s now a concert venue and my son is photographing there.
As I stood by myself in the crowd while my son took his position in the photo pit, I remembered being on that same dance floor when I was 18 years old.
That young woman was full of anxiety, low on self-confidence, carried along like a passenger on a wave of social expectations, medicating with alcohol and retreating to quiet corners to escape the overwhelm.
Vulnerable, unsure, doing everything she could to make herself small. And covering it all with an alcohol induced mask.
This older woman and mother of an Autistic son?
This woman stood alone in the crowd but not lonely. Confident, dancing (mum style), carefree, earbuds in. A precious opportunity to reflect on how my personal journey of becoming a psychotherapist and realising my ADHD has enabled me to thrive.
A lifelong work in progress, but in that moment, I saw just how far I’d come.
And my son?
Well, I could not have been prouder to see him in his element. His autistic struggles outweighed in these moments by the joy he feels being around music and photography; a life-long passion which drives him to achieve in sometimes extremely challenging circumstances.
That’s what progress looks like.
Not freedom from the struggle, but freedom from the lie that you are the struggle.
This week, in the aftermath of the ‘Tylenol (paracetamol) causes Autism’ debate, I have come across plenty of people online who appear hugely misinformed around the topic. One particular comment sticks with me:
‘Ok, then (if it’s not the paracetamol) why has it (autism) increased massively in the last 50 years?’
For me, the answer is clear. The ‘massive increase’ has little to do with paracetamol and everything to do with progress.
It’s about visibility.
It’s about awareness.
It’s about understanding.
It’s about refusing to force people to conform.
It’s about children and adults being seen, heard and supported not hidden, judged and dismissed.
Progress looks like that 18-year-old girl who once felt scared but is now confident in her neurodivergent identity.
Progress looks like that Autistic young man who can lean into his passions and find joy, even in spaces that overwhelm him.
But here’s the work:
Progress is not inevitable and not everyone sees things the same way.
Progress happens because people refuse to accept marginalisation. Because we push back against lazy myths and harmful narratives. Because we take an active stand against forces that would rather weaponise difference than nurture it.
Progress is in our personal stories, our culture, our systems of power.
As for my son? I shared my reflections with him. His response? “Yes Mum, but when you were young, you only had to pay £20 for concert tickets . So maybe you had it better.”
Grains of truth for us both!
(Photo credit – all me. Unlike my talented son, I do not get invited to photograph concerts off the back of my photography skills!)