The Day I Stopped Apologizing for My Child's Differences

 

🌼 The Day I Stopped Apologizing for My Child’s Differences

I used to brace myself before every outing. The sideways glances. The unsolicited advice. The apologies I whispered—not to Boston, but to the world around him.

“Sorry, he’s just sensitive to noise.” “Sorry, he doesn’t like hugs.” “Sorry, he’s not trying to be rude.”

But one day, I looked at my son—his hazel eyes scanning the world with quiet intensity, his plush bison clutched like a lifeline—and I realized: I wasn’t sorry. Not even a little.

I was proud.

Proud of the way he navigates a world that wasn’t built for him. Proud of the way he finds joy in patterns, textures, and silence. Proud of the way he teaches me to slow down, to listen deeper, to love without conditions.

That was the day I stopped apologizing. Not because the world changed. But because I did.

Now, when someone stares, I smile. When someone questions, I advocate. When someone misunderstands, I educate.

Boston’s differences aren’t deficits. They’re dimensions. And I will never again shrink them to fit someone else’s comfort.