When I first wrote Welcome to Holland (Part 1) in April 2022, I was smack in the middle of a storm. I had received my son's autism diagnosis exactly a year earlier and was still trying to find my footing. The words I shared back then came from a place of rawness, fear, grief, and a deep longing for Italy.
Fast forward to 2025, and I can say with all honesty that I am in a much better place. The mother who wrote Part 1 was carrying so much on her shoulders. Today, I look back at her with nothing but kindness and pride. I am gentler with myself now. I am learning, day by day, that Holland is not a destination but a journey. It still has its hard days, but it also has countless beautiful ones.
Since then, life has handed me a little plot twist: I now have two autistic sons. I am a proud mother of not just one, but two wonderfully unique boys, each navigating their own Holland, in their own time, and (very often) dragging us along for the ride. Was it overwhelming at first? Absolutely. But slowly, I’ve learned to breathe through it all and accept that this is our story.
What I have come to love the most are the surprises Holland brings. My first son, who was 6 and non-verbal when I wrote Part 1, is now almost 9, and is nowadays very opinionated. He is not shy about saying no (using words), especially when leftovers are involved. The rest of us may be enjoying last night’s pilau while he declares, "It is smelling" 😂, leaving the food untouched. He rarely eats food without ketchup and demands for it when it’s missing. He now asks questions, sometimes about old nannies and schoolmates who left school two terms ago, as if they just left yesterday. He seeks eye contact, tries to hold conversations, and continues to challenge us and amaze us every single day.
With our second-born who is now 4, the journey has been different; not harder or easier, just different. He was born tongue-tied, something we were informed about at birth. For those unfamiliar with this, tongue-tie (or ankyloglossia) is a condition where the strip of skin connecting the tongue to the floor of the mouth is shorter than usual. This can interfere with breastfeeding, eating, and later on, speech. We knew early on that we would likely have to release it to prevent future speech problems, but during his first year, he seemed to hit his milestones fairly well, bringing us so much relief.
Then came the second year. We started noticing repetitive behaviors such as spinning and flapping, as well as loss of the few words he had learned earlier on. We consulted a specialist, who suggested that he could simply be emulating behaviors from his older brother. That bought us a little time to breathe. We held onto the hope that the speech delay was due to the tongue-tie, and that the repetitive behaviors were a phase of mimicry that was soon going to end. We were encouraged to begin speech therapy as we monitored his other milestones. Eventually, we released the tongue-tie, and to this day, we are actively engaged in helping him find his voice. Together with his older brother, he has been attending an integrated school where he takes part in therapies that have been instrumental in helping him achieve his milestones.
Accepting that he, too, is on the spectrum has been a hard pill to swallow. It came with its own wave of grief. Yet, knowing what I know now, and having walked parts of this road before, I am less afraid and more prepared to hold space for his unique pace and rhythm. We are still waiting for his first words, and we believe, deeply, that they will come soon. Until then, we continue to celebrate every win, every giggle, every sign of connection with his peers, every hug. Autism is a spectrum, and so this is a different way to experience Holland. Not a repeat, but a whole new adventure. And we are learning, once again, to take it one gentle, loving day at a time.
So here I am, still in Holland, still learning the language, still updating my guidebook. But now, I carry with me not just stories and lessons from one journey, but from two. Two very different boys, each teaching me how to see the world through their own lens. Some days are loud and full of words or meltdowns, while others are quiet and filled with unspoken connections. Some days are hard. But most days, we have laughter, tons of surprises, growth, and so much love.
I’ve found deep joy in supporting other parents who have just landed in Holland, sitting there dazed at the airport, eyes wide, guidebooks still unopened, wondering what comes next. I tell them gently “It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to feel lost. But don’t stay there too long. There is so much beauty here. I promise.” 🙂
The most freeing lesson I have learnt is that you don’t need to have it all figured out. One day at a time is enough. One smile. One meltdown survived. One little moment of connection. That’s how we find our way. If you are walking a similar path, remember you are not alone. 💙
P.S- I am truly loving this Welcome to Holland series, and I’m happy to continue it. If you are enjoying it, I’d love to hear from you:
Feel free to comment, message, or even share your story with us for publishing on our website. You are welcome here. 💙
#AutismAcceptance #WorldAutismAwarenessMonth #WelcomeToHolland #ProjectAKILI