When my son was first diagnosed with autism, I focused so much on the “big things”—speech therapy, school support, developmental milestones—that I didn’t immediately understand how much his daily life was shaped by sensory input.
I thought tantrums were just “bad behavior.” I didn’t see that the sound of the blender in the kitchen made his entire body tense up, or that tags on his shirts were a constant source of irritation. Looking back, I wish someone had explained to me that sensory regulation isn’t a small part of autism—it’s often at the core of everything else.
Over time, I learned to observe—not just react. I began to recognize patterns. The meltdowns after a noisy outing weren’t random; they were a sign that his nervous system was overloaded. The resistance to brushing teeth wasn’t stubbornness; it was sensory discomfort.
One of the biggest shifts for us came when I stopped trying to “fix” every behavior and started asking: What is his body trying to tell me?
We made simple but powerful changes—swapping out scratchy clothes for softer fabrics, using noise-reducing headphones in busy environments, and giving him quiet time after school to decompress. These small adjustments made a massive difference in his mood, focus, and ability to engage.
We also started practicing emotional regulation together. Deep breathing, storytime with weighted blankets, using visual aids to identify feelings—it all helped. And I noticed that as I modeled calm and patience, he gradually began to mirror it.
Another thing that helped was finding the right professionals. Occupational therapy opened our eyes to tools and exercises that actually helped him feel more grounded in his body. And speech therapy wasn’t just about words—it became a space where he learned how to communicate frustration in a safer way.
I’m not saying every day is perfect—we still have hard moments. But understanding his sensory needs gave me the roadmap I didn’t even know I was missing.
If you’re a parent just starting this journey, my biggest advice is this: be curious, not critical. Watch closely. What looks like defiance may actually be a cry for help. What seems small to you might feel huge to them.
There’s so much strength and beauty in how our kids experience the world. When we meet them where they are—and build strategies that honor their needs—everything changes.