Finn: A Neurotypical Star in a Neurodivergent Universe

Finn is four years old. And for the past few years, he has been his brother's shadow. He wants to do whatever Hudson does, much to Hudson's chagrin. He will say the same things that his big brother does, whether it makes sense to him or not.

Finn is younger and neurotypical. While he's never been tested, we can confidently say that he isn't on the spectrum. But autism is still a huge part of who he is. Just like his brother, autism has been a part of his life since the day he was born.

Establishing routines for Hudson was relatively easy to do when Finn was a baby. Hudson thrives off a regimented schedule where he knows when he does certain activities like eating, sleeping, and free time. If dinner is delayed by more than 10-15 minutes on a given night, Hudson makes sure we know how annoyed he is by that. Finn prefers to "go with the flow" when it comes to things like that.

But as Finn got older and became more independent, we realized that his world couldn't be separated from Hudson's. We all had to live in his brother's world; whether we always liked it or not. That meant adapting everything around us to ensure that Hudson was comfortable and taken care of.

Finn has learned a lot of his behaviors from his brother. He often melts down the same way Hudson does; not because he's autistic, but rather because he wants to be like his big brother. This makes discipline very difficult for us, as we have to approach consequences for bad behavior differently with Hudson.

Finn is also as much of a picky eater as Hudson is, leaving us constantly limited in what food choices to offer. He doesn't understand why he might have to eat something that his brother does not have to eat.

Hudson is most often the center of our universe because he has to be. His needs are different from what Finn's are... and if they aren't met, the consequences can be more extreme.

But for all of this, Finn shines brightly as a star himself, and one with its own distinct orbit. He's incredibly sociable and LOVES going to school. He has a number of friends in his class and refers to his cousin Jax as his "best friend". Hudson rarely mentions his friends and sadly doesn't have a true best friend. When Hudson prefers to be alone with his book, Legos, dinosaur toys, or YouTube videos, Finn wants to be the center of attention while showing you all kinds of imaginative movements. His energy is through the roof most days, causing us to feel equally as amused as we do aggravated. Hudson obeys rules almost with a military-esque obedience; Finn prefers to see how far he can bend them. While Hudson prefers to stay home, Finn jumps at a chance to go out and dance to a local band.

There are many experiences that we avoid as a family because we know how badly they'd trigger Hudson. Amusement parks are something that won't be doable for Hudson for quite some time; he can barely handle the local carnivals. And that means Finn misses out, too, because it's not fair for one brother to do something that the other cannot.

Both of our boys were destined to shine brightly on their own. Finn is an entertainer to his core. He loves to dance, sing, and doesn't care what anyone says or how they react.

One day we'll figure out how to let Finn's universe be what he wants it to be. He deserves a life that isn't restricted by the same boundaries as his brother's. But we're grateful that he doesn't mind sharing the same space as Hudson, at least not for now.

Winning Doesn’t Come Easy

It's no secret to those who work with Hudson that he wants to be the best at what he does. Competition is one of his worst triggers, and it's one that we've struggled with the most the past few years.

Winning doesn't come easy for him.

We were told early on in his diagnosis that Hudson would likely always have low muscle tone, low core strength, and that he would struggle with coordination.

Being a gifted athlete isn't something that will come easy for Hudson (if at all).

Children with autism often have delayed motor skills and require OT to help them with things that neurotypical people take for granted. Things like writing, coloring, or even gripping a pencil don't come easy for Hudson.

Earlier this month, Hudson went to a children's Christmas party that some local businesses put together. There was a gingerbread house coloring contest going on where kids could enter to win some great prizes. Hudson and Finn both jumped at the chance to color their sheets and enter the contest.

Contests and competitions are very challenging for Hudson. Especially when winning them doesn't come easy.

Hudson's love of drawing began about two years ago. He started drawing random dinosaurs and Godzilla monsters at home, and drawing quickly became an escape for him in school when he needed it. We started buying empty notebooks for him to doodle on. His drawings were often wire sketches done in crayon or ink, with no color detail. But they were all special to him, and to us.

Each night we let Hudson choose the books that we read before bedtime. And for the longest time, he chose a National Geographic Kids Magazine. The last pages contained drawings that children had submitted for publication. He would see those drawings and immediately ask us to send in his work to be published. I dreaded the nights where he'd ask that; not because I wasn't proud of his work, but because I knew that the magazine wouldn't understand his drawings, and that they'd likely never select them to be printed. They simply wouldn't know him or how special he is.

Within the past year, we've seen massive improvements in his art work. The wire frame drawings began to take on colors that slowly began to stay within the lines. His art assignments at school became more vibrant and impressive.

The boys finished their entries in the contest and soon returned home. Knowing how difficult winning a competition can be, Kayla and I started thinking about how to handle whatever disappointed outbursts might come. Hudson wants to win at everything and struggles when he doesn't.

The next day, the local business announced the winners of the contest on Facebook. We showed Hudson the results right away. Finnley's name appeared at the top of the list, and Hudson immediately became dejected.

And then we asked him to keep reading the names.

Towards the bottom of the list, "Hudson K" appeared. And when we explained to him that he had won, his face lit up with the biggest smile.

Winning doesn't come easy for Hudson, at least not on paper. We teared up when we read his name and saw his reaction.

We know he's already had countless victories that he's unaware of himself, but it felt really great to celebrate his winning a competition against his neurotypical peers.

What I Would Go Back and Tell Myself

This past July marked four years since we received Hudson’s diagnosis. It seems a bit unreal that we’ve been on this road for that long.

I remember being so scared that day. I was a ball of nerves the entire appointment, randomly bursting into tears at any given moment. I even yelled at the poor receptionist about my insurance card, screaming at her, "I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE!!”.

After it was finished we were numb. We all rode home in the car in silence for two hours, tears silently falling down both our faces. Matt and I were unsure of what our next steps would be and how we would navigate this new world.

I think about the day a lot, and where we are now. I wasn’t sure what the future held for him at that point. After that day I just wanted to know what his future would look like (I still wonder that). If only I had a crystal ball.

I wish I could go back and tell my younger self some things. I’d like to tell myself that it will be ok. Yes there will be hard times, but also good times. Autism is a roller coaster, so hold tight.

I’d tell myself that his milestones will be small in comparison to others, but when he hits them they are a thousand times more sweeter.

I’d also tell myself that this diagnosis isn’t the end. Just because there’s a diagnosis doesn’t mean he’ll suddenly change. In fact, he’ll end up being the sweetest, cuddliest toddler ever. And you’ll look back and miss those days so much. So soak it up and don’t look at him any differently than what you saw prior to a diagnosis.

I’d also tell myself that there will be hard days. Days where you hate autism so much it makes you want to scream. Days where you want nothing more than to wish it away.

I’d also tell myself that you’ll be stronger than you could ever imagine. You’ll learn how to fight for your child and how to be the person he needs. You’ll learn what it means to be an advocate.

I’m sure in four more years I’ll be able to tell myself so much more... hopefully mostly positive things. I’m not sure what the future holds for him, but I know I’ll be by his side through it all.