They didn’t see it—the quiet, “I’m sorry, Mom. I want to be good.” The tears slipping down his nose. The frustration welling up in his chest because he couldn’t make his brain understand the situation.
They didn’t see him fold his little hands, ask God for forgiveness, or reach out for a hug.
They just heard him yell. Saw the screaming meltdown. Watched him kick and pound at the ground.
For the most part, I’ve gotten past the embarrassment. I really don’t care what people think of my parenting. I don’t have to explain things to anyone’s satisfaction. I’m only accountable to God.
At least, those are the things I tell myself when I feel my cheeks flush red while I wait for the meltdown to pass.
Occasionally, one happens in town, and I’m tempted to apologize to bystanders. But the first time I did, (apologized for autistic behavior), the nurse looked me over and gently but firmly said, “Don’t ever apologize for him acting this way. It’s literally who he is, and he never has to be sorry for that.”
I’m not defending bad behavior. But autistic meltdowns are not tantrums, and I just wish people could look past the loud, angry sobs to see what I see—someone who is struggling… someone with a big heart who just needs a little extra help to show it.
Seth is one of the sweetest boys I’ve ever met. He says please and thank you without fail. He tells me, “I missed you, Mom,” when I’ve been gone. He plays with his brother, helps around the house, and hugs me a thousand times a day. He’s not a bad kid… he’s just a kid. A kid with autism.
Maybe people think I can’t hear the snickers or see the smirks. Or maybe they just don’t care. “That’s the boy who has ADHD or something.” Recently, someone even asked me point blank what was wrong with my child because “they could tell something seemed off.”
In that moment, I chose to graciously educate them: He has autism. But he’s different, not less.
Anyone with half a heart should be able to look past the hard, loud moments and just see… Seth. Who he is.
He’s going to have to learn to manage his meltdowns. He’s going to have to accept that his brain processes things differently and many things will be harder for him. I just hope and pray the world learns too—so that when he’s ready to step out into it, people will choose to understand and accept instead of stare and judge.
I hope they choose to look beyond the struggle and see the heart of a boy
made in the image of God—
who loves deeply,
laughs freely,
and is just a little obsessed with butterflies.
And if they don’t…
I will.
I will see him.
I will fight for him.
I will never let the world’s misunderstanding define who he is.
Because he is not too much.
He is not less.
He is my son.
And I think he is just right.
©️ Grace Baeten 2026
The Misplaced Mom 
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