In the 1970s, few parents had language for neurodivergence. In this deeply personal reflection, the author shares her story of raising an autistic son in a world that offered no understanding or support. Through honesty, guilt, and hindsight, she offers comfort to today’s parents — reminding them that compassion for themselves matters just as much as care for their children.
A Mother's Reflection
As a parent of neurodivergent children in the 1970s and 80s, I navigated a world that had no language for neurodivergence. I carry a sense of guilt for not knowing how to support them in the best way possible. Now, as a grandmother I hope by sharing these experiences, beginning with my son, that I can offer some comfort to today’s parents, helping them navigate similar challenges with a bit more understanding and above all, compassion for themselves.
The Unknowns of Parenthood in the 1970s
How many new parents from the baby boomer’s era knew they were spending their days and nights with a neurodivergent baby? I expect this depends on where, geographically the family was. I was in the UK. The nearest I came to learning about caring for and bringing up a child came from a Dr Spock book. I thought I would be a very modern mum bringing my son up in a new way and not the way in which I was raised. Other than this ‘font of knowledge’ I sought out some advice from my parents, my young aunt, the Health Visitor and my GP. Nobody, professional or otherwise ever spoke about autism. Was it actually a thing back then? I was drowning but didn’t want anyone to know I couldn’t cope.
A Missed Bond and Hidden Struggles
I missed the bonding at birth with my son and still carry so much guilt approaching 50 years later. Part of it was out of my control, another part was ignorance. In today’s world with parenting books, support groups and the internet readily available I believe it would be a different experience for me. I had no idea back in the 70’s what autism was. Babies were either good babies or whingy babies. It’s cringeworthy now to think about how I thought of this time. I’d spent 3 years yearning for this child and now I was sinking fast. I know now I was suffering from depression and as I had no help from my husband or his family I felt a complete failure.
It seemed to be a round of health clinics weekly, a visit from the health visitor every few days to monitor weight, assess hearing and sight and an opportunity to discuss any worries. I never felt I could discuss a baby who was not sleeping and cried a lot. I think that was more my upbringing – the good old, ‘you made your bed, get on with it’ attitude from my elders. I didn’t want to be a failure. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. How much different it could have been. But am I judging by the help and support available now?
When I became pregnant in Iran we started to make plans for my return to the UK. My baby (there was no identification process before birth then) was due on September 28th, 1977. I came back in May and stayed with my parents so I could have antenatal care and give birth in the local hospital. My husband remained in Iran until August. My son was late arriving and was finally born the 2nd week in October.
I actually went into the hospital the day before as I thought I was in labour but after 4 hours I was sent home and told to come back when I was actually in labour and not before. I was in agony all day and night and the following morning. I didn’t want to go back to the hospital in case I got told off again so I danced around the rooms at home until my mother said she’d call an ambulance.
My husband finally drove me to the hospital and my son was born an hour after our arrival, screaming his way into this world and doing a pee at the same time. This 6 lb. 6 ounce lad wasn’t happy to be here. I’d had no gas and air, no Pethidine and there was no romanticised labour and birth. He was whisked away and when he was brought back to us, he was clean and swaddled. The only area of skin visible was his face.
This wasn’t what I had imagined. I had imagined looking at and holding him and feeling all warm and squishy, oozing with love while holding his fingers and rubbing his feet. I could at least kiss his tiny face.
Rules, Routines, and a System Without Compassion
In the 1970's when you had your first baby in the UK you had to stay in hospital for 10 days. This turned into a nightmare for me. There were about 30 new mums on the ward. It was ruled over by a ward sister who ran it with military precision.
She would not allow babies to be free so he was swaddled the whole time with no freedom to move, unless being bathed or changed or examined by medical professionals. He told me quite recently that that was the best thing for him, and I could have kept doing it after leaving the hospital. So, did I confound his discomfort?
She would not allow bottle feeding. If there was an issue, then it was Mum who was at fault. I struggled, so it was my fault. She wasn’t forthcoming with any alternative unless you had inverted nipples! When we took him home, I would be trying to breastfeed while my husband was making bottles. My son enjoyed the bottle, so about 4 weeks in, on the advice of the Health Visitor, I swapped to bottle feeding full-time.
Babies would be delivered to you at allotted times and whisked away regardless of mum’s feelings. I was taught how to bathe and dry him, change him using one or two nappy/diaper pins (no disposable back then), and how to swaddle him.
No cuddling for cuddling's sake. It instils a dependency that wasn’t allowed, apparently!
Mum was not allowed in the nursery for any reason.
Visitors were not allowed to pick the babies up and had to contend with looking at them in their cots.
These were not all the rules, but the main ones that I remember. How different it is in today’s world.
Learning Without Guidance
I wonder how many of the mothers I was with back then ended up with feelings of guilt as I did because there wasn’t the opportunity to bond properly? How many were left feeling inadequate? So much so that it became trial and error, second-guessing what our babies wanted when they cried? I know I really struggled and seemed to be constantly trying to work out what I was doing wrong. It became a vicious circle, as when I tried everything I could think of and nothing worked, I would be in despair.
Alone but Not Unseen
I’d moved back to my own home, which was 250 miles from my family, and I had no friends of my own around me. As we’d been working overseas, I hadn’t made any. My husband spent hours out of the house each day visiting his family and friends. I was in despair! I had a baby who cried for several hours each day. I wasn’t getting any sleep, and I had no idea what was wrong to make him so unhappy and discontented.
Trial and Error: Raising a Child Without a Name for Difference
Today, it would have been different, or would it? How many parents are still struggling with newborns that don’t fit ‘the norm’ and are told they will adjust, grow out of it, feed off the feelings of others around them, so stay calm, etc.? My son was born autistic. It didn’t suddenly develop when he became a boy, young adult or adult. He was autistic when I gave birth to him. The professionals didn’t know about autism then, either, as they gave me all sorts of things to try:
Change his milk. I’d already done this and fed him the gold milk, which was not what was recommended, but he was forever hungry.
Bathe him twice a day – first thing in the morning and before putting him down to sleep in the evening. He didn’t like being in the water. As an adult, he has explained how water burns his skin. Is it reasonable to think it had the same effect as a baby? He must have hated being in that warm water. At around the age of 3 years, he liked sitting in shallow bath water playing with his toys, though.
Get him out in the fresh air, and he’ll sleep. Hit and miss, but probably the motion of the pram? And, one can’t walk all day!
Don’t wrap him in too many clothes (we were heading into the winter months)
Make sure he has a blanket as a comforter. This was actually good advice, and he still likes to carry a piece of ribbon in his pocket for when he’s anxious.
I had a mother-in-law who made it clear that my son was our responsibility and not hers. She would not be babysitting at any point unless it was an emergency, and not to ask for any advice. Although her advice was freely given when not asked for!
The Quiet Kindness of a Miner’s Heart
My father-in-law, a typical, no-nonsense, Yorkshire coal miner, on the other hand, visited me every morning. He played with my son, chatted about things with me, and offered advice when he thought he could help. Looking back, he knew I was struggling and tried so hard to help without saying anything discouraging.
He suggested I play music specifically for my son, recommending classics in particular, and whatever was on the radio. To read to him, even though there would be no interaction, as he was only 3 months old at this point. To put his carrycot in the car and drive until he went to sleep. This one my husband did sometimes during the dead of night when our lad wouldn’t sleep and kept screaming. When he did stop crying, we would wonder if he was still breathing! It was a vicious circle.
Finally, my father-in-law tried bouncing the chair my son was in for part of the day, talking to him while bouncing. This worked to some extent, and it became a regular activity Monday to Friday. By now, although no judgment from my father-in-law, and with little input from my husband, I felt so much GUILT.
The Weight of Guilt
Guilt that I wanted my son so much, and here I was not able to cope with him.
Guilt that I was a bad mother.
Guilt that I must be causing my son’s distress.
Guilt that I was so tired.
Guilt that I couldn’t look after the house.
Guilt that meals became spasmodic.
Guilt that I couldn’t breastfeed.
Lessons for a New Generation of Parents
Forty plus years on, I still think it’s trial and error, hit and miss, learning to understand what our babies want or need. Challenges will always come with parenthood. My mistakes have taught me the importance of setting realistic expectations and asking for support when needed. I hope that new parents can learn from my journey by understanding that while perfection is unattainable, continuous learning and adaptability are key to becoming a confident and effective parent. Ask for help and support if you need to.
Above all, be kind to yourself.
