When Connection Feels Out of Reach, Love Finds Its Own Language
– By Autism Today Foundation Board member, Dr. Sharon Fried Buchalter, PhD, CHT
A Mother’s Love, A Different Kind of Bond
As a clinical psychologist specializing in autism spectrum disorder (ASD), I have spent years guiding parents through the challenges of raising autistic children. I’ve counseled mothers who felt disconnected from their daughters, fathers who grieved the relationships they had envisioned, and families who struggled to bridge the emotional divide.
Yet, despite all my professional knowledge, nothing truly prepared me for my own journey as a mother to my autistic daughter.
She is brilliant, independent, and uniquely gifted. But she is also distant, emotionally reserved, and seemingly untouched by the need for deep connection that defines so much of human experience.
As both a mother and a psychologist, I have spent years grappling with the space between us—the moments of deep pride, the ache of missed connections, and the understanding that love, though not always expressed in traditional ways, still exists in abundance.
This is our story.
The Early Years: A World Apart
When my daughter was little, I noticed that she interacted with the world differently. She didn’t seek hugs the way other children did, nor did she cry much when she was upset. Instead, she found comfort in routines, in predictability, in knowing exactly how things should be.
I remember taking her to a birthday party when she was four. While the other children played and laughed, she sat alone, meticulously organizing toy cars into a perfect row. A well-meaning parent tried to encourage her to join the game, but she looked up and simply said, ‘No, thank you.’
At first, I thought she was just shy. But as time went on, I realized it was more than that—she simply didn’t see the need for social interaction in the way others did. While I longed for playdates and giggles, she found happiness in solitude.
As a psychologist, I understood what was happening. As a mother, it was painful to watch her choose isolation over connection.
School Years: On the Outside Looking In
By the time she entered elementary school, the differences became more pronounced. While her classmates formed friendships through shared experiences, she remained on the periphery, engaged in her own world. Although she attempted to find friendships, in trying to engage with the other kids at lunch, it wasn’t easy.
She came home one day and said’ I have no friends’.
When I asked her what transpired in school, she replied ‘I ask to sit with some kids, and they keep saying no, so I just dropped asking’.
Although on the surface she didn’t appear to care, I could see the sadness in her eyes.
This broke my heart as a mom.
She excelled in art, music and other subjects, often surpassing her peers in subjects that required logic and structure. But when it came to unspoken social rules, she was lost.
I watched as the gap widened. The invitations to birthday parties dwindled. The casual friendships never quite took root. She didn’t seem to mind – at least, not in the way I expected.
One day, she came home and said, ‘I think the other girls don’t like me. I don’t understand why, as she tried her hardest to fit in.
Her words were said without sadness, without self-pity. But I couldn’t help but feel the loss on her behalf. I wanted her to have the deep, lifelong friendships that had shaped my own childhood. I wanted her to experience the joy of a shared laugh, the comfort of an unspoken understanding.
But she wasn’t wired that way.
And so, I learned to stop grieving what wasn’t, and instead, celebrate what was.
Teenage Years: A Growing Divide
As she entered her teenage years, the differences became more complex. While other girls were wrapped up in friendships, emotions, and the drama of adolescence, she remained unmoved by it all.
She never cared about trends, never sought approval, never worried about fitting in. While her classmates were caught up in crushes and friendships, she focused on her structured routines, and the topics that fascinated her.
She wasn’t lonely, but I was.
I longed for the mother-daughter moments I saw in others—the late-night talks, the shared excitement over milestones, the emotional closeness.
Instead, our relationship was built on practical conversations, structured interactions, and moments of connection that looked different from what I had imagined.
There were no spontaneous hugs, but there were detailed explanations of the things she was passionate about. There were no whispered secrets, but there was an unwavering honesty in her words.
Love, in her world, was quiet. Precise. Logical. And once I learned to see it for what it was, I realized it was there all along.
A Love That Looks Different, But Is No Less Real
Today, my daughter is a young woman, navigating the world in her own way. She does seek deep friendships, but does not always express emotions in the ways I once hoped she would.
But she is happy. She is thriving. And that is what matters most.
I had let go of my expectations of what a mother-daughter relationship ‘should be ‘, and instead embraced what is.
She may not need me in the same way other daughters need their mothers, but she still needs me in ‘her’ way. And I have learned to find peace in that. I have been taught through our love and connection the power of unconditional love, and patience. In our world our love and connection exists, but is expressed differently.
To any mother raising an autistic daughter who struggles with connection, I see you. I know the ache of missed moments, the silent hopes that go unanswered. But also know this—love exists, even in the spaces between us.
Even when it is quiet. Even when it is different. Even when it is not spoken, but simply understood.
