You might have heard that people with autism often have a special connection with water.
For us, and for our autistic son, Jesse, this couldn’t be more true.
From the very beginning, he’s always been drawn to it. As a newborn, baby Jesse was fussy, crying more often than not. But the moment I placed him in the bath, everything changed.
His little legs would kick, his eyes would light up, and for those precious moments, he’d laugh and smile. Water soothed him in a way nothing else could, as though it spoke directly to him, giving him what I sometimes couldn’t.
It was like a switch flipped—peace, joy, and calm—until it was time to get out.
Even now, water is where he feels most at home.
Sometimes it’s where we both find comfort, where we can breathe a little easier, letting the worries of the world drift away. But it’s also where my deepest fears live.
Jesse’s love for water is so powerful, so instinctual, that he’s oblivious to the dangers. He would walk straight into the ocean without hesitation, with no sense of the waves pulling him in. He’s tried.
He’s fearless in the water. He’ll stick his face in, holding his breath far longer than I’m comfortable with. There’s no trepidation, only fascination in a sensory heaven.
I have to watch him constantly, my heart always in my throat, balancing the joy that water brings him with the ever-present worry it brings me.
Isn’t it strange how the place where we’ve shared so many smiles, some of our best memories, can also be so terrifying and overwhelming?
It’s a reminder that joy and fear can coexist in the same space, that love can be both freeing and heavy.
But it’s a balance we’re constantly working on. We try to teach him, while always staying vigilant, watching him closely around the water. We cherish the beauty of those moments, but never forget the responsibility they carry. Every splash, every laugh, holds both delight and caution.
