I still remember the day I first met Aarav. He was five years old, a bundle of boundless energy but struggling to make sense of the world around him. His mother, weary yet hopeful, explained how he found comfort in spinning objects but would break into tears when asked to hold a pencil. She feared he would never be able to write his name.

As an occupational therapist in Mumbai, I had worked with many autistic children, but something about Aarav’s journey struck a deep chord within me. Perhaps it was his mother’s unwavering determination, or maybe it was the way he lit up when playing with textured fabrics. Whatever it was, I knew I was about to embark on a journey that would shape not only Aarav’s life but also my own.

My own journey into the autism community began long before I became a therapist. Growing up, I often felt like an outsider—never quite understanding why social interactions seemed so effortless for others while I had to decipher unspoken rules. When I finally discovered, much later in life, that I am autistic myself, everything clicked into place. My struggles with sensory sensitivities, my deep focus on specific interests, my discomfort with loud, crowded spaces—it all made sense. But instead of feeling burdened, I felt empowered. I now had a deeper understanding of what many of my young clients experienced, and that made me even more committed to my work.

Aarav’s therapy sessions were not easy. He resisted structured activities, recoiling from the feeling of different textures or becoming overwhelmed by too many instructions. But I saw potential in him—potential that just needed patience and the right approach to be unlocked. We started small. A stress ball to improve grip strength. A weighted vest to provide comfort. Gradually, through sensory integration therapy and playful engagement, he began responding.

One day, after months of practice, Aarav did something that left his mother in tears—he held a pencil and traced the letters of his name. They were shaky and uneven, but they were his. The pride in his eyes, the sheer joy on his mother’s face—that moment reminded me why I chose this path.

But my journey didn’t stop with individual therapy. Over the years, I realized that working with autistic individuals meant more than just helping them develop skills. It meant fostering a world that embraced them for who they were. I started training parents and teachers, helping them understand the importance of autism-friendly environments. I worked on spreading awareness about sensory needs, advocating for more inclusive education systems, and ensuring that children like Aarav weren’t just accommodated, but celebrated.

Still, the challenges were many. The lack of awareness in our society often made my work an uphill battle. I met parents who were ashamed of their child’s diagnosis, teachers who dismissed sensory sensitivities as “bad behavior,” and schools that refused to make accommodations. Each time, I reminded myself of the small victories—of the child who could now tie their shoelaces, the teenager who could finally express their feelings through art, the parents who went from despair to hope.

Every autistic child I work with teaches me something new. They remind me that progress is not measured by societal standards but by personal victories. They have shown me that communication doesn’t always need words, that joy can be found in the simplest of things, and that every person deserves to be understood on their own terms.

Today, when I walk into my therapy sessions, I do so not just as an occupational therapist but as someone who truly understands. I see a bit of myself in each child who struggles with sensory overload, in every teenager who feels misunderstood. My own diagnosis has given me a deeper purpose—to help others find the acceptance and strength I once longed for.

I often think back to Aarav’s mother and the fear she carried when she first walked into my clinic. And then I think of the day she saw her son write his name for the first time. That transformation—from uncertainty to hope, from struggle to strength—is what keeps me going. And it is why I believe that no journey, no matter how difficult, is ever without purpose.