“Mom, do I have Autism?” Those words stopped my mama heart for a moment. I was grateful my boys were buckled safely in the back seat where they couldn’t see the panic in my eyes. I meant for my tentative “Yes, you do” to come out with more confidence, but my brain was racing ahead of me, wondering where all this was going. And in a hurry, we got there. Too fast.

“Because I’m stupid.”

And then, just like that, my confident voice was back. Because never in my life have I been more sure of the wild invalidity of any statement — my bright, unique, fascinating little man. “That is absolutely NOT what Autism means.” I hope the firmness in my voice penetrated to his core.

But do you know what echoed in mine? “I’m an introvert. I’m just different.” Just a few of the last words of Elijah McClain, a young man who lived miles from us and was killed by police last August because he was wearing a ski mask in August and was waving his arms as he walked unarmed from a convenience store to his home with the tea that he had just purchased.

This story absolutely crushes my mama heart for a million reasons. This precious young man…the kindness he showed the officers that were attacking him…his family’s immense loss…the outrage of losing someone you love for absolutely no reason…the disgusting way in which a terrible judgment costing a human life was swept under the rug. It’s all too much to bear. I know it’s not my loss to grieve, and I’m just beginning to understand how little I’ve appreciated the multitude of ways my life and the life of my children has been simplified based entirely on the shade of our skin.

And even acknowledging my extreme privilege, what haunts me is how it could be my loss. Hear me: I’m not saying it’s the same for me as a mother of color, but the fact that I can imagine it being my story is what allows me to begin seeing myself as part of the solution, so in that spirit, hang with me. That infamous Black Lives Matter sign “All Mothers were summoned when George Floyd called out for his Mama.” Frankly, if that doesn’t give you all the feels, I don’t think you’re a Mama.

My introvert. My boy who is wired differently. My boy that often wears sweatpants and long sleeves on 100 degree days. My boy that can’t walk or sleep without thick socks on. My boy that can’t stop moving his body, even when authority figures tell him he must. My boy whose nervous system has been on high alert since the moment he left my body. My boy that studies human emotions and social cues and communication the way I studied Calculus, only all day every day.

It’s enough to worry if your child will make friends, take to a new school, be singled out because of a label, manage learning and mental health challenges, develop the skills to live independently, find a lifelong partner. To worry that the things that make them different could literally be a death sentence…that is a burden too heavy even for a mother. That is a burden that I need you to help me carry. Because my boy, like your beautiful babes and like Elijah McClain and every single child of every single color and ability level, is a force this world needs and a force I will fight for. And a force of warrior mamas, united…that’s unstoppable.