Oke's Blog

How to respond to autistic children There is a moment in every home when something goes wrong and the atmosphere changes. A cup spills. A toy flies across the room. A child speaks too sharply or storms away before you finish a sentence. Those small incidents carry more weight than people admit. They reveal how a parent responds under pressure, how a child interprets authority and how teaching takes place inside the home. In many households across the world, the response arrives quickly and firmly. A slap, a shout, a shake of the shoulder, a burst of frustration that speaks louder than any explanation. It is familiar to many of us who grew up in cultures where hitting was treated as a normal extension of discipline. The adults who raised us did what they believed was right, drawing from what they had been shown in their own childhoods. Motherhood invites a different view. Raising four autistic children has changed the way I understand teaching, guidance and correction. It has shown me how a parent’s face, tone and body language influence a child far more deeply than any physical punishment. A look can reset behaviour. A gesture can redirect. A short explanation can clarify expectations without frightening or humiliating the child. In our home, teaching without hitting is not a performance of gentleness. It is a practical, consistent method that protects emotional safety while developing understanding. It is the foundation of how I guide my children, and it shapes much of what I share with families who follow our journey. This article explains why this approach works, what it looks like in daily practice and how parents can begin to use it in their own homes. Why many parents begin hitting: A Cultural Lens Every parent arrives in adulthood with a certain map in their head — a map drawn by childhood experiences, cultural expectations and the authority figures who shaped them. Growing up in Nigeria meant discipline featured strongly in everyday life. Teachers used canes. Relatives corrected children in public. Corporal punishment sat beneath education, social behaviour and religious instruction. Hitting was often seen as proof of love. A sign of investment. A way to show that the adult cared enough to intervene. Many people still interpret discipline through that lens, and questioning it can feel like questioning their entire upbringing. Moving to Canada brought distance and clarity. I saw parents correct children calmly and still maintain authority. I watched teachers guide behaviour without force. I witnessed families discipline with structure rather than fear. None of this diminished respect; if anything, it strengthened it. Children responded because they trusted the environment, not because they feared the consequences. Parenting between two cultures — Nigeria and Canada — created a bridge in my mind. I could honour the parts of my upbringing that taught resilience and responsibility while releasing the parts that placed fear and obedience above understanding. Teaching without hitting emerged naturally from that tension. Autism, Behaviour and Why Safety Matters Autism redefines the meaning of discipline because autistic children experience the world differently. Their behaviour is often shaped by sensory overload, communication differences, emotional flooding or difficulty understanding social cues. What looks like defiance to an untrained eye may simply be confusion, discomfort or anxiety. Hitting does not resolve any of those challenges. It adds shock to an already overwhelmed system. When an autistic child is frightened, their ability to reason collapses. Their nervous system takes over. Their priority becomes survival, not learning. In that state, a lesson cannot land. The child remembers the fear, not the guidance. Teaching without hitting recognises that children behave according to their inner state. If the parent can regulate the moment, the child can follow. If the parent escalates, the child spirals. A calm face communicates: “I see what has happened.” “I am aware of your behaviour.” “I expect something different from you.” “You can try again.” Fear is absent. Clarity remains. This is the power behind the phrase a face can say try again. The Role of Non-Verbal Communication in Child Guidance Children read faces long before they understand complex instruction. Autistic children, in particular, rely heavily on consistency in expression, tone and posture. They may struggle with extended verbal explanations, but they understand: This is why a parent’s expression can shape behaviour so effectively. It is immediate, understandable and steady. It reduces the emotional distance between parent and child rather than widening it. Teaching without hitting focuses on these cues because they invite cooperation rather than resistance. A child who feels safe will try again. A child who feels threatened will protect themselves — even if the threat came from the person they love most. Why hitting does not create better behaviour Hitting may stop behaviour quickly, but it does not teach the skill the child needs to behave differently next time. It interrupts the action but does not address the reason behind it. Children learn through: Hitting provides none of these. Parents often assume that if a behaviour stops after a slap, the child has learnt a lesson. In truth, the child has learnt that physical force follows mistakes. They may avoid the behaviour temporarily, but they do not gain understanding. The underlying issue resurfaces later — often stronger and harder to manage. The long-term cost of hitting is mistrust. The child begins to anticipate danger inside the home. Emotional closeness weakens because the parent has become unpredictable. Teaching without hitting protects the relationship, and the relationship is where real behaviour change happens. Teaching through Face, Tone and Guidance: A Practical Method Parents often assume gentle discipline requires long speeches or exaggerated patience. It doesn’t. The method is simple: Over time, the child associates correction with structure rather than fear. Real Scenarios From Daily Life Transitioning from Hitting to Guided Teaching Parents who grew up with physical discipline often worry they won’t know how to correct without it. The transition takes intention but not perfection. THE IMMIGRANT MOTHER’S PERSPECTIVE Raising

The Day Everything Felt Familiar and New The waiting room looked the same as it always had; sterile, beige, almost gentle in its attempt not to provoke emotion. The clock ticked the same way it did the first time, and still, my pulse raced as though I hadn’t been here before. I had promised myself I would be calm this time. I’d rehearsed it like a scene in a play; how I’d sit, how I’d smile, how I’d thank the doctor when she finished speaking. And then she said it. Those words again. “Your youngest is also on the autism spectrum.” The ache arrived instantly. Familiar, yet raw. My chest remembered before my mind did. The room went still, the air thickened and suddenly my rehearsed calm disappeared. All I could manage was a nod and a polite, “Thank you for confirming.” There’s something no one tells you about hearing the same life changing news again; it doesn’t get easier. No matter how many times you hear it.  Coming Home to Myself We drove home with my son’s small hand resting in mine. The city looked ordinary, but nothing in me felt ordinary anymore. By the time we reached the house, I could already feel my body doing what mothers’ bodies do; moving on instinct when the mind cannot. I rinsed rice in a steel bowl until the water ran clear; it sort of kept me steady. The scent of garlic in hot oil filled the kitchen, and for a moment I remembered who I was beyond the ache: a woman who builds calm out of chaos. Toni came in quietly, his face a mix of concern and knowing. He didn’t need to ask; we’d walked this road three times before. He put his arms around me and whispered, “We’ll be fine.” I nodded, because that’s what faith sounds like when words are too heavy. What Strength Really Means Strength, I used to think, was composure; the tidy kind you can wear like pressed clothes. But that evening, while the rice simmered and the house hummed with ordinary noise, I realised that strength is far less elegant. It weeps in the bathroom and still gets dinner on the table.It lies awake at night planning school meetings.It cries out quietly, asking heaven for breath, then takes it.Strength is soft, not hard. It is love that keeps showing up. I am a mother of four autistic children now. The sentence feels both enormous and completely normal. Somewhere between the first diagnosis and the fourth, I stopped needing to explain our life. Autism parenting has become a way we’ve learnt to live by here in Canada’s true north. Between Two Homes Some days, I miss the sounds of Nigeria; the laughter that spills from every doorway, the smell of Agege bread, the unspoken kinship of living where everyone feels like family. Other days, I look out over our Ottawa street and feel peace settle. The snow here has a way of quietening the mind. In those moments, I think of home as something not bound to geography but to belonging. Living as an immigrant mum in Canada means I hold two versions of myself in tension. The Nigerian woman who believes community raises a child, and the Canadian mother learning that community must sometimes be built from scratch. Both are me. Both guide the way I raise my autistic children in a country that still feels half foreign, half familiar. This blend; the African warmth and the Canadian order, has become the rhythm of our home. After the Diagnosis People imagine diagnosis day as a single event. It isn’t. After receiving that phone call or leaving the doctor‘s office, It replays in small moments like in the first meltdown at school or the struggle to explain pain when words fail and the awkwardness of playdates that don’t go as planned. After each diagnosis, there’s a quiet recalibration. You begin to see your child not through the lens of limitation but through possibility. You learn to ask different questions: What brings them joy? What can they build with that joy? My eldest loves patterns; he can line up toys with such precision that it feels mathematical. One of my daughters paints with colour combinations I wouldn’t dare to imagine. My other daughter, though non verbal at the moment, makes delightful sounds that feel like lines from long forgotten songs. And now my youngest; our newest diagnosis; is already in love with music and when he sings he is teaching me something about resilience before he can fully explain his world. Autism has given each of my children a way of being that’s theirs alone. My task is to help that way flourish. The Practical Work of Hope Faith, I’ve learnt, is organization with belief stitched into it. When you’re raising autistic children, you learn that heaven also blesses structure. I started building small systems at home: visual timetables for mornings and evenings, a calm down corner with textures they like, colour coded bins for clothes. It wasn’t always perfect but it was bringing peace even though it just seemed like routine.  These little structures became our foundation. They’re now part of a free Morning & Evening Routines Pack I made for other parents who may be where I was. It’s gentle, printable, and honest; just like our days. You can download it here. Gentle Parenting and the Art of Seeing I grew up in a home where discipline was direct, sometimes physical. My parents did their best with what they knew. But with my own children, especially my autistic ones, I knew I had to learn another way. Gentle parenting isn’t permissive; it’s perceptive. It’s pausing to see what’s behind the behaviour; sensory overload, fear, frustration; and teaching through calm instead of control. There are moments when I fail, when I raise my voice or forget to breathe first. Yet every day I’m reminded that compassion teaches longer than punishment ever could. I wrote about this

Life is a mysterious journey filled with unexpected turns, and one such curve in our lives was discovering our child’s autism diagnosis shortly after relocating to a new country

If you’re reading this, chances are you’re seeking answers about Autism. Perhaps, you’re a parent suspecting your child may be on the spectrum