There are moments in life when the world tilts on its axis — when everything changes, and nothing will ever be the same again.
For us, that moment came with a fever. A mysterious virus. A bed in a hospital ‘infectious diseases isolation’ ward filled with uncertainty. And a prayer — written in a card from a friend— that became a lifeline:
O God! Rear this little babe in the bosom of Thy love, and give it milk from the breast of Thy Providence. Cultivate this fresh plant in the rose garden of Thy love and aid it to grow through the showers of Thy bounty. Make it a child of the kingdom, and lead it to Thy heavenly realm. Thou art powerful and kind, and Thou art the Bestower, the Generous, the Lord of surpassing bounty.
-Abdu’l-Baha
In 1998, our daughter Farrah was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder at just two years old. Back then, autism was rarely spoken of and barely understood. It wasn’t something I had heard of prior to Farrah’s assessments. After a brief meeting with the paediatrician, we were handed a leaflet and sent on our way. No guidance. No support. Just silence, feelings of fear… and the overwhelming sense that we were utterly alone.
Farrah showed all the ‘classic signs’: no eye contact, no speech, hand-flapping, rocking, and a deep compulsion to line up anything she could find — toys, ornaments, cushions. She lived in her own world, and we were outsiders, watching helplessly.
But something in me refused to accept there was nothing I could do to change this situation. I went looking for hope — and found it in the words and life of Donna Williams. Seeing her speak about her experiences, I knew then: if Donna could do it, so could Farrah. And I would do everything in my power to help her get there.
Therapies came. Dozens of them. Every acronym in the book — PECS, TEACCH, Makaton, SIT. I sat through every session, watching, learning, absorbing. Our days became a patchwork of effort, trial and error and exhaustion. I parented, disciplined, guided and comforted with trial and error, in the same way I did with her brother who is almost two years older than her. Farrah needed boundaries, just like any child. Maybe more so.
The School Years
Mainstream schooling was a war zone. We were told she couldn’t attend full-time. We were threatened with exclusion. It broke my heart to pull her from the local school — away from her brother, away from the community. But it not only saved her education, it positively impacted her emotional and mental development and whole wellbeing. At the autism resource base, Farrah was seen. Understood. And slowly, she began to bloom.
At age seven, Farrah was still mostly non-verbal. But she was learning — not just numbers and letters, but how to play. How to connect. How to be. And by eleven, she was achieving SATs results to rival her mainstream peers — and even sneaking into a mainstream school maths class by herself after a play time with the mainstream children.
Later, trampolining — something I’d enrolled her in on a whim initially in her infant years and then at secondary school she asked to joined the trampoline after school club — which would lift her to heights we never imagined – Farrah joined Team GB’s disability trampoline squad in 2011 and has competed in nationwide events, soaring above the labels that once threatened to cage her, bring home bronze, silver and gold medals.
She also danced — yes, danced! Freestyle disco and Street dance! Again competing nationwide — under flashing disco lights and music loud enough to make most people flinch. Once unable to enter a school hall due to sensory overload, she now performed complicated routines to deafening music, shoulder to shoulder with same aged peers. She has well over 100 trophies ranging from 6th to 1st Place but really this is where the phrase, ‘it’s the taking part that matters,’ really emphasises the reality and importance of all these achievements!
At Secondary school, which was also an autism specialist centre attached to a mainstream academy, Farrah represented the mainstream school’s sports teams – Rounders, Netball and Basketball, playing competitively against other regional school teams and was very much valued as a member of these teams.
College and Beyond
At sixth form college, Farrah didn’t just survive — she thrived. After achieving Entry Level Exams at Secondary school, a conditional offer for entering sixth form college was set. Meeting those conditions with passes in every subject – English, Math, Science, Food Studies, Child Care and ICT, Farrah went on to achieve qualifications in Functional Skills in English & Maths. Levels 1 & 2 in ICT. GCSEs in English & Maths. A-levels in Photography and Textiles. National Citizenship Service Award. A Duke of Edinburgh Gold Award — without Bronze or Silver. (“They don’t offer them,” she told me. “But they said I can try for Gold…”)
Farrah then moved on to study at WestonCollege, a Further Education College, and achieved a Distinction in UAL Textiles Diploma. Her artwork — intricate, expressive, and full of light — has been exhibited across Bristol and beyond. Her photography captures reflections in saucepans, sunglasses, puddles — echoes of a world she once couldn’t connect to, now turned into art. Towards the end of this placement, Farrah was introduced to Tae Kwon Do. Something else she would pursue moving forward.
Following on from a year at Weston College and their independently living academy, Weston Bay, Farrah attended an Arts University, located over two hours drive away from her home and achieved a BA Hons. in Textile Practices. Farrah joined a dance school here, one she used to compete against at competitions but she was always cheering on all the competitors she’d made friends with during dance competition over the years – everyone knew Farrah wherever we went. She sought out the local Tae Kwon Do Club too and at the time of writing, Farrah is a black belt, 2nd Dan.
Farrah now lives independently. She seeks out workshops and courses that appeal to her and develop her love for learning in many subjects. She works, volunteers and loves life to the full.
Farrah still has autism — but autism no longer has her.
This is not a story of easy answers. It is a story of grit. Of setbacks. Of small victories that add up to transformation. Farrah’s journey has become a light — not only for her, but for the many families I now work with. If she can do it, your child can too. Some take aways I’d like to share with you for you to remember:
“Never assume your child cannot understand you. Never talk about them where they can hear you. Celebrate each tiny step, and one day you will look back and see how far they have climbed…”
I remember specifically when I learned the above – at the end of a school day I said to Farrah’s Infant Teacher, ‘Yes but… Farrah can’t do this yet…’ She immediately got up off the beanbag she was sat on and did exactly what I said she couldn’t! So be warned!
“Where there’s a will, there is a way.”
— Farrah’s Outreach Teacher, Frances
We found the way. And so can you.