Today, something unexpected happened at the dentist’s office. What was meant to be a routine check-up turned into a moment of profound reflection—one that brought me, as a mother and autism coach in Dubai, closer to understanding what my autistic teenage son, Abdullah, and children like him on the autism spectrum, might feel but struggle to express.

It began simply. My husband and I were at the dentist, and during the exam, the doctor showed some plaque buildup on a screen. Without missing a beat, my husband turned to the dentist and asked, “Don’t you do cleaning here? Why don’t you have her teeth cleaned?”

At that moment, something inside me stirred.

But I’m right here. Why not ask me?

The dentist responded—to my husband—not to me. He continued, speaking about me in the third person: “Her teeth are this. She needs that.”
I was sitting there, fully present, yet somehow invisible. I wasn’t included in the conversation about myself.

It wasn’t intentional. My husband was acting out of care. He wanted the best for me. And yes, I appreciated it. But that didn’t take away the sting of not being acknowledged. I wanted to be spoken to, not about. I wanted to be part of the process.

Eventually, I found my voice and asked, “How long is it going to take?”

They replied, “About an hour.”

And then, like a wave, it hit me—what if I couldn’t ask that question? What if I didn’t know how to say what I was thinking? What if I had no way to express my fear, confusion, or even just the simple question: “Why now?”

This is exactly what it must feel like for so many children with autism—especially autistic teens who are often misunderstood. As an autism parenting coach in Dubai, I guide many mothers through these very moments, helping them see their child’s world through a more compassionate lens.

Children on the autism spectrum are frequently placed into overwhelming situations without preparation or explanation. We talk about them in front of them, make decisions for them, and sometimes forget that silence does not equal absence of feeling.

I imagined Abdullah, my teenage son on the autism spectrum, sitting in a dental chair, unable to ask, Will this hurt? Why are we doing this now? How long will it take?

I had all of those questions myself—and I could speak. Still, I felt unseen. What must it feel like for a child with autism, who cannot express these emotions easily?

When I entered the hygienist’s room, it felt like I was being nudged into something. Yes, it was necessary. Yes, I consented. But I wanted to be included and respected in the process.

That small experience became a powerful reminder of something I hold sacred in my work as a Dubai autism coach:

Every child—especially an autistic child—deserves to be included in their own story.

So next time Abdullah goes to the dentist, I’ll make sure to include him:

“Abdullah, we’re going for a teeth cleaning today. Do you want to do it now or after lunch?”

And if it must happen right then, I’ll explain clearly:

“It won’t hurt. I’ll stay with you. This will help your teeth feel fresh and clean.”

Because children with autism, especially teenage boys going through emotional and developmental changes, understand far more than we often assume. They may not always have the words, but they do have feelings, boundaries, and preferences—and they deserve to be heard.

The cleaning ended smoothly. I walked out with clean teeth, but more importantly, with a fuller heart. I left with a deeper commitment—something I pass on every day to the mothers I coach through autism life coaching in Dubai:

• Speak with your child, not just about them.

• Carry them along, not just bring them along.

• Honour their voice—even when it’s unspoken.

This is what true autism support for mothers looks like. And this is why I coach—from the heart, with experience, and with the unwavering belief that every mother and every autistic child deserves to be understood, empowered, and included.