Camping with Autism
As I sit in front of a campfire on an early evening in San Diego , California, I’m reminded of how over time, camping has gotten so much easier for my daughter with autism. It’s gotten easier for me too.
I grew up tent camping every summer as a child, but it only took three days in 2012 for it to become obvious that my family wasn’t going to make it in tents. My daughter needed more stability, so my husband and I bought a tiny travel trailer so we could have the basics at hand— a bathroom, beds, a fridge, and air conditioning. She needed a place to run to, a place to decompress, and mesh walls and zippers were not going to cut it.
Camping used to be a lot when she was little: changing our routine, sleeping in a trailer with a kid who doesn’t sleep, keeping her from wandering off, having the kid who can’t ride the bike like her cousins, having too much family time with not enough downtime. It was a lot. Sometimes I wondered if it was worth the trouble.
We camp with both my in-laws and my extended family. I remember a time where the family all thought my daughter was playing her Nintendo switch in the trailer. She has always needed to run in and out of the trailer to take breaks from the chaos. When I went in to get her ready to swim, she was nowhere to be found. My heart dropped. We all took off in every direction calling her name, on scooters and bikes, my husband in the truck. We quickly found her. She had wandered through the park to the general store and was picking out her next treat. It felt like I couldn’t take my eyes off her for a second. There wasn’t enough fresh air in the world for me to breathe in and feel the calm. My breaths came in nervous jolts for the rest of that trip.
Tonight, as I look at the fire and watch the lights reflect across the bay, I can hear my daughter lap the campground every few minutes on her scooter. I’m not watching her. At 15, and with years of work and practice, she can ride her scooter to the general store without me. It took time. But it was worth it.
When we arrived at our campsite this year my daughter said it felt like home. The same place that used to give her so much anxiety that she spent much of the vacation inside a small dark trailer is now a place of joy and comfort. It was hard work to get here, but it paid off.
Journeying alongside autism can feel so overwhelming. I know that is not over. But tonight I’m looking at the fire and celebrating my wins where I can find them. We accommodated my daughter’s needs, gave her some time, and it grew into something beautiful we can now enjoy for a lifetime.
