Supporting Families of Autistic Children in Scotland: Amal and Rami’s Journey

When Amal arrived in Scotland with her young son Rami, she carried more than just a suitcase. She carried the weight of being a mother, a carer, and a woman trying to overcome the breakdown of her arranged marriage. Rami is 8 years old, autistic and non-speaking. Since arriving, Amal has been on a mission to get the right help for her son, but it has often felt like trying to navigate a country without a map. 

Amal lives with her elderly mother and her younger sister, both of whom have long-term health conditions. She cares for them as well as for Rami — a full-time job in every sense. Her days are long, her nights interrupted, and her support network is nearly non-existent. “Back home, you’re never alone,” she told us. “Here, it’s just me. I don’t even know who to ask anymore. The services here seem to have abandoned us because they don’t know how to help Rami.” 

Rami attends a mainstream school, but he spends most of his day in isolation or with temporary support staff who don’t know him well. He is the only child in his class who is both autistic and of Middle Eastern heritage. “He sees no one like him,” Amal says.

“No one who understands how he thinks, or where he comes from. I worry for him every day. He is too vulnerable.” 

He shows signs of advanced memory and learning – he can remember sequences, sounds, and complex patterns – but he can’t express how he feels. He uses echolalia, repeating phrases, but no one really knows what he’s trying to say. Amal had tried digital tools and communication boards but found herself becoming more and more directive, trying to get a response that never came.

“I feel like a failure,” she told us. 

When our family coach met Amal and Rami, the first thing we did was listen. We recognised the trauma, the loss of a wider cultural network, and the exhaustion that comes from being ‘on’ all the time. Amal wasn’t just exhausted — she felt invisible. 

We took a gentle, flexible approach. We introduced small shifts in how Amal interacted with Rami — not to instruct, but to observe and join in. He didn’t respond to typical play, so we followed his lead instead. We noticed he was fascinated by spinning, light, and repetition. So we stripped back the clutter and started with one object. When that didn’t work, we tried another. And another. 

Some tools didn’t suit Rami at all. So we adapted. We introduced Boardmaker visuals, simplified routines, and broke tasks down. We worked with Amal to give her the confidence to model communication in a way that matched Rami’s pace.

Rami was familiar with using a digital screen and we made use of his skills and interest to design visuals that drew his attention. We were also able to record words and sentences and match to visuals, which resulted in significant improvement in attention and turn taking.

Emotionally, the work was just as vital. Amal told us she was terrified of taking Rami out. “He’s not like the other kids,” she said. “People stare. He gets upset. I panic.” We started small — name badges, a visual ‘outing map’, and lots of reassurance. We celebrated every outing — the bus ride, the trip to the shop to but his favourite crisps, the first time Rami managed to stay calm in a busy situation. These were milestones. 

We also introduced Amal and Rami to our local children’s club, specifically designed for children with sensory and communication needs. Sessions were calm, structured, and child-led. It was the first time Rami had been in a space with other children who shared similar experiences. It was also the first time Amal had someone to talk to who truly understood. 

The family coach provided the comment “Being with other parents who have children who experience similar challenges, was a relief for Amal. It has been fantastic to see how she has slowly integrated into the parent support network and is benefitting so much by being included and supported by others in a shared identity community. It has provided her a bit of a lifeline outside of a very demanding caring responsibility.”  

This work takes time. It takes cultural humility. And it takes a recognition that trauma, migration, disability, and single parenthood often intersect in complex ways. As a service, we’ve learned to be responsive, to listen hard, and to never assume. 

Now, Amal says she no longer feels invisible. “I could not have anticipated how much help you have given us. I was an outsider struggling to get anyone to hear me. I didn’t know where to go. You saw me. You saw Rami.” she says.

“That changed everything.”

We continue to work together on next steps — social connection, school support and getting the correct support plans in place for Rami, and building on the foundations that now exist. One small change at a time.