Tonight, my son Jacob and I went to see the new Digital Circus movie release. To be honest, I had never seen an episode before, so I walked into the theater with very little idea of what to expect. Within minutes, I found myself fascinated, emotionally overwhelmed, and honestly a little confused. The storyline was bizarre and intense, centered around characters trapped inside a digital world they cannot escape. They struggle to hold onto who they are while reality blurs around them. As a newcomer to the series, I wasn’t always sure what I was watching.

What I was sure about was Jacob.

He was completely captivated.

What struck me wasn’t that he enjoyed the movie. What struck me was how engaged he was and the level of empathy and understanding he seemed to have for the characters and what they were experiencing. As I watched him, I found myself paying almost as much attention to him as I was to the movie itself.

Jacob has autism and very significant support needs. (I don’t love the terminology people often use, but that’s probably a blog for another day.) His spoken communication is limited. He can tell me, “Go Digital Circus movie,” but what he couldn’t tell me was that this wasn’t just another episode on Netflix, it was actually being released in movie theaters. Our conversations are often simple. I might ask, “Do you want to see the movie?” and get a “yes.” I might ask who his favorite character is and sometimes get an answer, sometimes get a yes or no, and sometimes get nothing at all.

Much of Jacob’s inner world remains very difficult to access.

For nearly 28 years, I have lived in the space between what my son can demonstrate and what I believe he understands. I have always presumed competence. I have always believed there is an intelligent, thoughtful person inside of him. At the same time, if I’m being honest, there are moments when doubt creeps in, not because of who Jacob is, but because of what autism does.

When someone has no awareness of danger, when he cannot explain his thoughts, and when he requires support with tasks most adults perform independently, it can be hard not to question your own assumptions sometimes. When behaviors seem to contradict what we typically associate with competence, doubt quietly enters the room.

Then something happens that reminds you.

You realize that intelligence and communication are not the same thing. Understanding and expression are not the same thing. What we can observe is not always the full story.

As I watched The Digital Circus, I found myself wondering if one reason Jacob loves it so much is that, in some strange way, it resonates with his own experience. The show’s central theme is entrapment. People are trapped in a world they didn’t choose. They are trying desperately to communicate. They know things, feel things, and understand things, yet struggle to make themselves understood.

As those themes unfolded on the screen, a thought I have had many times over the years surfaced again.

Does my son feel trapped?

Not trapped by me. Not trapped by his life. But trapped by autism itself.

I’ve often described autism as something that affects Jacob’s body far more than his mind. His body doesn’t always do what his brain wants it to do. His communication doesn’t always reflect what he knows. His actions don’t always represent his intentions. His challenges mask his abilities.

There have been many moments throughout his life when I’ve looked at him and wondered, How much is in there that I simply can’t access?

It’s a heartbreaking thought, but it’s also a hopeful one.

This wasn’t the first time we have seen glimpses of Jacob’s competence. Over the years, there have been countless moments that reminded us there is far more going on beneath the surface than most people realize. We have witnessed it through facilitated communication. We have witnessed it through occasional verbal comments that seemed to come out of nowhere and completely change how we viewed a situation. We have witnessed it through memories we didn’t know he had, empathy we saw he couldn’t express verbally, and understanding that seemed impossible given what others assumed he knew.

What makes it challenging is the inconsistency. One day, you witness something extraordinary, and the next day, you’re helping with something that seems incredibly basic. Both realities exist at the same time, and that can be difficult to reconcile.

Every now and then, autism gives us a glimpse behind the curtain. A reaction. A moment of understanding. A laugh at exactly the right time. A memory nobody knew he had. A connection that reminds us there is so much more happening beneath the surface.

Watching Jacob watch that movie reminded me of something I think many parents of autistic individuals understand. The hardest part isn’t believing in our children. The hardest part is living in a world that constantly asks us to measure them by what they can demonstrate, while we spend our lives witnessing things that cannot always be measured.

We see their understanding. Their humanity. Their preferences. Their humor. Their empathy. Their intelligence.

I don’t know exactly what Jacob was thinking as he watched The Digital Circus. I may never know. But as I sat beside him in that theater, I found myself wondering whether that story resonated with him for reasons I can only partially understand.

And I was reminded, once again, that communication is only one way to access a person’s inner world.

Perhaps one of the greatest acts of faith in parenting a child with autism is continuing to believe there is far more inside them than we are able to see.

You may never get all the answers.

But every now and then, something happens, just enough to remind you that there is an entire world in there.

A world that deserves to be seen, even when it cannot always be explained.