Lemme Tell Ya Bout A
Everything felt fast and slightly disorienting — like things were happening around me more than with me.
I felt this urgent need for everyone in that room to be quiet so I could listen for my baby.
Everything felt fast and slightly disorienting — like things were happening around me more than with me.
I felt this urgent need for everyone in that room to be quiet so I could listen for my baby.
Someday, if we’re lucky, we realize the traditions we grew up with aren’t ours to keep — they’re ours to carry forward.
Twenty years didn’t feel like long enough. Forty-two years certainly was not enough time. Still, eighty-four years wasn’t enough either.
He’s curious.
He’s persistent.
He’s paying attention in ways you might not expect.
What looks like defiance is most often confusion.
What looks like not listening is often him feeling like he’s drinking information from a fire hose.
What looks like a breakdown might be frustration from not having the words to explain what’s going on in his head.
What looks like shutdown is most often his brain reaching its limit.
If I had a nickel for every time someone said, “But he looks normal.”
I know people mean well.
But that sentence carries more weight than most realize.
Nickel from the Jar 🪙
A diagnosis is a lot like a weather forecast.
It tells you the conditions —
not the limits of the sky.
The Zoom call ended.
I opened Google.
And everything in me went hot.
This is the diagnosis I wasn’t ready for — and the truth I had to learn the hard way.
Nobody tells you that becoming a special needs parent also means earning an unofficial PhD in Googling.
Every boundary I set for my child teaches me something about the people around me. Some lean in. Some step back. And some show me, very clearly, that my child’s safety will never matter to them as much as their own comfort.