What started as a gut feeling eventually became a stack of paperwork — heavy with names, diagnoses, and truths I already knew. The day we finally sat down with the report, I realized this wasn’t just about getting answers. It was about learning how to advocate, document, and trust myself in a world that kept asking me to wait.
If something doesn’t sit right, trust that feeling — and put it in writing. Keep the notes. Save the emails. Document everything. One day, what feels like overkill will become your lifeline. Advocacy isn’t about being difficult; it’s about being prepared.
We were promised a seamless transition. Instead, everything unraveled — and Eli unraveled with it.
Before we dive into Eli’s toughest school year yet, here’s a little detour through the quirky, hilarious, head-scratching sensory moments that showed up from the start — from no-sleep-ever to Olympic-level sniffing.
A tiny school. A big diagnosis. And the years that taught us both how to fight.
E made his first real friend, found some confidence, and finally began closing the reading gap — all because someone taught him the way his brain learns.
Eli’s dyslexia journey continues… and so does mine.
We moved states, changed schools, and crossed our fingers that this “big change” would actually help.
And then—boom. Eli made more progress in one semester than he had in years.
But don’t get too excited… the next chapter wasn’t nearly as smooth. 👀
If I could go back, I’d give that version of me a big ole hug and tell her that this no diagnosis will define Eli as a person, but they will define who you become as a mom. Stronger. More resilient. More determined. You’ll learn to question, to push, to fight, to advocate.
Every diagnosis will feel like another storm, but each one will build something more in you too – a thicker skin and a courage that you didn’t know you were capable of.
We thought we’d found the perfect formula – the perfect combination of spectacles, medications, IEP goals, tutoring, and therapy sessions.
For a minute, it worked beautifully, but this new routine was sitting atop a wobbly foundation. A patch at best.
A patch that would inevitably rupture.
I will never, never forget Eli’s first day of kindergarten. We had always struggled at school drop-off with Eli. Like – big time. He would start crying the moment we pulled into the parking lot. After we moved back home from Chicago, we started to fall into a pretty good groove. The tears were still…
Behind every “he’s fine, mama” is a mom who’s collecting doubts like nickels.
By Kinder, my nickel jar was full – and my gut was right.
Waiting wasn’t working.
New post – The 1st Nickels – live tonight on the blog. Link in Bio.
