Before we take any trip, I start with research. And not casual, “Let’s see what looks fun” research. Hi, my name is Susan, and I’m the Type A-est of all the Type A’s out there. Let’s be friends! I mean opening seventeen tabs, reading reviews, studying maps, checking hours, looking at menus, and trying to…
He walked into a room full of people who were complete strangers to him because they mattered to someone he loves.
He stayed until he couldn’t anymore.
To most people, that probably doesn’t sound like much.
To us…
That was success.
I don’t need Eli to blend into the world. I need him to understand it well enough to be safe in it. For our family, ABA isn’t about making him less autistic. It’s about giving him the tools to better understand himself, the people around him, and the situations he encounters every day.
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.
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.
There was no magic chart. No sticker system. No consequence that fixed it.
What actually helped wasn’t impressive or tidy — it was slowing down, lowering demand, and choosing safety over compliance.
This post is about what didn’t work, what finally did, and the moment I realized regulation wasn’t optional — it was the prerequisite. 🤍
(If this feels familiar, you’re not alone.)
Because now that we understand how everything collides, we can finally talk about what actually helped — at home, at school, and in moments of crisis — and what absolutely didn’t.
When a child is dysregulated, they aren’t being difficult — they’re being flooded.
For years, I thought Eli’s resistance meant he wouldn’t. I didn’t yet understand it meant he couldn’t — not until his nervous system felt safe enough to access the skills he already had. Regulation wasn’t a strategy. It was the prerequisite.
