Relief Came First

Who knew relief would be one of the feelings that came flooding in with Eli’s diagnoses — but boy, did it hit me hard.

I don’t know how else to describe it. It certainly wasn’t relief in the knowing that Eli would continue facing challenging obstacles… daily — likely for the rest of his life. But it wasn’t relief that things were suddenly “easy” or wrapped up neatly with a bow either. It was relief that we finally had answers. Answers supported by data, observations, and professional assessments — not just my gut, not just “that mom” being a squeaky wheel.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t guessing anymore.

And once that initial wave passed, the question became painfully obvious:
Now what?

If there’s one thing I am, it’s organized and thorough. Before I could even begin to wrap my head around what this next chapter would look like, I needed to understand what we were dealing with. I needed to study up — not to fix Eli, but to better support him.

The diagnoses stared back at me in black and white:
• Severe ADHD
• Autism Spectrum Disorder — Level Two
• Pathological Demand Avoidance (PDA)
• Severe dyslexia
• Developmental delay
• Dyscalculia

Some of those were familiar faces by then. ADHD. Autism. Dyslexia. Dyscalculia. Developmental delay. We had danced with those terms already — lived with them, researched them, and managed them.

But a couple of them stopped me in my tracks.
Level Two?
Pathological Demand Avoidance?

I’ll be honest — those were new to me. And as I started having conversations with family members, friends, therapists, and educators, it became clear they weren’t just new to me. PDA, especially, felt like an enigma. Even among professionals, reactions ranged from “hmm?” to “I’ve never heard of it, but…”

So that’s where I knew I needed to start.

But before I could do that, something else happened — something quieter, but just as important.

Relief didn’t come with instructions. Once the dust settled and the tears dried, I was left staring at a list of words that suddenly carried a lot of weight — Level Two, Pathological Demand Avoidance, substantial support. I knew they mattered, but I didn’t yet know how. So before I could move forward, I had to slow down and learn what those labels actually meant — not in textbook terms, but in real-life, everyday, PDA-for-dummies terms. I needed to tie them back to examples of how Eli moves through the world — how he experiences stress, expectations, school, and regulation.

Because understanding these diagnoses didn’t just change how I saw Eli — it changed how I had to show up as his mom. And that’s the part people don’t always talk about. A diagnosis doesn’t just name your child’s experience — it reshapes you. It changes how you listen. How you interpret behavior. How you respond in moments of chaos. It forces you to unlearn everything you thought you knew about motivation, compliance, discipline, and “trying harder.”

Relief wasn’t the end of the story.

It was the starting line.

Up next → WTH is PDA anyway?!?

🪙 Nickel from the Jar:
Sometimes relief doesn’t mean things are fixed. Sometimes it just means you finally know what you’re fighting – and you’re no longer fighting it blind.

Susan