ASD ADHD & Sorta Thriving

If you see a mama using a “leash” with her child, please don’t judge.

To you, it may look unnecessary.
To her, it’s an added layer of security so she and her child can enjoy an outing without fear, panic, or constantly being on edge.

Some children are runners. Some have autism, ADHD, sensory needs, or simply don’t understand danger yet. And some moms are just doing whatever they can to keep their child safe while still allowing them to experience the world.

Parenting already comes with enough pressure. Lead with compassion instead of criticism. You never know what another family is navigating behind the scenes. 🤍

If you’ve ever had to choose safety over strangers’ opinions, you’re not alone. 🫶

I wonder who I would have been if I wasn’t an autism mom.

Who I would’ve become if my life had followed the path I imagined instead of the one that changed me overnight.

Would I be softer?
Less anxious?
More spontaneous?
Less tired?

Would I have known this kind of strength without being forced to find it?

There’s a version of me that existed before therapies, evaluations, sensory overloads, sleepless nights, advocacy battles, and carrying the invisible weight that comes with loving a child who experiences the world differently.

And sometimes I grieve her.

But then I look at who I am now.

A mother who learned patience she never knew she had.
A woman who became a voice when her child couldn’t use his.
Someone who notices the children left out.
Someone who fights harder, loves deeper, and sees the world in a way she never would have before.

Maybe I would have been lighter.
Maybe life would have been easier.

But I don’t think I would have been this strong.

To the autism moms quietly wondering who they used to be… I see you.

And somehow, in the middle of losing pieces of ourselves, we found parts we never knew existed.

What has motherhood changed most about you?

To the moms and dads walking into their very first IEP meeting…

I know how heavy it can feel sitting at a table hearing people discuss all the things your child struggles with. Hearing what they cannot do yet can feel heartbreaking, overwhelming, and honestly unfair.

But please remember this: those meetings are not meant to define your child by their delays. Those goals are being written because people believe your child can grow, learn, and succeed with the right support.

An IEP is not a list of failures. It is a roadmap. A starting point. A plan created to help your child reach milestones in their own way and in their own time.

And while the professionals in the room may have experience, never forget that YOU are the expert on your child. Your voice matters. Your concerns matter. Your instincts matter.

If something feels wrong, rushed, or uncomfortable, you do not have to say yes. Ask questions. Request changes. Take time to think. Advocate boldly.

You are not difficult for speaking up.
You are parenting.

And no matter how emotional that meeting may feel, remember this: your child is so much more than a checklist on paper. ❤️

Everyone understands autism until…

…it’s your child melting down in public and all eyes are on you.
…it doesn’t look like the version they’ve seen on TV.
…it’s not “quirky” or “cute” — it’s exhausting, overwhelming, and unpredictable.
…it impacts sleep, eating, communication… every part of daily life.
…it requires therapies, appointments, advocacy, and constant fighting for support.
…it doesn’t fit inside their box of what they think autism should look like.

Because autism isn’t just autism when it’s calm, quiet, and “quirky.”
It’s autism when it’s loud.
It’s autism when it’s messy.
It’s autism when it’s hard, inconvenient, and misunderstood.

Everyone understands autism… until it challenges their expectations.

But for us?
There is no “until.”
This is our every day — and our kids still deserve patience, respect, and understanding in every space they walk into.

So if you truly want to “understand autism”… 🧩
Start by listening.
Start by learning.
And most importantly — lead with compassion, even when you don’t fully get it.

Because one day, it might not be so unfamiliar after all.

Three photos.
One little boy.
A whole lot of growth you can’t see.

Spring 2025 → Fall 2025 → Spring 2026
From 2.5 to 3.5 years old… and what you see is the smile, the confidence, the change.

But what you don’t see?
The hours of therapy.
The tears behind closed doors.
The late-night worries about the future.
The team of therapists and teachers pouring into him.
The kind of hard work that doesn’t get posted.

And let me tell you something… hard work pays off.

Oliver is repeating words.
He’s communicating more than he did a year ago—honestly, more than he did even 4 months ago.
He knows his colors, his alphabet, his animal sounds.
He dances. He sings. He tries.
He gives the BEST snuggles and hugs.
His laugh? Pure joy. And yes… he’s pretty funny too.

He is working harder than most people will ever realize.
And it is paying off.

To know Oliver is to know happiness—through the lens of a “nonverbal” autistic little boy who is proving every single day that growth isn’t always loud… but it’s always powerful.

If you’re in the thick of it right now—keep going.
Even when it feels slow. Even when it feels heavy.
Progress is happening. 🧩🤍

Two months into therapy is NOT the full story.

I see so many parents feeling discouraged when speech, OT, or ABA “doesn’t work” right away. When the progress isn’t obvious. When nothing feels different yet.

But here’s the truth no one talks about enough…

Those first months? They’re foundation work.

Your child is learning how to trust a new person. Learning a new environment. Learning expectations, routines, and how to even participate. That alone is HUGE.

Progress doesn’t always show up as words or big milestones right away. Sometimes it’s quieter than that.

It’s:
• Less resistance
• A little more engagement
• One new sound
• One tiny moment of connection

And those small things? They matter more than you think.

Therapy is not a quick fix. It’s a process. And for many of our kids, it takes time before you see the “results” everyone expects.

So if you’re 2 months in and wondering if it’s working… don’t give up yet.

You might be closer than you realize.

If you’re in this stage right now, I see you. 💙
How long did it take before you started noticing progress? Share below so other parents know they’re not alone ⬇️

Level 3 autism isn’t just a label—it’s a reality that shapes every part of daily life for some families.

It means full support, full time.
It can mean little to no verbal communication.
It can mean struggles with basic needs—eating, sleeping, safety.
It can mean meltdowns that aren’t “tantrums,” but a nervous system completely overwhelmed.

It also means celebrating things others might overlook—eye contact, a new sound, a moment of connection. Those wins? They’re everything.

For many of us, life doesn’t look like playdates and easy outings. It looks like therapy appointments, careful routines, constant supervision, and advocating in spaces that don’t always understand.

But it also looks like fierce love.
Unconditional, patient, resilient love.

If you see a family navigating level 3 autism, know this: they are doing their absolute best in a world that isn’t built for them. Offer kindness, not judgment. Support, not assumptions.

And to the parents and caregivers—you’re not alone, even when it feels like it.

💙 picture of my boy who actually said “cheese” & smiled for a picture 🥹

Easter with a child on the spectrum looks a little different over here… and honestly, so do most holidays.

It’s not always the picture-perfect outfits, big crowds, or packed schedules. It’s slower. It’s quieter. It’s adjusting expectations in real time.

It’s choosing comfort over tradition.
It’s skipping things that feel overwhelming.
It’s celebrating in ways that actually feel good for them… even if it doesn’t look like everyone else’s version.

Sometimes it’s eggs that don’t get found, outfits that don’t stay clean, or plans that change last minute.
But it’s also the small wins—the smiles, the moments of connection, the little bits of joy that mean everything.

Different doesn’t mean less magical.
Different just means we’re learning to meet our children where they are—and love them exactly as they are.

If your holidays look a little different too, you’re not alone. 🤍

Easter looks a little different over here 🐣💛

It’s not perfectly coordinated outfits or calm family photos.
It’s sensory overload, skipped traditions, and doing things in ways that make sense for our kids.

It’s Easter eggs opened all at once… or not at all.
It’s chocolate for breakfast because routines feel safer than rules today.
It’s choosing regulation over expectations.
Peace over perfection.

Our “neuro-spicy” babies experience the world in a way that’s bigger, louder, and sometimes harder—and that means we celebrate in ways that feel safe, flexible, and full of grace.

And you know what?
That counts. That matters. That’s beautiful.

So if your Easter doesn’t look like everyone else’s—
you’re not doing it wrong.
You’re doing it right for your child.

Happy Easter from our perfectly imperfect, beautifully unique family 🐰✨