Monday afternoon, everything changed. The word I had feared became real: autism.
That evening, I was numb. My body moved through the motions, but my heart felt heavy in a way I can’t fully explain. By Tuesday, shock had given way to action. There were calls to make, schools to contact, therapies to research. I found myself glued to my laptop reading about ABA, scrolling through reviews, filling out intake forms, scheduling appointments. Every task completed left me staring at a list that only seemed to grow. And tucked between the logistics were the moments I couldn’t plan for — crying spells that came out of nowhere, waves of guilt, the kind of anxiety that steals your breath.
And all of this layered on top of tax season. Clients, deadlines, numbers swirling on my computer screen. Somehow, I was supposed to show up for work with the same focus as always. But my mind was somewhere else. My heart was with my little boy.
This morning, I dropped him off at daycare, knowing he won’t be there much longer. His doctor recommended full-time ABA, and we were lucky enough to find a therapist with an opening soon. As I pulled away, I braced myself for the 30-minute drive to the office — just me, the road, and my thoughts.
It didn’t take long for them to catch up with me. Fear rushed in first: I don’t want to leave him. Not because he isn’t safe, but because when he’s not with me, I can’t protect him. Then came the guilt — why do I feel like he needs protecting when there’s nothing “wrong” with him? But what if someone doesn’t understand his emotions the way I do? What if his laughter, his frustrations, his way of seeing the world isn’t met with kindness? Love, fear, guilt, confusion — they all collided at once, and suddenly the tears were pouring.
At a stoplight, I reached for my phone and played videos of his laugh. That laugh — bright, unfiltered joy — is my anchor. It reminds me that my boy is perfectly normal. His diagnosis doesn’t define him. His happiness does.
And then, almost as if the world knew I needed it, my social feeds flooded with autism stories. Today, one stood out — a young woman with autism who competed on Survivor. Watching her wasn’t about seeing difference. It was about seeing resilience, acceptance, hope. For the first time in days, I felt my chest loosen just a little.
It’s only been three days since hearing that word, and I know this road will bring more emotions: sadness, guilt, confusion, fear. But I also know there will be hope, resilience, and love stronger than anything else. I don’t have all the answers, but I don’t need them. I just need to keep showing up. Because God made me his mom for a reason.
And he is my reason.
Today’s Lesson
It’s okay not to know what comes next. Love and determination are enough for today.
What I’m Holding Onto
His laugh — the purest reminder of who he is and always will be.
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