It’s been a few days since I’ve written anything, mostly because life has been heavy and exhausting. This week has drained me in ways I didn’t expect. I find myself hyper-aware of Eli’s every need, maybe even overprotective. I’m stepping into a world I don’t understand, trying to navigate rules I don’t know yet, and it’s sobering.
Does he need more discipline? Or more patience? Is there even a clear line between the two? I want to do everything right, but sometimes I don’t even know what “right” looks like. What I do know is that I need to be more present with him, but work demands so much of me. And work is what gives us the ability to provide for his care. It’s a cycle I don’t know how to step out of.
Eli is still Eli — his laugh, his light, his quirks are the same as they were last week. But somehow everything feels different now. The diagnosis has settled into my thoughts like a constant hum I can’t shut off. All I think about is autism: what it means, what we need to do, how we can help him. From the outside, our days haven’t changed much. We still celebrate the good and fight through the hard. But inside, I feel different.
And then there’s Caden. My sweet baby who also needs us, who also deserves our love and attention. We give it to him, of course, but I can’t shake the guilt that Eli requires more. Does he really? Or do I just think he does? At bedtime, when it’s just me and Caden for a half hour, I savor it — the stillness, the coos, the soft smiles. In those moments I know he feels seen, held, and loved. I just wish I had more to give both of them.
Lately, my thoughts drift beyond our home. I wonder how many parents are quietly walking this same road, but without the support to lean on. How many suffer in silence because they’re too scared to say, “Something feels off”? Or because they don’t have a partner who would accept it? How many are just waiting for someone else to raise the question — in a society that’s afraid to tell parents their child might be different?
And then I think about the children. The little ones who might be misunderstood, labeled as “bad” or “difficult,” when in reality they need help, support, and someone to fight for them. How many go without resources because no one spoke up? That thought breaks my heart. This journey has opened my eyes to a side of life I never truly saw before — the quiet, hidden struggles happening all around us.
Today’s Lesson
Advocacy matters. Speaking up matters. Every child deserves someone to see past the behavior and fight for the support they need.
What I’m Holding Onto
The quiet bedtime moments with Caden — reminders that love, attention, and presence are the greatest gifts I can give both of my boys.
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