We've got the diagnosis, now what?

In the many years I’ve spent working in community behavioral and mental health, I developed what some might call “thicker skin.” I learned, over time, how to hold space for heartbreak while also building emotional boundaries. Yes, I fully acknowledged how painful and overwhelming many people’s experiences were—but I also had to find ways to protect my own heart so I could keep showing up.

One of the most meaningful parts of my early career was working with families of children with special needs. I still remember a young man I worked with in high school—tall, strong, nonverbal, and often misunderstood. Building a relationship with him was something I took incredible pride in. Even without a single spoken word, we understood each other.

I began to notice his physical stims, the changes in the tone of his voice. These subtle cues helped me learn when to give him space, when he needed support, and when I needed to step back for my own safety. (There was one trip to urgent care... but what mattered most was that I showed back up.) I’ll never forget the look on his face when I returned—a mix of relief, confusion, and vulnerability. That kiddo and his family taught me so much.

Back then, when I left work, I was off the clock. For them, it never ended. I’m not comparing raising an autistic child to a job—but let’s be real: it is a lot of work. And now, I live it.

Today, I’m the parent of a “nonverbal” child—though lately, he’s been trying so hard to use his words that I could jump out of my skin from the excitement. This is my life now. A life made up of micro wins that feel monumental.

Last week, my son wore a paper Burger King crown on his head. That small, cheap hat made me the proudest mother in the world. I celebrated like he’d just conquered the universe. Because to us, these moments matter—every single one of them.

I see his fearlessness every day. I admire his strength in facing a world that often isn’t built for him—and doing it with such bravery and, honestly, looking so handsome while doing it.

So to the parents out there who celebrate the little victories: I see you. I’m with you. Keep celebrating. We need to show our kids that they’re worthy of every win, big or small. Because they are.