An Unexpected Journey

Autism wasn’t something I ever expected to walk through — not as a mother, and certainly not in the way I do now.

Before Ezra was born, I worked as a Registered Behavior Technician (RBT), providing therapy and support for children on the spectrum. I was drawn to the work in ways I couldn’t fully explain. There was something incredibly about the way those children saw the world — their honesty, their brilliance, their uniqueness. I remember pouring my heart into every session, wondering why God had led me so specifically into that field. It was more than a job. It felt like a calling.

But I didn’t know then what I know now. I didn’t know I was being prepared — heart, mind, and spirit — for something much closer to home.

In 2022, my son Ezra was diagnosed with Autism. Even with all my experience, it felt like the air was knocked out of me. Knowing the clinical side doesn’t soften the emotional side. I was still a mother. I still grieved. I still cried when no one was watching.

Ezra was non-verbal for a long time. I remember the silence — how heavy it felt. The longing for words. The ache of not hearing “Mama.” I held on to hope, but it was hard. The world moves so fast, and sometimes you feel like you and your child are being left behind.

But slowly, piece by piece, something beautiful began to unfold. Ezra began to speak. First with signs. Then single words. Then two-word phrases. And now, by the grace of God, he speaks in full sentences most of the time. I still pause and marvel when I hear him say, “Mama, come play with me,” or “I want to go outside.” They are not just words — they are miracles. And I do not take them for granted.

But just because he has found his voice doesn’t mean the challenges disappeared.

Every single day, we face difficult moments. Ezra can be aggressive, impulsive, and compulsive. He has no concept of what’s safe or dangerous — and that means we are constantly on high alert. One second he’s laughing, and the next, he’s darting out of the house and into the road or grabbing something sharp. His body often moves faster than his understanding.

Sometimes his intrusive thoughts win. Sometimes, more often than not, they take over — and we all feel the aftermath.

And here’s the honest part that most people don’t talk about: not everyone responds with grace. People get startled. Some look at him with frustration or confusion. Others stare. Some say things that sting. And I don’t blame them for not understanding — but I wish they would try. I wish they knew he isn’t trying to hurt anyone. I wish they saw his heart, not just his behavior. I wish they knew how much courage it takes to keep showing up every day as his mom — advocating, protecting, explaining, forgiving, starting again.

Autism has changed everything. It has reshaped how I parent, how I pray, how I love, and how I trust. It’s taught me to celebrate inchstones instead of milestones. It’s shown me how to communicate beyond words. It’s pushed me deeper into the arms of God when nothing else made sense.

A fun fact about me — one I used to keep quiet — is that I’m also on the Autism spectrum. For a long time, I didn’t fully understand what that meant. I just knew I felt things deeply, saw things differently, and processed the world in a way that didn’t always fit the mold. But now, I see it. I see how God has intricately woven this part of my identity into every thread of my motherhood. Into the work I did as an RBT. Into the way I love Ezra. Into the compassion I hold for other parents walking this road.

Some days are still incredibly hard. The meltdowns. The rigidity. The noise. The unknowns. The fears I dare not say out loud. But through every challenge, I have come to believe something with my whole heart: God does not make mistakes.

This journey is not a punishment. It is not a detour.

It is my calling.

To the mother still waiting for a diagnosis, still holding onto hope, still learning how to navigate it all — you are not alone. To the father wondering how to connect, how to support, how to stay strong — your presence matters more than you know. To the caregiver who is tired, unseen, and unsure — God sees you. And He’s walking every step of this with you.

Our children are not broken. They are beautifully made, intentionally designed, and fiercely loved by a God who doesn’t miss a detail.

Autism has stretched my faith, but it has also deepened it. I’ve seen God in the silence, in the slow progress, in the breakthroughs that came after what felt like a thousand setbacks.

I’ve seen Him in Ezra’s eyes.

In the words that finally came.

In the joy of connection.

In the grace that carries us daily.

I don’t have all the answers, I didn't write this to prove that I know everything or because everything is perfect.

I wrote this because I do have this unwavering truth: Even when it’s hard, God is still good. Even when the road is long, He walks beside us. Even when the story looks different than we imagined, He is still writing a story that is incredibly beautiful and abounding in hope.

And for that, I will keep giving Him glory.