I see you.
I see you in the supermarket, eyes darting, shoulders tight, praying for a smooth trip but bracing for the stares, the whispers, the judgment. I see you in parking lots, crouching beside your child, gently coaxing them out of the car while strangers impatiently walk past, not knowing that transitions can feel like moving mountains. I see you in classrooms and therapy offices, nodding along as professionals discuss your child in terms of deficits and delays, as if they are a checklist instead of the extraordinary, complex soul that you know them to be.
I see you because I know the heartache and extreme weight you carry.
You are the soft place to land when the world is too loud, too fast, too bright. You are the safe harbor in a storm of overwhelming sensations, the steady presence in a world that doesn’t always understand. You are the one who catches the thrown shoes, who absorbs the screamed words, who takes the hits—both the physical ones and the invisible ones that come from watching your child struggle in a world not built for them.
And I know—oh, how I know—how exhausting it is.
The mornings that start with resistance before breakfast is even on the table. The battles over socks that “feel wrong,” the brushing of teeth that sparks a meltdown and another broken something, the routine that must be followed exactly or the entire day unravels. The deep breaths you take before stepping into public spaces, before answering yet another well-meaning but deeply painful question: Have you tried…?
The nights are no easier. The endless rocking, pacing, soothing, waiting for sleep that doesn’t come because they get out of bed a dozen times to seek the constant reassurance and warm embrace of the trusted person their heart is linked up with.. The whispered prayers, the silent screams into pillows, the tears you don’t let them see. The moments you wonder if you are doing enough, if you are truly enough.
But I also know the victories.
The first time they make eye contact a little longer than before. The first time they reach for your hand when they once recoiled from touch. The first time they use words, signs, gestures—any way at all—to say I love you.
I know the pride that swells in your chest when your child accomplishes something the world said they would never would be able to, The first haircut without tears and punches, the first school day without a call home, the first friend made. The moment they trust enough to ask for help, or advocate for themselves, use their voice, show the world what you’ve always seen in them and known — they are brilliantly created in THEIR very own unique way.
These moments might not look like other families’ milestones. But they are your child’s victories, your victories. Hard-won. Fought for with patience, un-ending sacrifice, and a love so deep it defies words
I know you are tired. I know there are days when the exhaustion is so thick it feels like you are moving through fog. When you wonder if you have anything left to give and if you can keep moving forward. When you see families moving effortlessly through life, and you ache for just one day—one day—without the struggle or crisis.
And I know you wouldn’t trade your child for anything in the world.
Because amid the exhaustion, amid the meltdowns and the meetings and the never-ending fight to be understood, there is love. A love that is fierce, raw, and breathtaking. A love that stretches you beyond anything ever imagined.
And even when they cannot say it—even when they cannot show it in the ways you wish they could—they know.
They know you are their safe place. They know you are their champion. They feel your love in the way you fight for them, in the way you hold them when the world is too much, in the way you never, ever give up. And when something doesn’t work you make it work. Some how someway you make the puzzle piece fit perfectly. For them for you. Molding the world to their need and not them to the standards of the world. A true hero, their hero, their everything – in a world that seems so unforgiving.
So, to you—the tired, the worried, the brave, the relentless, the fiercely loving—please hear this:
Everything you’re doing is worth every fight, every struggle, every second. Don’t ever doubt yourself or this journey, And, cherish every single victory
You are extraordinary.
You are seen.
You are enough.
And you are not alone.
With all my love
A mother of a neurodivergent child
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