Life Without Words: Wyatt's Story

  Today I went shopping around town with Wyatt, his sister, and our good friend Ryan’s daughter, Zoey. Zoey is 9 - almost 10! She has been such an immense help to me this summer with Wyatt and Sophia. She keeps them entertained, helps me out in little ways that mean so much, and gives me someone to talk to during those long, sometimes chaotic days. Honestly, without her conversation, I think I might’ve lost my mind by now. Today, though, was an off-day for Wyatt. For reasons unknown to me, he just wasn’t happy. He spent most of the day throwing screaming tantrums... or just screaming to hear his own voice. One or the other, all day long. In fact, as I’m typing this, he’s still screaming in the back room. As we were leaving Dollar Tree, after filling our cart with random and unnecessary treasures, Wyatt decided to throw himself on the ground, kicking and screaming. A year or two ago, this scene would have broken me. I would have been on the ground crying right alongside him, h...

  We found out we were pregnant with Wyatt in June of 2020 - right in the middle of the pandemic. The world felt like it was standing still. Everywhere was on lockdown, people were isolating, and uncertainty hung in the air like a heavy cloud. At the time, I was working full-time as an “essential worker.” I’ll never forget when a coworker came into work knowing he had COVID but didn’t tell anyone. Does anyone else remember when COVID felt like the scariest thing on the planet to catch? I was pregnant, terrified, and my boss shrugged off my fears like they didn’t matter. Back then, no one really knew what COVID could do during pregnancy, and that fear consumed me. That week, I quit my job. The rest of my pregnancy was marked by loneliness. David wasn’t allowed to come with me to appointments - no hand to hold, no shared glances when we saw our baby on the ultrasound. I experienced all of Wyatt’s “firsts” alone in those sterile rooms. I had dreamed of pregnancy being a joyful, ...

  I’ve lived with depression and anxiety for over ten years now - long before Wyatt was born, before I even met my husband. It’s almost like one day, when I was 18, my brain just decided to be sad. There wasn’t a reason, at least not one I could name. I remember sitting in my parents’ recliner, bawling my eyes out, crippled by anxiety I couldn’t explain. My mom tried so hard to help me through it. She took me out for pottery painting, movie nights, shopping trips...anything to get my mind off the darkness that seemed to follow me everywhere. She didn’t understand why I felt the way I did, but she never gave up on me. She became my best friend during that time, my anchor when I felt like I was drifting. Eventually, I connected with a psychiatrist. Ten years later, he’s still my psychiatrist. My mental health has had its ups and downs, but I’ve learned to ride the waves. You might wonder why I’m sharing all this on a blog about my son and our journey with autism. The truth is,...

One of the things I’ve learned as an autism mom is that many autistic children have a strong attraction to water. It’s beautiful, but it’s also terrifying. Last September, Wyatt and I were sitting next to my parents’ small koi pond. It was a calm afternoon, the kind where you let your guard down for just a moment. In the blink of an eye, that calmness shattered. Wyatt leaned in too far and tumbled headfirst into the water. I can still see it as if it happened yesterday - his little Hey Dudes floating on the surface while he thrashed upside down beneath the water. Time froze. It felt like an eternity before I pulled him out, though it was only a split second. That moment is burned into my memory. Since that day, I’ve carried an almost paralyzing fear around bodies of water. We’ve avoided places with ponds, lakes, or anything that could pose a danger. Because with a child like Wyatt - who has no sense of danger.. the margin for error is nonexistent. This summer, my anxiety kicked in a...

 When we found out Wyatt was going to be a boy, David dreamt of all the things he would do with his son. He pictured fishing at dawn, sitting quietly by the water. He imagined teaching him how to hunt, ride a bike, drive a car. He saw them camping under the stars, talking about life, sharing laughs only a father and son can share. When Wyatt was born, we were over the moon. Our boy. David's little shadow. The excitement David had of having a son to share his passions with was overwhelming in the best way. Then came the diagnosis—first autism, then a rare genetic disorder we had never heard of. Suddenly, those dreams we had were shaken. They didn’t vanish, but they became blurry. Uncertain. Would Wyatt ever want to fish? Would he even be able to ride a bike or drive a car? Will they have those moments David always thought they would? It’s a strange kind of grief - one that feels almost wrong to admit. I love my son with every fiber of my being. I wouldn’t change who he is for the wo...

  Being an autism mom is something I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world... but it’s also something I never could have fully prepared for. It’s a journey filled with love, pride, and moments of pure joy, but it’s also one of the loneliest paths I’ve ever walked. People don’t talk enough about the loneliness. When your child has severe autism, the playdate invitations slow down, and then they stop altogether. Birthday parties become overwhelming events that you avoid... not because you don’t want to celebrate with others, but because you’re trying to protect your child from the sensory overload and yourself from the stares and judgments. You watch other kids hit milestones your child hasn’t reached, and you smile because you’re happy for them-but deep down, it stings. It’s an ache that’s hard to put into words. Even the most well-meaning friends and family can’t always understand what your days are like. They might say, “Oh, my kid is picky too,” or “All kids have meltdowns,”...

As I sit here on the floor, laughing and cuddling with Sophia, I can’t help but wonder about something that tugs at my heart. Will she grow up feeling like she’s in the background? Wyatt needs so much of me. His needs are higher, his care is constant, and many days revolve around making sure he’s safe, happy, and supported. That’s just our reality. But it’s also my fear.... that somewhere along the way, Sophia might think she doesn’t matter as much, that she’s somehow “less than” because her brother requires so much of our attention. Parenting a neurotypical child alongside a child with severe autism is like walking a tightrope. I’m constantly balancing the needs of both, making sure neither one falls through the cracks. Some days, I feel like I’m failing. Sophia is only 1½, but she’s already so observant. She watches everything. She’s curious. She wants to be with her big brother, even when he needs space. And she watches me - how I care for Wyatt, how I respond to his meltdowns, how ...