In a world where social media shines its bright light on perfection - smiling families, curated vacations, homes where laughter fills the halls - too many people quietly carry unseen pain. The Neidlinger family lived that hidden reality for years. Their story, known to many through news reports and community conversations, has become a lifeline for others who thought they were alone.
Rob and Lori Neidlinger will celebrate 30 years of marriage this December. They built a life filled with love, faith, and the dreams most parents share. Their sons, Noah and Jarod, were born just a year apart, and in 2006, Rob's work brought the family to Peachtree City. The boys were five and six.
Then, slowly, the silence began.
By age 10, their son Jarod’s sensitivity to sound grew so severe that family life began to change. Diagnosed with misophonia - a neurological condition where everyday sounds such as chewing or breathing trigger extreme emotional or physical reactions - Jarod could no longer tolerate the simplest of family moments. The word misophonia literally means hatred of sound. “The dinner table disappeared,” Lori recalls. “So many normal things disappeared.”
Searching for relief from misophonia in his late teens, Jarod began experimenting with different coping methods. One of those choices would later be linked to a serious complication that intensified and prolonged episodes of delusion. That was the beginning of the second diagnosis: Schizophrenia — a complex mental illness marked by psychosis, disorganized thinking, changes in behavior, and altered emotional responses.
While schizophrenia is not linked to misophonia and is often manageable with consistent treatment, the path to help is rarely simple. Lori and Rob are true opposites. “I’m the emotional one; Rob is steady and level-headed. He finds the positive when I can’t see it. That balance helped us survive.”
Jarod often heard voices and would retreat to a wooded area near the family’s home to “talk to them.” There, he felt safest.
Lori barely slept. “I was always worried he might hurt himself. Always checking on him. It never left my mind.” When Jarod turned 18, the family encountered another shock: despite being his parents, they could no longer make medical decisions or even receive updates about his care. “We learned the hard way that once your child turns 18, even if they’re mentally ill, you must have legal guardianship to speak to doctors or make decisions,” Lori explains. “Without it, they wouldn’t even tell us what hospital he was in.”
At 22, something beautiful happened. Jarod stood as a groomsman at Noah's wedding. He couldn’t stay for the reception, as it would be too overstimulating, but after the ceremony, he approached his brother and said words Lori and Noah will never forget: “Noah, I want you to know how happy I am for you and Brittany, and how much I love you.”
That moment remains one of the family’s treasures.
It was just a year later that life took another heartbreaking turn. After resisting medication, disappearing for days, even weeks at a time, and enduring rounds of hospital care, Jarod vanished again. This time, he didn't come back. In that familiar stretch of woods where he once sought calm, his story reached its quiet conclusion.
And somehow - even there - love remains. “That place has become my peaceful place that I can go to and talk to Jarod all I want,” Lori says. “I sit on the bench our neighbors placed and painted for me, and talk to Jarod. I’ve seen a buck feed, a muskrat build its home, and a blue heron land in the water." It’s as if creation is reminding Lori that beauty still lives in that place.
They call it Jarod’s Place. The neighbors planted a swamp azalea, and continue to pull the weeds to keep the space clear. “Because of Jarod’s story,” Lori says, “people have started opening up. They’re talking about their children, their fears, their exhaustion. They’re realizing they’re not alone.”
In a community often defined by its picture-perfect façade, Jarod’s story stripped away the filter and replaced it with something deeper - connection. The Neidlingers’ courage to share their truth has created a ripple of compassion through Fayette County and beyond.
“Because of Jarod’s story, people have started opening up. They’re talking about their children, their fears, their exhaustion.”
– Lori Neidlinger