When you're raising children with communication differences, your world becomes both incredibly small and overwhelmingly large. Small, because so much of life revolves around the basics—meals, routines, emotions, sleep. Large, because every decision feels heavy and every milestone carries questions most parents never have to consider.
This is the world my family lives in, and it has reshaped everything I once imagined parenthood would be.
My husband and I have three beautiful children; our younger two are on the autism spectrum. Our introduction to early intervention began when our son started speech therapy at three. Those early appointments taught us to celebrate progress measured in inches, not miles—gestures, sounds, attempts. God used that season to teach us to trust Him with what we could not control.
I’ll never forget the winter afternoon he came home from school holding a jingle bell he’d made in class. He shook it with all his might and began singing “Jingle Bells.” The words were imperfect, but I understood him. For the first time, my son’s voice filled our home—and it is a memory I will never forget.
Today, our daughter communicates through PECS, exchanging pictures with confidence and delight. Her binder has become a bridge between her world and ours. She reminds me daily that communication isn’t limited to spoken words; it is connection, expression, and relationship in all its forms.
This journey has softened me in ways I didn’t expect. It has taught me to slow down, to honor effort, to look beneath behavior, and to see every child as made in the image of God—worthy of patience, dignity, and protection. It has deepened my faith, not through tidy answers, but through God’s steady presence in the long days and uncertain seasons.
And woven through all of it, our family has found a community here in DFW that has carried us—therapists who cheer for every step, teachers who meet our children with compassion, parents who understand, and a church family that has become a refuge on the hard days. Their support has reminded me that none of us were meant to navigate this path alone.
And slowly, I’m learning to measure growth not by timelines, but by courage, connection, peace, and the little victories only the closest eyes can see.