Three years ago, my husband and I sat in a room waiting to hear words that, deep down, I think we already knew were coming.
Our son, Kam, was just two months shy of his third birthday when he was diagnosed with autism.
People often ask what that day was like. They expect me to say I was heartbroken, and while there was certainly grief, my very first emotion was actually…relief.
Relief that someone finally saw what I had been seeing.
Relief that we finally had an answer.
Relief that this diagnosis might open doors to the support and services I hoped would help him communicate, learn, and navigate the world a little easier.
For the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful.
But as the days passed, that relief slowly gave way to reality.
Our journey was going to look different.
Not worse. Just different.
I realized there wasn’t going to be a roadmap telling us exactly what to do or when things would get easier. There would be evaluations, therapy appointments, insurance approvals, school meetings, difficult decisions, and a whole new vocabulary that I never expected to learn.
Most of all, I realized I had to let go of the picture I had painted in my mind of what our future would look like.
As parents, we all imagine certain milestones. First conversations. Making friends. School performances. Birthday parties. Sports. Independence.
When Kam was diagnosed, I didn’t stop dreaming for him. I simply learned that his milestones might come on a different timeline—and that every single one would be worth celebrating.
Fast forward to today, and Kam is now six years old. People sometimes ask if things have gotten easier.
The honest answer?
Some things have. Many things haven’t. We’re still in the thick of it.
Our weeks are filled with school, in-home ABA therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy, ESY (Extended School Year) over the summer, social skills classes on weekends, doctor’s appointments, and everything else that comes with raising a family.
Life doesn’t pause because your child has therapy. There’s still dinner to cook. Laundry to fold. Bills to pay. Work deadlines. Family birthdays. School events.
This year, while Kam continued working hard every single day, his big sister Kay graduated from elementary school. Watching her become one of his biggest cheerleaders has been one of the greatest blessings through all of this. She celebrates his victories just as much as we do and has even picked up a few tips and tricks from Mom and our incredible BCBA along the way.
Autism hasn’t just shaped Kam. It’s shaped all of us.
It’s taught us patience when we thought we had none left. It’s taught us to celebrate progress instead of perfection.
It’s reminded us that growth isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s found in the quiet victories that no one else notices.
A new word. Trying a different food. Making eye contact. Playing with another child. Getting through a difficult transition without tears.
To someone else, those moments might seem small. To us, they’re everything. Don’t get me wrong, there are still hard days.
Days when I question whether I’m doing enough. Days when I worry about the future. Days when I’m mentally exhausted from juggling therapies, school meetings, and everyday life.
But there are also days when Kam surprises us in ways we never expected. Days filled with laughter. Days filled with pride. Days that remind me just how resilient children can be.
If you’re reading this because your child was recently diagnosed, I want you to know something I wish someone had told me three years ago.
It’s okay to feel relieved.
It’s okay to grieve the expectations you once had.
It’s okay to be overwhelmed.
And it’s okay if all of those feelings exist at the same time. None of those emotions make you a bad parent. They make you human.
Three years later, I still don’t have all the answers. I’m still learning. I’m still advocating. I’m still celebrating the wins, navigating the challenges, and figuring it out one day at a time.
But if I could go back and sit beside the version of myself in that doctor’s office three years ago, I’d simply hold her hand and tell her this:
You’re going to be okay; your family will be okay. Your son is going to amaze you in ways you can’t even imagine yet.
The road ahead won’t always be easy, but it will be filled with victories worth celebrating.
And one day, you’ll realize that while autism changed your family’s story, it never changed how deeply your son is loved or how much potential he has!
So today, we’ll keep showing up. We’ll keep learning. We’ll keep advocating. We’ll keep celebrating every milestone, no matter how big or how small.
Because every step forward is still a step forward. And around here, that’s always worth celebrating.
With love,
Linda Caridad
Humble Mama 