This boy works hard every day to communicate in ways that don’t come naturally for him.
He works through unanticipated sounds that physically hurt him.
He relentlessly creates order, repetition, and sameness all around him to feel safe.
He’s so curious, craves adventure, and would examine every inch of this big old world if he could.
He constantly teeters along a line of fearless and so incredibly fragile.
He was born with the kindest heart and I want the world to see that… I want them to see the hard work, the kind heart, and the bravery for heading out into the unexpected even when it could be painful & confusing.
He’s my constant reminder that EVERYbody is SO MUCH MORE than what meets the eye.✨
I tell my boy’s story to raise awareness and acceptance for him and millions of others who were born into a world that wasn’t quite designed for them.
All I want for him is to be understood, accepted, & supported.
Thank you for following his story and learning more about the beautiful, complicated world of autism. 🖤
He is a constant reminder for me that every single person I encounter is so much more than meets the eye, and maybe he will remind you, too.
While I don’t ever want to miss an opportunity to celebrate this amazing boy, I also choose to share some of his challenges, progress, joy, and everything in between.
I do this because it isn’t enough for people to just know that autistic people exist. I want the world to understand the vastness of this spectrum including the behaviors, abilities, needs, challenges, and beauty in all people who live with autism.
I want people to learn about and celebrate differences. When someone looks, sounds, smells, and behaves differently than you, how wonderful of an opportunity you have to learn from them!✨
When you meet someone like my boy, whose brain may work differently than yours, it may take some time and patience to understand the contradictions weaved throughout his daily life.
How someone as wild and free as the wind can also feel as caged as a bird; with words, thoughts, and feelings often trapped inside of him.
How he needs predictability and order like his sandwich cut a certain way, the same clothes daily, and to constantly see his schedule, but this same boy loves speed, spinning, and falling just to the edge of out of control. I think all of this is how he feels safe but also feels ALIVE. ✨
I spent a lot of time trying to untangle all the contradictions inside of this sweet boy, like it had to be one way or another. It doesn’t. He is not something to be untangled or fixed, just understood, supported, and included.✌🏻
This blue-eyed boy finds JOY ✨ everywhere, and the best part is, he helps others see it too. I hope you get the chance to know him, or someone as uniquely wonderful.
Pictured: getting cozy at a photo shoot for our kindness/inclusion centered apparel brand, Little Rebels with a Cause 😍
During the years surrounding my son’s autism diagnosis, I could barely say the word “autism” out loud. I thought I would just break down every single time and, frankly, I didn’t have time for that. To be clear, this had nothing to do with shame. Not one day has gone by that I am not immensely proud of this boy.
It was about fear, worry, the unknown, and all the other bumps along the road to acceptance. All a parent could ever want is for their child to be okay. Autism has a way of tricking your brain into questioning if that will be the case. There is so much to learn and understand before some of that uncontrollable worry begins to fade.
I threw myself into research. We got on waitlists. I began on the path to truly knowing this boy.
And I wrote. I got it all out. Everything that was too hard to talk about at the time. Processing this kind of information is not easy, and it can be very lonely. This is a big reason why I am here, sharing our story. I never want other families to feel the same confusion and loneliness that we felt in the beginning of this journey.
It has meant so much to me to connect with other autism families, some who are going through the steps to a diagnosis or have a child that was recently diagnosed, and other parents of children of all different ages and abilities.
The main message I want to convey to all these parents is that there will be MANY times that you will feel alone in this, but you do not have to be. I constantly must remind myself of this.
I cannot tell you how many situations there have been where my knee-jerk reaction was that no one knows how this feels. The same battles, day in and day out, the medical incident reports, medical and educational decisions, the moment I saw AUTISM written on paper in an evaluation about my boy.
Remember this: there are others who have been there, too.
Things can still be hard for me to process a lot of the time. Sometimes it seems easier to sit alone with the tough stuff. If you do this, please don’t stay there long. Let someone sit with you.
Find your own way to work through your thoughts and feelings. They are real and should not be ignored.
Talk to someone. You might find this safe person in a waiting room at therapy or the pediatricians office, on the playground, or online. If all of this sounds impossible and overwhelming because you can’t even say “autism” out loud yet, that is okay too! It will get easier to talk about and then you will be ready to lean on others.
The best way for your friends and family to learn about autism and support you as a parent raising a child with autism is to tell them. Tell them about your child. Tell them about your struggles, your child’s struggles, strengths, passions, victories, and all the things.
They might not understand exactly how you feel, but they don’t have to. Sometimes talking through things just leaves you feeling better. I promise your people want to support you and celebrate with you and your child, you just have to let them.
I’m not saying you have to wave your autism awareness flag as loudly as I do. We all do this life differently. Find a place that makes you feel supported.
I am so much stronger than the day I walked out of that psychiatrist’s office with my son’s diagnosis in hand. My whole family is. If you would have told me this back then, I may have not believed you.
My boy is always growing and evolving and most days it feels like autism is always one step ahead of me. It’s like trying to catch and examine the wind. There is still so much unknown to wrestle with.
While I may never understand everything going on inside of this complicated boy, what I do know is that I will never stop trying, and there are so many people here rooting for him.
Proud mom moment. Wilson hasn’t had his hair cut outside of our home in more than six years. The last hair salon we attempted with him was when he was about two years old, and he was screaming so much before he even got into the chair that the stylist said she couldn’t work with him. So, we left, and started a haircutting program with his therapy center that lasted about four years. I’ve continued to cut his hair at home, and while he doesn’t necessarily like it, he has improved greatly and will tolerate it.
Last week, while I was getting my hair done, I asked my stylist if she would be willing to attempt to cut his hair at her salon. I honestly sat there thinking about it for an hour or so before I asked her. Deciding when and how to attempt things like this is tricky. I don’t mean to be pessimistic, but we have been there and done that and I was sweating at the thought of attempting it again. I pictured the screaming and the other clients staring, and the headbanging, and the hand swatting. And thought maybe continuing with the mediocre mom-cuts was good enough.
Her salon is small, quiet, and I had a feeling he just might like it there. She was very happy to give it a try and we agreed that if it didn’t work out, we wouldn’t push it.
I talked with Wilson about the salon over the weekend. I told him about the cool plants he’ll see there, the big mirror, and the nice lady named Sarah that was going to cut his hair this time. He said “no.” Later we talked more and landed on him getting to watch his dad’s iPad after his haircut. Sunday night and throughout yesterday, he calmy repeated his schedule, including the haircut.
He did AMAZING. He stayed calm, let her use scissors (hadn’t used those in six years either!), and was so excited to feed the ducks at the lake afterwards.
Proud is really an understatement. As much as I want to erase some of our tough experiences from memory, they sure make me grateful for how far we have come.
Also, there are really good people out there. Find the courage to ask, it’ll be worth it.
We’ve been busy over here at Wilson’s Climb! We started an inclusive clothing collection, Little Rebels with a Cause, with this sweet boy in mind. Sometimes it’s just nice when the shirts can do the talking for you.
Our designs quickly morphed into much more… for the advocates, the upstanders, and the world changers.
We make apparel with purpose for LITTLE REBELS: upstanders who embrace differences.
Our son is an adorable, curious, eight-year-old who is autistic and processes this world differently than many of us do. We see the way his little sister advocates for him, from running to get his headphones when a noise is painful for him, to telling most people she meets that her brother has autism. She does this in the same way one might say their brother is great at football or playing the guitar. She’s proud of him.
We’ve seen the value of inclusion for both of our kids, and so many more incredible humans who are a part of this Little Rebels community. We have so much to learn from one another.
We believe words are important, and we hope our tees spark valuable conversations in your communities.
Our son’s sensory processing difficulties can make clothing choices tricky. We worked hard to find the softest, most comfortable tees around, most with easy to tear-away tags. You’ll notice an abundance of black and white throughout our designs, as that is the only kind of tee he will wear.
We’re proud to donate ten percent of every purchase to some amazing nonprofits. These programs range from assisting anyone with a disability in finding their inner athlete through outdoor recreation, to programs who build inclusive and ACCESSIBLE playgrounds so that ALL can play, and those who advocate for a loving and inclusive community for anyone with a disability. We plan to introduce additional nonprofits throughout the year.
We look forward to raising awareness for these programs and making a difference with you.
P.S. A heart is one of our boy’s favorite shapes, so he helped us out by drawing the one in our mission statement.
I’ve found it very difficult to protect my heart when it’s beating outside of my body. These days it’s running around in the form of little sandy-haired, blue-eyed kids, in such vulnerable form.
I’ve wanted to protect these two from the Big Bad World since the moment I met them. Most of the time, my boy’s adventurous spirit would get in the way of the bubble wrapped life I had in mind for him.
I wasn’t ready for fearless. I wasn’t ready for vulnerable. I wasn’t ready for autism.
How will I protect him now?Will he be OK?
Will he ever talk? Attend school? Be bullied on the playground? Will he have a job? Drive? Live independently? Fall in love? And commence the spiral to nowhere.
As parents, we never want our children to feel pain and sadness. Hunger or cold. Lost or confused. It tears me up from the inside out when I look into my boy’s eyes and see how confused and frustrated he can become.
I remember a moment years ago when, during one of his meltdowns, his 2-year-old little sister hugged him and would not let go. Eventually he started laughing because it became a game to try and get her off him.
I noticed something that day. The way she looked at him. It was simple and unconditional adoration. In her eyes, he isn’t “different”. He is her big brother. Her hero. Her person.
I pray that she will always see him in that same light. As time passes, the weight of his world will inevitably impact hers more. New challenges will arise, they both will grow and change, but oh, how I hope that their unconditional love remains the same.
My children are both unique and made for one another. I can’t catch them every time they fall, but I can teach them how to help one another back up. To comfort one another. To laugh together.
They have shown us fearless. They have taught us how to find comfort in vulnerability.
My son has a phenomenal tribe of family, friends, doctors, teachers, therapists, specialists, and peers to help raise him up as high as he can go.
And he has her.
So just like that, I had all the answers to that pesky spiral to nowhere:
Joy. I want to get it right, explaining this birthday boy to you, and joy is what comes to mind over and over again.
Sometimes fragile but mostly fearless, he’s going to discover, celebrate, and remember every little thing about this big old world.
He finds the joy around him all the time… a spontaneous “moo!” to the cows out his car window and an ecstatic “choo choo!” when we are lucky enough to spot a real-life train.
I know other eight-year-olds might not do that, and that’s okay. Sometimes he celebrates joy in atypical ways or in places you wouldn’t expect. But it’s always there with him, radiating throughout the room.
He is happy in his soul.
We don’t waste moments with worry & comparison. We left that game a long time ago. Wilson is in a league of his own, right where he belongs.
We’ve been rushing this boy to grow his whole life. In true Wilson fashion, it will all be in his own time, and in his own way. Now I see this big eight-year-old in front of me and pray for time to slow down, just a little.
I am so thankful for his joyous energy, his curiosity, and the way his happiness feels like sunshine.
Hoping this year is filled with chasing more trains, searching for the ends of rainbows, and that sense of wonder found only in a child’s heart.
When autism entered my life, I knew nothing about it. Books and the internet provided some information but at times they were also terrifying rabbit-holes to nowhere. No one was talking about autism. Because of this, I think the road to acceptance for many parents with special kids is very lonely and isolating.
It did not take long to realize that there was very little I could control about my son’s autism. We worked hard at various therapies all day long for very slow progress. We still do, and it is worth it.
We built a team of therapists, doctors, and interventionists to help him learn, keep him safe and help us learn to communicate with him.
The more I came to terms the impossibility of completely changing my son’s autism, I decided we were going to change the world instead.
I want the world to be easier for him to navigate through. I want awareness, kindness, acceptance and inclusion to surround him wherever he goes.
I want people to know my boy, to understand him. I know this is not going to be easy. We work every day to do that ourselves.
I want people to know that his favorite color is red. He has never told me this, I just know.
I want children to understand that he wants to play with them, even though it does not always look that way. They need to know that most of the time his words are trapped somewhere deep inside of him. That he is not intentionally ignoring them and that his hearing is perfectly fine. He just does not always understand their words, but maybe they could show him instead.
You see, too many words get all mixed up in his head. But if you take his hand or tap his shoulder and show him the way, he just may follow.
Little friends need to know that he might not share the toys that are precious to him on a particular day because the way he has them lined up and organized is what he depends on to make him feel calm and like all is right in the world.
I want the shock and awe stares during the public meltdowns to disappear. Our meltdowns are not the typical toddler I-want-a-candy-bar kind. They are communication breakdown, sensory overload, all- systems-firing and frightening. I want a stranger to tell me I am doing a good job or acknowledge that being a mom is hard, instead of a judgmental glance when I struggle to pick my child up off the parking lot pavement.
This is where we begin to try and change the world, by sharing one boy’s journey with autism. Let him be your reminder that things are not always as they seem and to always lead with kindness and patience.
One clear memory from Wilson’s autism diagnosis evaluation has stuck with me.
We sat in a stark room with no windows. The psychiatrist had brought out one activity at a time, then locked them up in a cupboard once they were done. I vaguely remember a baby, and a pretend birthday cake, and so many blank stares and unanswered questions.
I sat quietly in the corner as they had requested. No jumping in to answer for him or prompt and encourage him. The psychiatrist asked me to call his name from across the empty room.
“Wilson. Wilson. Wilson!”
Nothing. He didn’t even turn his head in my general direction.
He wasn’t distracted by toys, which was the reason I had convinced myself he didn’t usually respond to my calls for his attention. He just casually looked at the doctor, then around the bland room.
It truly seemed like he could not hear me. But we had already been to all those specialists for all of that testing by the time we landed in this office for this autism spectrum disorder evaluation. He could hear perfectly fine.
The psychiatrist asked me to do whatever it is that I do to get his attention at home. So, I said, “Hey buddy!” and eventually walked over and touched his shoulder.
I told her we wondered if he thought his name was “Buddy” since we called him that so often. Maybe that was why he didn’t respond to his name yet.
Hope and denial and acceptance ran murky lines during those first few years.
Fast forward five years, and I must tell you this boy doesn’t miss an opportunity to say “Hi, Mommy!” or run to the door to say “Hi, Daddy!” when he hears his dad’s truck coming up the driveway.
Change happens. Growth will happen. It may look different for each child, but we will all see it, and we will all feel it. We will all go through the phases we cannot wait to get out of and the moments we want to freeze in time.
So proud of how hard this boy has worked for all his growth.
While motherhood has certainly been my greatest adventure, the vulnerability in becoming a mom, and the mother of an autistic child, has been a substantial challenge for me. I found myself, for the first time in a long time, in need of help. A lot of it. This has never been something I’ll easily admit, ask for, or receive.
Thankfully, I am surrounded by the most patient, kind, and generous humans who constantly offer their support and lift this family up.
Our friends and family and friends who are family, you open your homes to our curious boy to redecorate, climb on furniture, your laps, and shoulders, and oblige him in his relentless requests to be chased in circles. You continually say “hi” and attempt to engage with our little man, even when you know you will likely not hear a response. Someday, he will hear you, and see you, and you will get to see his sweet face light up like never before. You love our children like your own and you will never know what that truly means to us.
His teachers, behavior interventionists, doctors, therapists, and caregivers, you are patient, loving and recognize the little stuff can be very big stuff for him. You remain so calm through the storms. You help us set goals and teach our little man how to crush them.
His little buddies, you have the most innocent, loving hearts. You don’t see “different”, you just see him. You may be few, but you are such an enormous light in his life.
The sisterhood of autism moms and special needs parents, the connection and community I have found in you is invaluable. I know my words don’t resonate with everyone, but they might with you. Hearing your stories of struggle and achievements that come in every shape and size has been a constant reminder to always come back to hope.
All our friends, family, and friends of the family (some of whom I haven’t seen in years), who comment, message, and share our story, you encourage, support, and lift us. When you share our story, you are helping us achieve inclusion and acceptance.
Charlie, aka Sis, you know best how to drive your brother completely bonkers, the exact buttons to push, but you also unconditionally love, include, and protect him. You aren’t afraid to get right up in his face, so he sees you, so he hears you. He feels how much you love him; I promise you.
Wilson’s Daddy, you are strong when I am weak. You always support new methods, diets, and my harebrained ideas but aren’t afraid to question when something doesn’t feel right. You keep him happy and safe, which isn’t easy but is our greatest purpose. You know him and you love him so well. You stand with me, to advocate for him, to fight for understanding, and you remain there through our proudest moments and in our weakest.
My sweet boy. You adore the simple things. You smell, touch, taste and intensely examine. You’ve made me slow down and pay attention, whether I wanted to or not, you need me to. You’ve helped me find patience, and still, I pray for more every single night. You have forced me into a vulnerability like I have never known and shown me all the amazingness that follows such a leap.
You’ve shown us how hard your world can be. Through frustration, pain, confusion, and sleep deprivation, you are still so happy in your soul. You’ve shown me this is not only possible, but also just all a part of this wildly imperfect, beautiful ride.