by Kayla Myers, Peer Support Coordinator

January 28, 2025

April is Autism Awareness Month, a time that holds deep meaning for my family and countless others around the world. My son is almost 9 years old, and he is non-speaking. While he may not use words in the way most people do, he communicates in a hundred other beautiful, meaningful ways. I am always seeking the words for my personal hero, my son.

When I first heard the words “your child is on the autism spectrum,” I felt everything at once: fear, love, confusion, and an overwhelming desire to understand what the future might hold. I imagined the challenges he might face, the misunderstandings, the uphill battles. But what I couldn’t yet see was how much he would teach me. He has taught me valuable lessons about patience, resilience, perspective, and the power of connection that doesn’t require words.

Our days are filled with routines and rhythms that make sense to him. He used to spend hours lining up his toys in a way only he could understand, watching water swirling endlessly down the drain, and listening to the same song over and over again. These are just the things that bring him comfort and joy. They are just a few examples of how he experiences the world. And when I slow down and truly see things through his eyes, I realize how much intention, beauty, and clarity live in the moments that I used to overlook.

He may be non-speaking, but he is never silent. His laughter lights up the room when something speaks his language. His eyes sparkle when he wants to share a moment with me. His hands flap joyfully when he’s proud of himself or when he is excited. And when he’s overwhelmed, I feel his pain in my bones. Even when he doesn’t say, “Mom, I need help,” I know. And I respond with everything I have.

One of the greatest lessons I’ve learned as a mother is this: communication is so much more than words. It’s gestures, eye contact, presence, energy, and love. In our home, we celebrate every form of expression. Whether it’s pointing, using a communication device, pulling me toward what he needs, or simply placing his hand in mine when he’s seeking comfort. These are his words. And they are valid. They are powerful. And this is when I feel so connected to the idea of connection.

I’ve always been a people person. I may not excel at the things most people do, but I get people. I easily read between the lines, I am very aware of the subtle shifts in body language, the emotion behind a glance, the weight carried in a quiet moment. I’ve come to understand that everyone has a story, and that what we see on the surface is just one layer of many. I know that life can be painful. And I find grace in my ability to hold space for others, not to fix or solve, but simply to sit with them in their pain, to truly see them, and to understand even just a fragment of what they’re carrying.

But it’s my son, my beautiful, non-speaking son — who has helped me take that ability to a deeper level. He has taught me how to truly listen without words, how to tune in to the language of presence, energy, and emotion. In walking alongside him, I’ve learned to support what’s unspoken with more compassion and clarity than I ever thought possible.

Autism Awareness Month is about more than awareness, it’s about acceptance, understanding, and celebration. It’s about recognizing that autistic individuals, whether they speak or not, bring extraordinary strengths, perspectives, and beauty into this world. My son has shown me that every child deserves to be seen, heard, and honored exactly as they are.

So if you’re reading this, I invite you to lean in. Listen. Learn. Unlearn. Listen to parents like me, yes — but more importantly, listen to autistic individuals themselves. Their voices matter most. They are the true experts on their own experience. And often, the very people the world tries to speak for.

Let’s build a world where all kinds of communication are valued, where neurodiversity is not just accepted but embraced, and where being non-speaking never means being unheard.

To my beautiful boy: you are brave, man, you are brave. You are brilliant and I know more brilliant than I could even understand. And you are deeply loved, exactly as you are. I will always be your voice until the world learns how to truly listen. 

Edited and enhanced by ChatGPT

by  Beth Ayers, Family Peer Support Lead

November 15, 2022

Over the years I have thought a lot about the culture of my family and what I want it to be. Particularly, how I want it to be different from my parents’ culture that I was raised in. And the ways I would like it to be the same. One thing in my life that I have a lot of control over is the culture in my family and our home.

Growing up, I lived in a home with a culture of silence. We didn’t talk about problems because problems didn’t exist if we didn’t talk about them. They also couldn’t affect us if we stayed silent about them. The effects of problems were minimized and ignored through control, alcohol, drugs, blame, guilt, perfectionism, extreme thinking, denial, and enabling. The culture also included a shared responsibility for feelings and choices. I was responsible for making my mom feel sad or angry. My mom was responsible for my choices and consequences that came from them. It was our responsibility to fix each other. One person’s mood affected everyone else’s.

I was determined not to bring this culture into my home and family as an adult. It is important to me to create a culture of truth and accountability. To own and share my feeling and to take responsibility for getting my needs met. Some tools I have used to build this culture in my family are therapy (individual, family, and marriage), my faith, journaling, Al-Anon, self-care, medication, expressing my feelings without blaming them on anyone, admitting when I am wrong and apologizing, and continuing to learn and grow in my recovery. I want my kids to know that feelings are okay, hard conversations need to happen and we will survive them, perfection is impossible, life is messy, we can only control ourselves, and recovery is possible. This is the culture I hope I created, or at least continue to work towards creating in my family and home.

There were also behaviors and beliefs that I wanted to continue, that I valued about the family culture I grew up in. Some are eating dinner together, doing special and thoughtful things for others, taking family trips, celebrating the holidays with family, and financial responsibility, among others. These were important to me and as an adult I made sure they were included in creating my family’s culture.

Every family has their own culture. They have behaviors, beliefs, and values that influence the home and shape the family’s culture. As children, there are parts of our family’s culture that we appreciate and want to continue. And there are parts that don’t work for us. We have the ability, as adults, to change these parts and create a different culture for our home. Through intentional evaluation and work, we can create a culture in our home that support us and our recovery and those in our family.