Quick, chaos-taming tools for mamas raising ND legends—no fluff, no guilt, just what you need when you need it.
Let’s just call it like it is: when you're raising a neurodivergent kid, you're not just a mom. You're a full-time translator, bodyguard, event planner, emotional support human, and yeah… an advocate. Sometimes by choice, sometimes because the world gives you no other option.
Let me take you back to the moment I first heard the word “Autism” connected to my son. Cue the dramatic music, the instant flood of tears, and the urgent need to Google like I was studying for the SATs. I stumbled into a black hole of articles, opinions, and more acronyms than a government agency. And right there, in the middle of it all, was this word: neurodiversity.
Let me paint you a picture: my son, standing in the bathroom, toothbrush in hand like it’s a medieval torture device. Socks? Apparently the enemy. Trying a new food? Cue the dramatic exit stage left. For the longest time, I thought he was just trying to give me a run for my money. But then the lightbulb went off—he didn’t want help. He wanted control. What he really needed was independence.