The Silent Screams of an Autism Mother!

My mind never stops—and neither does the anxiety.
Every day, I battle with the thoughts and the fears. At the beginning of this journey, I believed I was strong enough. I truly did. But I learned quickly that strength looks different when you’re living in survival mode.

The first time my son eloped from our home, we were lucky—blessed—to find him instantly. The second time was different. We were at my brother’s house. It was raining, and we were saying our goodbyes, getting ready to leave.

That’s when my sister-in-law said the words I’ll never forget:
“Oh my gosh, where is Paxton?”

I felt sick. My body moved before my mind even caught up. I ran. Out the door, into the rain, heart pounding, breath ragged, screaming his name into the wind—knowing he couldn’t respond.
Because Paxton is nonverbal.

Ten minutes.
We searched for ten excruciating minutes. The longest ten minutes of my life. I was living in a different reality, one where every second was a scream. Every second was a prayer. Every second was a fear I couldn’t face.

And then, we found him.
Behind the house. Sitting in the mud, playing in the rainwater.

My sister-in-law spotted him, but I was the one who scooped him into my arms. He was soaked and filthy, and I didn’t care. I held my baby and thanked God over and over again.

The neighbors had seen him leave. They watched him walk off barefoot in the rain and said nothing. “He went left,” they told us. I guess they thought it was normal for a three-year-old to wander the streets alone in a storm.

It’s not.
But this is our reality.

Paxton is a runner.
He loves being outside.
He especially loves water—an obsession that terrifies me. Drowning is the leading cause of death for children with autism. I know this. My brain doesn’t let me forget.

We’ve locked our house down like a fortress—chain locks high on every door, child-proof knobs, constant vigilance. Still, I lie awake every night, thinking of new ways to keep him safe. Running on fumes. Running on fear.

Paxton is smart—too smart sometimes. He figures things out in ways that leave me one step behind. That scares me more than anything.

So I pray.
I pray for stillness in my soul, for quiet in my thoughts, for strength to keep showing up.

But the silent screams still come.
They rise up when I’m alone. When I’m exhausted. When I wonder if I can really do this for the rest of my life. When the depression creeps in and whispers, “Why me?”

And then…
Then Paxton smiles.

That smile brings me back.
It reminds me that I am doing a good job.
That love is stronger than fear.
That I’m not alone in this, even when it feels like I am.

This journey is hard.
This journey is lonely.
But I will not give up.

Even when the screams are louder than the silence.