It’s been a while since I’ve written anything.
Truthfully, I stopped writing because sometimes the weight of everything in my head becomes too much to put into words. Some days I am angry, some days I am broken, and some days I am so exhausted from carrying life on my shoulders that I don’t even recognize myself anymore.
But when I always come back to something… it’s autism.
It’s Paxton.
I always say this journey is lonely, but if I am being completely honest — I made it lonely. I pulled away. I stopped explaining. I stopped trying to make people understand something they could never fully feel unless they lived it.
Because the truth is, the world celebrates “normal.”
And when your child is different, the world suddenly becomes a very lonely place for a mother.
But in that loneliness, Paxton became my peace.
My sweet boy and I have our routine, and honestly, the quiet little moments nobody else would ever notice are the moments that keep me alive. The way he randomly comes up and kisses my forehead. The way he crawls into my lap without a word. The way he stares at me like I am his entire world.
And maybe that’s because I am.
Life knocked me flat on my back today.
The kind of day where you sit in silence because you are too emotionally exhausted to even cry anymore.
But then I thought about him.
I thought about hearing “mama,” even though it doesn’t happen nearly as much as my heart aches for it to. And somehow, every single time he says it, it feels like God himself knew I needed it in that exact moment.
I have dreamed so many times of hearing my baby say, “I love you, mama.”
And for a long time, that dream broke me.
Because people do not talk enough about the grief autism can bring to a mother. Not grief because your child is “less than,” because they are absolutely not — but grief for the moments you imagined. The conversations. The little things you thought would come naturally.
Nobody talks about laying awake at night wondering if your child will ever fully tell you how they feel.
Nobody talks about crying in the shower because your child cannot communicate what hurts.
Nobody talks about how terrifying it is knowing you would die for your child while constantly wondering who will love them the same way when you are gone.
But over time, I realized something.
Paxton may never say “I love you” the way I once imagined…
but my God, he shows me every single day.
He feels me.
He knows me.
He knows when my heart is heavy before I ever say a word.
And recently, my brother said something to me that shattered me in the most beautiful way.
He called me randomly and asked me to lunch. We were talking about life and kids and all the silly things they do when suddenly he got serious and said, “Whit, I need to tell you something.”
Then he said words I don’t think I will ever forget for the rest of my life.
He said, “I used to question why it had to be you. Why your little boy had to be autistic when life has already been so hard on you.”
Then he looked at me and said:
“But I understand now. It’s because Paxton needed YOU. He needed your patience. Your strength. Your kind of love.”
Then he said something that broke every wall inside of me.
“If it was me, I would have already given up.”
And sitting there in my truck afterward, I cried harder than I had cried in a long time.
Because for the first time, I saw myself through someone else’s eyes.
Not as broken.
Not as exhausted.
Not as the woman barely holding herself together some days.
But strong.
A mother who kept going when she had every reason not to.
A mother who chose love over bitterness.
A mother who learned how to survive heartbreak while still showing up soft for her child every single day.
People always tell mothers like me how lucky our children are to have us.
But the truth is…
I am the lucky one.
Because autism did not ruin my life.
It stripped me down to my rawest form and taught me what unconditional love actually looks like.
And even on the days I question God…
even on the days I break down…
even on the days I feel lonely…
I would still choose Paxton exactly as he is.
Every single time.
Because my baby is not a mistake.
He is not broken.
He is not less than.
He is perfectly and wonderfully made.
And one day this world will see what I see when I look at him.
Until then, it will always be me and Paxton against the world.
And I promise you this — We will win.
LivingwithWhit 