Livingwithwhit

Tag: life

  • Two brothers, ONE heart.

    I don’t think people really understand what life looks like behind closed doors when you’re raising a non-verbal autistic child.

    Tonight, I’m going to pull back that curtain.

    Paxton recently started ABA therapy. I know there’s a lot of debate about it. But for us, it has been an absolute blessing. My boy is changing right before my eyes. He’s sleeping better (except for weekends, which still kick our ass), and he’s gaining confidence in ways I never thought possible.

    He’s non-verbal. Yet, he’s figuring out how to be independent. The other night, he went into the bathroom, set up his phone and tablet just how he likes, undressed himself, climbed into the tub, and turned the water on.

    I know how dangerous that is. Drowning is the number one cause of death for autistic children. That’s why his dad and I don’t take our eyes off him for a second. But in that moment, watching him problem-solve… it was terrifying and beautiful all at once.

    Last week, my 15-year-old son asked me a question. It broke me:
    “Mom, who will take care of Paxton if something happens to you and Josh?”

    I didn’t have an answer. I’ve spent so long surviving in the now that I haven’t allowed myself to think that far ahead. I told him, “I don’t know, buddy.”
    He said, “Well, I do. He’s not going to a home. I’ll take care of him.”

    That moment shattered my heart and filled it with pride at the same damn time.

    Some days, I grieve the life I thought we’d have. Other days, I’m proud of the life we’re building — even if it looks nothing like I imagined.

    We don’t go to parties. We don’t attend family events. Not because we don’t want to. Because the world doesn’t know how to treat kids who are “different.” And I’m not the type of mom to sit quietly while my child is mistreated. Especially Paxton. He can’t defend himself. But I damn sure can.

    I try to be graceful. I try to be patient. But people’s ignorance and heartlessness will knock the grace right out of you some days.

    But there are moments — moments that make it all worth it.
    My daughter recently moved back home. When we’re all in the same room, Paxton pulls us into a circle. He sits in the middle and just smiles. That’s his happy place. Having his family — his whole world — right there with him.

    It’s only 8:50 on a Saturday night and this mamma is completely drained. This tired isn’t just physical. It’s emotional, mental, and soul-deep.

    But I’ll never stop showing up for him.

    Thank you to those who take time to read these posts. It means more than you know.

  • Today, I’m Tired

    Today, I’m just tired—deeply, mentally, and physically exhausted. I’m stretched so thin trying to please everyone, manage my business, and take care of the endless needs of others. I swear I hear my name a thousand times a day. And when I finally come home, even more people need me. Don’t get me wrong; I adore my children, and I’m so grateful for them. But I am tired. Some days, honestly, I have no idea where I find the strength to keep going.

    There are moments when envy quietly creeps in, and I feel guilty even admitting it. I watch other families enjoying dinners. They celebrate milestones that seem so natural—first words, first days at school, first time writing their names. I smile at their joy. Inside, my heart aches a little. Those moments look so effortless. For us, they are not.

    Tonight, sitting at my husband’s bar and venue, I watched couples laughing and enjoying each other’s company. It made me happy for them, yet angry and frustrated for myself. I wish so badly for those carefree moments with my husband. Anxiety and worry about my son Paxton hold me back. Trusting someone else with Paxton, especially since he’s nonverbal, feels impossible sometimes.

    I miss date nights. Most evenings feel lonely because Paxton requires my constant attention. He doesn’t worry because he knows I’m his protector—I know him better than anyone else. I’m his safe place and his peace. Some days I feel strong, proud of how far we’ve come. Other days, like today, I just want to cry myself to sleep. My house is a mess, and a million tasks wait, but Paxton needs me first. He always does.

    At dinner tonight, my middle child jokingly said, “Me and my sister know Paxton’s your favorite. You post about him all the time.” I laughed it off, telling him Paxton is different because he’s special needs. But later, alone, those words hit me hard. It forced me to realize how Paxton’s autism overshadows my other children’s needs. Do they feel neglected? Do they think they’re not as important? My heart hurts wondering this because they’re just as precious and loved.

    Yet every morning, the first place my older children go is to Paxton’s room—to see him, to make him smile. How have I missed seeing how they really feel? How have I been so blind?

    They matter. They matter just as much as Paxton. And tonight, amid the exhaustion, guilt, and tears, I keep asking myself: How do I manage everything?

    Tomorrow I will try again and remind myself how far we have come as a family.