The Unlearning
What My Autistic Son Taught Me About True Support
I thought I knew what it meant to support someone.
I thought I knew what it meant to guide, to teach, to lead.
I thought I knew what it meant to be a good parent.
I had over a decade of experience as a full-time, live-in nanny.
I’d worked with countless kids.
I had a toolkit of time-tested strategies—proven methods that worked, that brought structure, that shaped behavior.
And then I had my own son.
My six-year-old, brilliantly wired, wildly intuitive autistic son—
who shattered every illusion I had about control, about compliance, about what it means to truly help someone thrive.
I have never felt more lost.
Never felt more useless.
Never doubted myself more.
And yet—
I have never been so irrevocably transformed.
The Conditioning That Failed Us
When my son Arlyss was unraveling—
meltdowns erupting like storms,
social settings turning into war zones,
his little voice whispering thoughts of self-harm—I did what any "good parent" does.
I relied on what I knew.
Clear boundaries. Consequences. Gentle corrections. Teaching moments.
The same strategies I had used for over a decade—strategies that had worked with neurotypical children.
And they all made everything infinitely worse.
The Breaking Point
We couldn’t do normal family outings.
Social settings became a battlefield.
The meltdowns raged. The shame followed.
And there I stood—armed with my proven, time-tested strategies—watching my child suffer.
Watching my child lose himself while I desperately tried to force him to fit a mold he was never meant to fit.
I thought I was teaching him how to survive in this world.
But I was only teaching him how to abandon himself.
The First Crack in the Illusion
The shift was microscopic at first.
I noticed—
the less I talked, the better things went.
The quieter I became, the safer he felt.
The slower I moved, the faster he calmed down.
Every attempt to teach during crisis?
A disaster.
Every attempt to control the outcome?
A warzone.
Every attempt to force regulation before safety?
A failure.
The world tells us that good parenting looks like obedience.
That a “well-behaved” child is a success story.
But I was observing that sheer compliance isn’t a parenting success, it is a cage.
And I would burn every parenting manual in existence before I let my son live in one.
The World Will Not Understand
Here’s where it gets brutal:
When you start parenting differently—
When you start choosing connection over control—
When you start prioritizing safety over silence—
the world will punish you for it.
People will stare when my son stims in public.
They will wait, expectantly, for me to shut him down.
To correct him.
To make him more palatable.
Because they do not understand that his repetition is not defiance.
His movements are not misbehavior.
His “noise” is his way of processing an unbearable world.
What looks like disobedience to them is my son fighting to exist in a world not built for him.
The Radical Shift (What True Support ACTUALLY Looks Like)
And then everything changed.
Through deep research and messy experimentation, I learned what is now obvious.
But what goes against everything we are conditioned to believe and do.
External behavior is just the tip of the iceberg.
If a child (or you) is dysregulated on the outside,
they are holding something unbearable on the inside.
So instead of control,
I chose safety.
Instead of compliance,
I chose understanding the root cause.
Instead of trying to "fix" his behavior,
I focused on honoring his experience.
And that changed EVERYTHING.
The Universal Truth (pssst. This isn't just about Autism)
The more I unlearned, the more I saw it:
This isn’t just about neurodivergent children.
This is about all of us.
If someone is struggling — whether it’s a six-year-old having a meltdown or an adult stuck in an unfulfilling career — it doesn’t mean something is wrong with them.
It simply means they need MORE SUPPORT.
More safety. More resources. More scaffolding.
Not more judgment. Not more shame.
Not more impossible expectations.
Listen closely, my sweet:
The intensity of your struggle is not a sign of deficiency. It is a sign of insufficient support, resources, skills, or knowledge. That’s it.
Think about your own moments of overwhelm:
Do lectures help? Or do you need safety?
Does shame serve you? Or do you need resources?
Do rigid demands help? Or do you need a place to breathe?
The Invitation Forward
Maybe you’re here because …
You’re parenting a child who doesn’t fit the mold.
You’re supporting someone through a transformation.
You’re walking through your own unraveling and feel like you’re failing because it’s so damn hard.
I need you to hear this:
The intensity of your struggle does not define you.
It is simply showing you where you need more support, resources, skills, or knowledge.
What if we reimagined competence entirely?
What if, instead of demanding compliance, we prioritized safety and trusted the journey more?
What if, instead of controlling behavior, we built a scaffolding of resources, practices, skill-building, role modeling, and information?
What if, instead of enforcing conformity, we honored the JOURNEY?
Because here’s what I know:
The goal is not to raise well-behaved humans.
The goal is to raise supported ones.
My goal for you is not for you to be well-behaved. Quite the contrary.
I want to see you FERAL.
I want to see you unraveled. Unleashed. Unhindered by societal expectations, familial judgments, and social conditioning.
I want to see you liberated.
What, then, will you CREATE?
Here’s the truth about transformation:
Real transformation does not come from:
Having all the answers.
Controlling outcomes.
Forcing change.
Avoiding discomfort.
It comes from:
Staying in the unknown.
Being willing to be wrong.
Facing your incompetence.
Opening to new possibilities.
Letting the journey change you.
The deepest growth happens when we:
Stop pretending we know.
Release our grip on control.
Allow ourselves to be students again.
Trust the wisdom in the struggle.
Today.
I was pouring every ounce of myself into getting my AuDHD son the support he needed—fighting for him, winning a brutal custody battle— when, just as I caught my breath, the word “metastatic cancer” showed up at my door this Christmas.
At the same time, my dear friend Sarah was holding the weight of the impossible. Caring for her incredible dad at home on hospice. Working full-time as a nurse. Supporting her own family. And somehow, on top of it all, helping her father’s wife navigate memory care.
I told her this morning ~ Sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is stay in the Abyss long enough to be transformed by it.
The Final Question
Perhaps you are …
Standing at the edge of the unknown.
Feeling completely unequipped.
Wondering if you have what it takes.
Here’s what I need you to know:
Your greatest challenge might be your most profound teacher.
Your deepest struggle might birth your greatest transformation.
Your moments of complete incompetence might lead to your most powerful growth.
The question isn’t whether you’re ready.
The question is Are you willing to be changed by the journey?
xoxo,
keke.
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all of this, my friend 😭❤️🙏🏼
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