Severe Nonverbal Autism Diagnosis
“How we first entered the world of autism is a moment I will never forget. It is etched into my memory, lodged there permanently, haunting my dreams, and at the same time, fueling the strength I now have to never silence my voice.
Let’s go back to a time when I knew almost nothing about autism and my life felt fragile and raw. I was constantly exhausted. Sleep, when it came, was fleeting. I would wake in the middle of the night with my mind racing—ideas, thoughts, plans—flooding me with a single goal: how could I help my son Avery escape the hard?
I thought maybe it was simple, that if we just left the hard behind, we could never go back. But reality hit hard. Avery had been diagnosed with severe nonverbal autism, and in that instant, it felt like our world had ended. All my dreams for his future turned gray. I sat in that grayness, unsure where to turn or who could understand. I needed to speak, to vent, to reach someone who might know our hard.
Weeks later, I shared our story online—our struggles with sleep, vitamins, therapy options. I waited, hoping for connection. An entire day passed with no comments. It felt like no one cared. Maybe we were alone. Maybe it was all my fault. I retreated further into my gray, tears flowing without end.
And then—a notification. Another mom reaching out. Relief flooded me. Someone else understood.
New ‘Mom Friends’
That single notification became a doorway to friendship. For the first time, I felt seen, understood. Slowly, I began to share more about our autism journey online. Slowly, the gray lifted, and I felt less alone.
I remember the day I was invited to a moms’ tea. My heart soared. Thoughts raced: What should I wear? I don’t even drink tea. Should I bring something? But none of that mattered. What mattered was inclusion—finally being part of a community.
I dressed carefully, flat ironed my hair, put on makeup, and prepared to make connections. I wanted everything to go perfectly, though making friends had always been a struggle. I walked into a beautiful suburban home at 9 a.m., nervous but hopeful. I had no idea my entire world was about to shift.
Bleach Therapy
The room was cold. Heavy. Empty. Books were handed out, along with sticky notes and pens. Something felt off. My instincts screamed that I needed to leave.
As I sat frozen, tea in hand, panic overtook me. I couldn’t even flip the pages of the book in my lap. My eyes glazed over, my stomach churned violently. This was not a simple moms’ gathering. And then I heard it:
“What do you have to lose?”
My heart stopped. Words caught in my throat. And then came the words that would haunt me forever:
“Bleach Therapy can cure anything, Katie. Don’t you want to cure Avery?”
The day I thought I was going to gain mom friends, I was instead introduced to a dark, hidden world—one I never wanted to be part of. That day gave me something else too: the courage to speak out. I knew I had to protect Avery from ever being harmed by such ideas.
Beauty in Autism
Looking back now, I see it clearly. I was never meant to find friendship there. I was almost pulled into a dangerous path disguised as community. What I needed wasn’t more mom friends—it was to leave the gray and see the beauty in Avery, in our journey.
I love him fiercely, and that is what matters most. Today, I spend my life advocating for him, celebrating him, and sharing our story so that no parent feels trapped or alone in the hard. Our journey is ours, full of challenges, but also filled with moments of joy, discovery, and hope. That is the story I carry in my heart—and the one I will always share.”
