Not Broken, Not Easy

You might be here with questions that swirl louder at night. Maybe you’ve just received an autism diagnosis—or maybe your gut told you long ago that something was different. Not wrong. Just different. And hard to explain.

You’re not seeking sugar-coating, but you also don’t want to lose sight of hope.

Welcome. This is a place where we talk honestly.
Where we honor both the beauty and the ache.
Where we believe your child isn’t broken—and that you don’t have to pretend it’s easy, either.

A Neurorealistic Lens

When Judy Singer coined the term neurodiversity over 25 years ago, it sparked a cultural shift—affirming that neurological differences like autism, ADHD, and dyslexia are valid parts of the human experience. Not pathologies. Not problems to fix.

But since then, the word has taken on a life of its own. Today, polarized “autism wars” on social media reduce a complex condition into either inspiration or tragedy—sometimes celebrating only the “gifts,” while dismissing the struggles. In these extremes, nuance is lost.

What if autism is both—and more?

Some autistic people live independently, speak eloquently, and advocate for change. Others need round-the-clock care, cannot yet speak, and live with co-occurring conditions that impact daily life.

Both stories are true. Neither cancels out the other.

In my clinical experience, neurodiversity is real. So are the meltdowns that rattle your bones, the communication delays that prevent the child to express their boundaries, the therapy sessions that leave you wondering if you’re helping or just surviving.

This is why I align with what Judy Singer now calls NeuroRealism: “We aim to meet the actual needs of everyone, as they experience them, whether they consider themselves disabled or different.”

NeuroRealism holds two truths:
• That neurodivergent brains are beautiful, valid ways of being.
• And that some people on the spectrum need lifelong support to stay safe and connected.

It’s not about romanticizing or pathologizing. It’s about responding with precision, presence, and deep care—tailored to the actual child in front of us.

What I Believe

I don’t believe in fixing children. And I don’t believe in pretending there are no challenges.

I believe:
• That autistic children deserve curiosity and competence—not pity or perfectionism.
• That behavior is communication—and sometimes it’s messy, loud, and hard to decode.
• That parenting a neurodivergent child reshapes your nervous system in ways few truly understand.
• That you can lead with warmth and clarity, even when you feel unsure.

I also believe in listening—especially to autistic adults. Their insights have changed my practice. I’ve learned about the toll of masking, the impact of burnout, and the healing power of being seen.

But I remain a critical neurorealist.
Because I also sit with families whose children cannot yet communicate, regulate, or participate in daily routines without significant support.

That, too, is autism. And that, too, deserves care.

What I Offer

Through my Little Seeds Coaching Program, I don’t offer perfection. I offer partnership.
I work with you—not above you, not in place of you, but beside you.

I bring my full self—clinical training, developmental insight, and lived experience—to walk with you.

I support unmasking—but only when it is safe, wanted by the individual, and sensitive to their context. Masking can be protective. It can also be exhausting. The choice to unmask should always belong to the person—not the provider.
I support autonomy and safety.
I support belonging.
And I support you, wherever you are right now.

You deserve a guide who will hold your values, your fears, your love, and your limits—with deep respect.

Final Words

If you’re feeling overwhelmed and underprepared—
If you’re holding grief and hope in the same breath—
If you’re not sure what your child needs, but you’re trying to understand—

You’re in the right place.

Because neurodivergence isn’t simple. And neither is love.

You don’t have to pick a side in the autism wars. You can walk the grounded path. The realistic path. The one that says:

“We’re not broken. But we do need help sometimes.”
“We’re not typical. But we’re not alone.”
“We’re not a stereotype. We’re a story still being written.”