I didn’t come into this work because it was trendy or inspiring.

I came into it because autism moved into my house and rearranged everything.

For years, our life revolved around sensory overload, school phone calls, meltdowns, evaluations, and moments so small they would never make it into a highlight reel—but meant everything to us.

Autism is consuming in a way you can’t explain unless you’ve lived it. It asks for your time, your energy, your marriage, your patience, and your nervous system. And then, without warning, it gives something back—a milestone so powerful it wipes out months of exhaustion in a single breath.

Those moments are the ice cream.

The rest—the systems that don’t know what to do with kids who don’t fit neatly, the judgment, the constant advocacy, the feeling that you’re always one phone call away from crisis—that’s the cuss words.

My son was diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder when he was four. Long before that, we knew something was different. What we didn’t know was how much we would have to learn—not just about autism, but about schools, behavior, regulation, and the gap between what kids need and what systems are built to provide.

Over time, experience changed everything.

It changed how I see behavior.

It changed how I understand meltdowns.

It changed how little tolerance I have for punishment disguised as structure and compliance disguised as success.

The places that helped my child most weren’t the ones that demanded he “try harder.” They were the ones that understood him, regulated with him, and met him where he was.

That perspective didn’t come from textbooks.

It came from years of living it.

My part of Ice Cream and Cuss Words exists because I’m done pretending autism is either tragic or inspirational. It’s neither. It’s complex, exhausting, joyful, infuriating, and deeply human.

When I talk about kids—especially autistic kids—I’m speaking from experience, not theory. From mistakes made, lessons learned, and systems challenged.

This space is for the sweet moments we celebrate and the hard truths we need to say out loud.

Both matter.

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