Learning to Live in Today — A Letter From an Autism Mom

If you’re reading this today, I want to start by saying: you’re not alone.

As an autism mom, I sometimes find myself spiraling down the rabbit hole of all the “what ifs” and “what will their futures look like?” moments. If you’re new here, my twins were diagnosed on the spectrum about a year ago. Since then, I’ve been on this unfamiliar road of learning, adjusting, advocating, and trying to figure things out one day at a time.

And if I’m being honest… it’s scary.

Before their diagnosis, I used to imagine the future in a very simple, typical way—kindergarten drop-offs, school programs, sports sign-ups, car rider lines, and all the predictable little milestones that come with raising kids. But after the diagnosis, the future suddenly felt big and uncertain. Everything familiar became a question mark.

A friend of mine—another autism mom—gave me a piece of advice I will never forget. She said:

“Kari, it doesn’t matter if they’re diagnosed or not. They are the same boys yesterday, today, and tomorrow. They will always love you. And you will always love them.”

It stopped me in my tracks.

She was right. Nothing about who they are changed.
Nothing about my love for them changed.
And nothing about the way they look at me, reach for me, or need me changed.
The diagnosis just gave us a clearer lens.

But still… my mind wanders.

Today, on my way to pick up the older kids from school, I took a different route. That meant driving past the primary school—kindergarten through second grade. I saw the cars lined up outside along the highway, the same dreaded car rider line I once sat in for what felt like forever.

As I passed, out of nowhere, tears filled my eyes.

In two years, the twins will be kindergarten age. And the truth is… I don’t know what that will look like for them. I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull up, wave goodbye, and watch them trot up the stairs like so many other kids. I hope so with every part of me. But today, in this season, that doesn’t feel like our reality.

They may not ride the bus.
They may not navigate the drop-off line.
They may need extra support—someone to walk with them, someone patient enough to engage with them, not rush them, not drag them forward, but truly teach them and honor who they are.

And as I drove past those cars, imagining their tiny backpacks, imagining their steps up those school stairs… I just broke.
Right there in the car, eyes filled with tears, wondering:

“Will they be ready? Will others see them the way I do? Will someone care for them the way I would?”

That’s the thing no one prepares you for—the weight of imagining a world holding your children when you aren’t there to guide every step.

And in that moment, I realized something important:
I needed to say this out loud.
I needed to write it down.
Because somebody else is feeling this too.

So, to the mom who just heard the words “your child is autistic,” and your mind is spinning with questions, fears, hopes, and guilt—this part is for you:

You are allowed to feel overwhelmed.
You are allowed to cry.
You are allowed to worry.
It is normal. It is part of the process.

But here’s the truth that keeps grounding me—and maybe it can ground you, too:

I cannot live in the future. I can only live in today.

What can I do today that strengthens their world?
What can I teach them today?
How can I show up today in a way that matters?
How can I be more present, more patient, more connected in this moment?

Because motherhood—whether you have autistic children or neurotypical children—is always full of unknowns. Even with my older, typical kids, I still worry about their futures. I still stress about who they’ll become, what challenges they’ll face, and whether I’m doing enough.

That’s just what moms do.

But this journey, this autism journey, has taught me something deeper: the only moment I can impact is the one I’m in right now.

And through it all—every challenge, every setback, every fear—I anchor myself in my faith. The biggest reminder I cling to is this:

God will provide.
He always has.
He always will.

Every obstacle, every unknown, every transition… He already sees it. He already knows the steps. And as long as I continue loving, trusting, and following the purpose He placed in my heart, things will fall into place.

If you’re a seasoned autism mom reading this, I would love for you to share your wisdom. What helped you? What surprised you? What would you want a new autism mom to know?

And if you’re a new mom like me—just beginning this path—take a deep breath.
Hold your babies close.
Feel everything you’re feeling.
And remember, you don’t have to have the whole future figured out.

Just focus on today.
Because today is enough.
And with love, support, faith, and community—our kids will thrive in their own beautiful way.

We’re in this together. If any part of my story resonated, feel free to share yours. I would love to hear it.