Living in the Presence: Our Multi-Generational Journey, Autism, and Learning to Surrender Control

Five years ago, in 2019, our family made a decision most people would politely call bold — and others might call crazy: we built a multi-generational home with my in-laws. Yes, you can say it… I already know. But there’s a deeper story behind that decision, one that has shaped every part of who I am today.

My sister-in-law, Anne, has Rett syndrome and requires 24/7 care. My husband and I quietly wondered who would care for her as my in-laws aged and when we decided to build a home of our own, the question finally arose. My in-laws are incredible people — loving, generous, and faithful — and would never ask us to shoulder anything. Although I’m not sure they had a plan for Anne’s care in the future, they simply believed God would make one. And, He did.

Together we bought land and began the design of our one big, beautiful home. In 2020 — in the middle of a year that shook everyone — we broke ground and began a journey that was chaotic, emotional, fun, stressful, and honestly one of my favorite experiences. I love designing and building things, even when five different personalities and five different design styles come into the room. Somehow, it worked. Somehow, it felt right.

A year later, settled into our new home, we decided our family wasn’t quite finished. With our oldest kids now eight and five, we wanted one more baby to make our family whole. And God — with His unmistakable sense of humor — blessed us not with one more baby, but two. Identical twin boys. A true miracle, the kind only He can orchestrate, where one egg splits into two perfect little souls.

The boys were born healthy, and life was beautiful and absolutely exhausting. Twins take everything you think you know about parenting and multiply it by ten. But living in a multi-generational home meant I had additional hands to step in with the occasional night shift so we could sleep. They held babies so I could shower or breathe. They gave my husband and me the gift of an occasional late dinner date and believe me when I tell you those moments were truly worth it.

And then, as the boys grew, the signs began to show. Delays in communication. Differences in development. Things that made my “fixer” brain spin every single day. I think in my heart I knew before anyone told me. And when the diagnosis came — both boys autistic — it didn’t change who they were. But it did change everything about the world I imagined for us.

Now, two and a half years later, the questions weigh heavier.

What does life look like ten years from now?
Will the boys always live with us?
Will they be independent?
Will I one day be caring for my in-laws in their aging years, my sister-in-law indefinitely, and two autistic twins who still need me?
Will my “retirement” look like caring for five people?

As a planner, these thoughts consume me. My husband works long, hard hours — something I’m grateful for because it allows me the flexibility to work when I can and be home for everything else. But because of that, I take on a lot. The house, the kids, the appointments, everything behind the scenes. It’s a full-time job hidden inside the cracks of a life that looks flexible from the outside.

And sometimes, when I think too far ahead, it feels like the air gets thinner.

I want control. I want answers. I want certainty. I want a plan.

But deep down, I know this truth that I keep resisting:

I am not the one writing the plan. God is.

And letting go of control… is hard. So unbelievably hard.

I know He placed me here for a reason — in this family, in this home, in this season, with these children, with these responsibilities, with this purpose. I know He sees the future I cannot see. And I know He will equip me for whatever is coming, even if that future looks very different than the one I imagined for myself.

But trusting that? That’s where the work is.

If you’re a mom reading this — maybe an autism mom, maybe a caregiver, maybe just a woman carrying more than anyone realizes — and you feel like you’ve lost yourself… I want you to know I’m with you.

If you look in the mirror and don’t even recognize the woman staring back… I understand.

If the future feels heavy and the present feels blurry… I’m praying for you.

And I ask that you pray for me too.

Let’s lift each other up.
Let’s breathe again.
Let’s loosen our grip on the fear and step into the quiet truth that we are held.
Let’s live in the presence — not the pressure of tomorrow, but the grace of today.

Because that’s where God meets us.
That’s where the peace is.
And that’s where we remember: we are not walking this path alone.