Eight years ago, our world changed forever. Our daughter came into our lives and brought with her a light we never knew we needed. She was our first child, and like many new parents, we were filled with all the hopes and dreams you carry before anything becomes complicated. But as the months rolled into years, we started noticing little things things others brushed off, or we convinced ourselves were just “quirks” or “late blooming.” The worry crept in slowly, but it never left.
At age three, we finally got the words that would both clarify and complicate everything: autism and global developmental delay. It was a lot to digest. At first, we were flooded with information leaflets, referrals, strategies but also with questions. Endless questions. What would her future look like? Would she speak? Would she make friends? Would she ever feel truly understood in a world that often doesn't understand people who are wired differently?
From that moment, it felt like we entered a parallel path to the one other families were on. While others were comparing milestones and school choices, we were navigating EHCP applications, therapy waitlists, and a system that often seemed designed to exhaust rather than support. Our days became filled with assessments and appointments. Every meeting felt like a courtroom, where we had to prove our daughter’s needs where her struggles had to be laid bare for her to qualify for the very support she should be entitled to by right.
We fought. We fought so hard. For three long years, we battled through the red tape, faced rejection after rejection, sat through meetings where our concerns were minimised, where her potential was underestimated. We were told, more than once, “Let’s try mainstream and see how it goes.” But we knew. We knew our daughter, and we knew that what she needed was not to be “fit into” a system that wasn’t designed for her, but to be in an environment where she was celebrated, not tolerated.
By the time she turned six, after years of pushing, proving, explaining, and sometimes breaking down, we finally got her a place in a special school. A place where the staff understood her before she even spoke, where her sensory needs were anticipated, where communication could happen on her terms. The difference was like night and day. She began to thrive not in the way people often assume that word means but in her own way. She smiled more, engaged more, felt safer. And that safety, that sense of being seen and accepted, changed everything.
But we should not have had to fight for that.
Parents like us are too often placed in the role of advocate, caseworker, researcher, and warrior, simply because the system doesn’t work unless you shout. Why should we have to become experts in educational law just to make sure our children are given a fair start? Why is it still so hard to explain to others that complex needs require more than patience they require understanding, planning, and actual change?
The truth is, we are still living in a society where many people don’t understand what complex needs really mean. They see a child who looks “fine” and wonder why they need extra support. They hear the word “autism” and reduce it to stereotypes from TV. But behind every label is a whole person a person who feels, who connects, who thinks, just perhaps in ways the world isn’t used to yet. It shouldn’t be the child who has to change to fit in. It should be the world that learns how to accommodate different ways of being.
Yes, it’s hard. There are days that stretch us to our limits, where exhaustion wraps itself around us like fog. There are meltdowns and misunderstandings, isolation, and the ache of watching other children pass milestones that remain distant for us. It is relentless at times, and the weight of the unknown can be crushing.
But oh, she is wonderful.
Our daughter has taught us to see the world differently. She notices things we overlook, she feels things deeply, and she has a way of expressing love that is pure and honest. Her joy is contagious, and her perspective reminds us that there isn’t just one way to be happy, one way to be successful, or one way to be human.
She has changed how we think, how we parent, how we move through the world. She has challenged us to question assumptions and to become more compassionate, more patient, more fierce in our love. She is not broken. She is not “less than.” She is exactly who she was meant to be.
And for all the fights we’ve had to endure, she is more than worth it.
If there’s one thing I could say to other parents at the beginning of their journey, it’s this: trust your instincts. You know your child better than anyone. Don’t let a system that wasn’t built with your child in mind tell you what’s possible or what’s enough. And if you're in the middle of the fight right now, know that you’re not alone and that it’s okay to feel tired, angry, sad, and determined all at once.
Our daughter has taught us that the world is richer when you see it through more than one lens. It’s time the world caught up and made space for every child to shine, in their own way, in their own time.
Heres to you all on your journey, you are doing amazing.
