What I Couldn’t See Back Then

Growth you can’t always see while you’re in it.

There was a time when I truly didn’t know what my daughter’s future would look like.

After her diagnosis, my mind went everywhere.

What would school look like? Friendships? Independence? Would she be okay?

I didn’t have answers. Just a lot of questions and a quiet hope that things would work out.

Now I’m watching her as she gets ready to graduate, and I find myself thinking about what it actually took to get here.

It wasn’t smooth or simple.

• She learned how to live in a single dorm room, managing her own routines, setting boundaries, and figuring out how to make a small space feel like home.
• She built real friendships, learning to read conversations that weren’t always clear. 
• She learned how to navigate professors who didn’t always communicate expectations, and how to speak up for herself when it mattered.
• She worked with the accessibility office to get supports in place and then used them.

All of that while carrying a daunting course load with a dual minor.

And alongside school, she was managing migraines, hypermobility, and depression. Some days, getting out of bed or making it to class was its own victory.

There was also the constant, invisible work of decoding people, their words, their actions, their intentions, especially when things weren’t said out loud.

It was a lot.

And she did it.

Not perfectly. Not without tough days. But with grit, steady growth, and a willingness to keep going.

Then she studied abroad.

A semester in Europe. New cities, unfamiliar routines, and learning to be brave in new ways. The kind of independence I once couldn’t picture for her. She created memories that included hiking the fourteen-mile Seven Sisters route along the coast of England. 

She also stayed true to what she loves. She completed her Bachelor of Fine Arts and is now stepping into stage management, aiming for a career on Broadway.

Watching her move toward work that suits her, detail-heavy, structured, fast-paced, has been incredible. It fits her in ways I couldn’t have imagined back then.

I think about that version of me, years ago, sitting with so much uncertainty.

She couldn’t see this.

She couldn’t picture this version of her daughter’s life.

I share that with the parents I work with now. Sometimes the future feels impossible, not because it’s limited, but because you haven’t seen it yet.

Progress doesn’t always announce itself. Growth rarely follows a straight line.

But over time, things build.

Skills build. Confidence builds. Capacity builds.

And one day, you look back and realize you’re standing somewhere that once felt out of reach.

I am so proud of her. Deeply proud. And I respect the messy, steady path it took to get here.

If you’re in a moment where the future feels unclear or heavy, that makes sense.

You don’t need the full picture right now.

Sometimes it’s enough to keep going.