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I've been sitting with this one for a little while, not quite sure how to put it into words. But tomorrow, something shifts - in the best, most hopeful kind of way. Lily starts her new school program.
If you've been here for a while, you know our girl. She is high-needs, beautifully complex, and she takes up a lot of my heart and a lot of my hours - and I mean that in the most tender way possible.
Last October marked a whole year since Lily's autism diagnosis, and something about that milestone brought things into sharper focus. The speech we had hoped might come with time and age - it wasn't coming the way we'd expected. Her receptive language was still limited in ways that were becoming harder to ignore. What had been described to us early on as "maybe level 2, maybe level 1 if she grows out of some indicators" was quietly, undeniably becoming clearer: we were looking at level 2, possibly level 3 autism. And with that clarity came a reckoning. I knew we needed to do more. We needed more support. We needed to unlock her world. I won't sugarcoat it - that season broke something in me a little. The weight of it, the uncertainty, the feeling that I was running as fast as I could and still not catching up - it settled into my bones in a way I didn't fully recognize until I was on the other side of it. I stopped creating in the ways that fill me up. I stopped dreaming out loud. I went into survival mode, and I stayed there for a long time.
So I did what any mother would do. I put myself on the back burner.
The creative work, the business dreams, the things I had been slowly building for Sweet as April and Bloom by April - I pulled back from most of it and focused entirely on getting Lily the therapies she needed and learning how to meet her where she was. I kept the business running, but just barely in terms of the "extras." And then November hit - Marc lost his job, landed an incredible new one not long after, and all the while I was navigating the intake process for Lily's services, managing a holiday collection, and homeschooling both big kids at the same time. It was one of the hardest seasons I have ever held. I don't think I even let myself fully feel it until we were through it.
But right now, tonight, something feels different.
Parenting a child with big needs doesn't leave a lot of room for everything else, and for a long time, I was just treading water. Therapies, preschool, keeping up with the bonnet orders that I am so, so grateful for... it's been a lot to hold all at once. But something about tomorrow quietly says: you made it. I feel like I am coming back to life. Like there is light at the end of a tunnel, I wasn't sure I'd find my way out of.
The program Lily is starting tomorrow is one of those rare, special things that actually makes you feel like someone out there really gets it. I keep describing it to people as Montessori meets ABA for autistic kiddos - it's not a perfect comparison, but it's the quickest way I've found to capture the warmth and child-led spirit of what they do. It's progressive ABA therapy woven into a warm, play-centered environment that sees the whole child and the whole family as a unit. The philosophy is not about fixing or changing who these kids are - it's about meeting them exactly where they are, celebrating them for it, and building around that. The program centers communication, daily living, social-emotional growth, and real-life skills in a way that feels nurturing rather than clinical. Finding a place that approaches ABA this way - ethically, joyfully, with genuine care for who Lily is as a person - is something Marc and I searched and hoped for for a long time. Knowing she is going to spend her days somewhere that sees her - really sees her - and is rooting for her? That relief is hard to put into words.
For me, personally, this transition opens up something I have been quietly dreaming about for a while now.
That amazing job Marc landed after such a hard autumn has changed something in our whole household. He has supported this business and all of my creative ventures for the better part of fifteen years, through every pivot and every dream I've chased, and watching him finally come home energized and fulfilled - it's everything. We feel like we're coming out the other side of a season that was, if I'm being honest, pretty rocky. We worked hard to build this life, and right now, for the first time in a long time, it feels like it's actually working.
And that is the thing about this moment that I keep coming back to. Marc is thriving in work that finally feels like his. The big kids are doing so well. And tomorrow, Lily gets to spend her days with a team of people who are going to pour into her the way she deserves - who will meet her exactly where she is and let her grow at her own pace, surrounded by care and joy and intention. Every piece of our little family is being held. And because of that, for the first time in what feels like years, I get to turn the lens back on myself a little. On my creativity. On the dreams I quietly shelved when survival had to come first.
I have so many ideas for Sweet as April and Bloom by April that have been living in my head and my sketchbooks, waiting patiently for their moment. Expanding where my fabrics and wallpaper designs are offered. Building out my Creative Market storefront with assets for digital artists. Getting art prints up on the website. There is so much I have been aching to make and share with you, and I finally feel like that season is here. Not because motherhood is any less full - it is still everything - but because our family has found its footing, and there is finally a little room for all of me again.
Here's to new chapters. For Lily. For us. For all of it.
