Progress

Let’s talk about progress. (I wrote this last weekend and I'm just getting around to publishing.)

What does progress look like, realistically, in an autism household? It can look like a lot of things, and I don’t claim to say I know exactly what it looks like—but I can tell you what it has been looking like in my house.

## Leaving Without Anxiety

I’m preparing to go shoot a wedding today and leave my son for eight or nine hours. My mother-in-law is coming first, and then a babysitter will arrive after four hours to relieve her and stay until I return.For the first time in years, I do not have anxiety about leaving my son.

It’s not that the anxiety ever came purely from fear that something bad would happen to him, but rather from knowing how upset he would be without me—or worrying that his needs wouldn’t be able to be communicated clearly to others in my absence.

That’s a big deal.

To be able to leave my house for several hours at a time and go do something I’m passionate about, while making money, and know that my son is well-cared for and his needs will be met—that’s major.

Even if he cries for a minute when I leave, he gets over it quickly now. That was not the case a year and a half ago, when his BCBA (behavioral therapist) had to come to our home to teach me how to practice leaving, because every time I tried, he would melt down so badly. He had separation anxiety—and some of that could have stemmed from the PANDAS that was wrecking his brain. Eitehr way, it was a reality for us and it ruled our home.

## Healing and Flexibility

We’ve gained significant recovery in the PANDAS area as well. Even when we see flare symptoms now, they’re about 50–60% less severe than a year ago—before his tonsils were removed, before I learned about immune-modulating supplements, before we started homeopathy, and before I became cautious about antibiotics and their effects on the gut.

We are seeing:

- An increase in immune health,

- An increase in flexibility with other caretakers, and

- A general peace entering our home.

Even last night, I took him to the grocery store—and I walked in smiling. I was smiling at people as I walked him into the store. Not anxious at all. That’s new for me, and the Lord pointed it out. He let me notice that peace. A month or two ago, I still had major anxiety about taking him to a grocery store. And yes, I still usually have to buy a pack of Oreos or something like it to keep him regulated—but even that’s changing.We’ve gone into the store, avoided the cookie aisle, and left without buying a treat. Once. That is progress. Once is progress. Last night, I was smiling at strangers, realizing that just weeks ago I would’ve been tense and fearful because of how unpredictable his behavior used to be. That unpredictability has caused real trauma—every outing could turn into chaos.For nearly a year, I avoided taking him into stores altogether unless absolutely necessary. Sometimes I'd even asked my mom to pick things up for me if my husband was away.

So to walk into a store with peace in my heart—that’s not small. That’s major progress.

These things aren’t measured in data charts or numbers. They can be but I don't plot graphs at home.

They’re measured in:

- Smiles,

- Normalized blood pressure,

- The absence of tantrums,

- The presence of coping mechanisms—his and mine.

This is what progress looks like.

## A Nugget of Hope

Last night, he wanted to download an educational app on his iPad. Months ago, I’d tried it, but he showed no interest, so I canceled the subscription.

This time, heinstisted on it. (His way of insisting is tapping the app, putting his iPad in my hand repeatedly, and saying a phrase I know means he wants access.) I approved it—and he played math games. Math games!

That is progress.

He wouldn’t touch that app before. But last night, he played the same math games that I see other children in school playing.

That is major.

I also got him some flashcards. When I held one up, he told me it had stars on it, that they were yellow, and then he counted them—accurately—pointing one by one:

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.

I didn’t know he could do that. I knew he could count, but I thought it was rote memory—just words, not understanding that numbers represent actual quantities.

Now I see the beginnings of true conceptual understanding forming.

This is healing.

This is progress.

This is learning.

This is a brain that’s been developmentally “stuck” for years beginning to heal.

This is neuroplasticity.

This is myelination.

This is God.

## The Faithfulness of God

This is the hand of God at work in my son’s body and mind. God is bringing healing, just as He told me four years ago.

Does it look exactly how I expected? No. Am I seeing other areas where he is struggling or it looks like a regression? Yes. That's common. It's referred to as "developmental trade-off", when the brain is reorganizing...shifting energy from one area to another which looks like a temporary regression. I'm confident we will work our way out of those pattersns.

After all, who am I to limit how God heals or how He works? That’s silly. I’ll take the miracle any way He wants to give it.

I’m reminded of a prayer I prayed just last week:

“Lord, give me a nugget of hope. Show us something. Help us hold on. Give my husband something to believe in.”

Because the word I received about my son’s healing—I received it personally. My husband didn’t.

And so when I say, “The Lord said our son is healed,” he might say, “I hope so,” if he says anything at all. And I understand that.

The word I received wasn’t in a meeting or on a conference call. It was a direct communication from the God of the universe into my heart.

That’s why I can stand here today—with tears in my eyes—and say with full confidence:

The Lord is faithful, and He will finish what He started. Even if progress is measured in smiles and grocery store trips.