{this is an older post that was deleted and now brought back}

Can We Please Stop Doing This? At All Ages.

This is one of those posts that’s been sitting in the back of my mind for years. It’s something that rubbed me the wrong way when my son was first diagnosed, but I never really said much about it publicly.

Back to the Beginning

If you’ve been on this journey for a while, you probably remember those early days after the diagnosis — meeting other parents, finding your footing, trying to build your little community.

I remember it vividly. I met so many families, some who became trusted friends and others who just weren’t the right fit.

And in one particular group, there was something that happened over and over — something that made me step back completely.

It was the “Oh, just you wait…it’s going to get so much harder/worse!” speech.

Have you heard it?

I Just Wanted to Enjoy My Baby

Back then, I didn’t want to live in fear of what might be coming. I wanted to enjoy my baby, celebrate milestones, and focus on Early Intervention, one day at a time.

But instead of encouragement, I kept hearing doom and gloom.  People who were supposed to be my support system were telling me that things would inevitably get worse.

That was not the moral support I was looking for — so I quietly walked away.

Because honestly, babies are fun. Toddlers are fun. And yes, it’s exhausting and overwhelming at times, but when you tell a new parent “it only gets worse,” it doesn’t prepare them. It discourages them.

So I stopped going to that group, stopped answering messages, and went back to focusing on my family and our small victories.

Fast Forward Ten Years

More than a decade later, I started reconnecting with some of those same parents, accepting friend requests, showing up at events, joining the same online spaces.

And wouldn’t you know it? Within a few weeks, I heard it again.

An older, “more experienced” mom said:

“Oh, I see all these parents with young kids and I just think, ‘You have no idea what’s in store for you. It gets so much worse.’”

Womp. Womp.

Really? After all this time, we’re still doing this?

I Get It. But…

Yes, having an autistic one-year-old is different from having an autistic twelve-year-old. But different doesn’t automatically mean worse.

Of course, there are new challenges as kids grow. It’s easy to pick up a two-year-old having a meltdown; not so easy when that child is twelve and taller than you. But there are also challenges that fade — sleepless nights, endless therapies, the uncertainty of those first evaluations.

It evens out. It changes shape.

When we warn newer parents that “it’s all downhill from here,” what purpose does that serve? Does it change their child’s outcome? Help them prepare? Or does it just rob them of the joy they could be feeling right now?

Let People Enjoy Things

We can acknowledge that this life is hard without taking away someone else’s hope.

Telling parents “just you wait” doesn’t help them build resilience — it teaches them to expect suffering. And that’s not the message families need.

The reality is that every stage brings its own mix of challenges and wins. Some seasons are heavier; others are lighter. But no one benefits when we act like difficulty is inevitable or universal.

I’d argue that warning parents like that checks maybe one box out of five for being “true and important.” Because it’s not true for everyone, and it’s certainly not helpful all the time.

So maybe the better thing to say is:

“You’ll figure it out. You’ll grow with your child. And it’s not all bad — there’s still joy to be found.”

Because that’s the truth, too.

Let’s Do Better for Each Other

Parenting a disabled or neurodivergent child already comes with enough unknowns. The last thing any of us need is more fear layered on top of that. What we do need is connection — people who can say, “Yeah, I’ve been there. It’s hard sometimes. But you’ll find your way, and there are still plenty of good moments ahead.”

The best gift veteran parents can give newer ones isn’t a warning. It’s perspective. It’s reassurance that the love and joy you feel now won’t disappear just because your child gets older — it just changes shape.

We can tell the truth without crushing hope. We can share our experiences without predicting someone else’s future. And we can build a community that encourages, not alarms.

Because this journey is already hard enough. Let’s make sure we’re the soft place to land.