As the final days of Autism Awareness Month draw to a close, I find myself sitting in the quiet of our home, reflecting on a year that can only be described as miraculous. For years, the world saw my daughter, Leila, through a lens of "limitations." They saw the diagnosis of autism; they saw the physical struggle of apraxia; they saw a child who did not speak. But as her mother, I saw something else entirely. I saw a vibrant, complex, and brilliant mind locked behind a door that simply didn't have the right key.
This past year, we finally found that key.
Our journey toward communication wasn't an overnight success. It was the result of 18 months of gruelling, dedicated work—teaching Leila the motor skills and the cognitive connections required to spell. In May 2025, Leila began to use a spelling board to communicate not just her basic needs, but her deepest thoughts, her complex feelings, and her aspirations.
The progression was breathtaking. She moved from the letter board to a physical keyboard, and eventually, to typing directly onto her iPad. To describe the feeling of watching her life transform as she found her voice is impossible. "Immense" doesn't quite cover it. It was like watching a person step out of the shadows and into the sunlight for the very first time. We weren't just learning how she felt about dinner; we were learning who she was as a human being.
Finding her voice acted as a catalyst for every other part of her life. When a child can finally explain their fears or ask for help, the world becomes a much less terrifying place. This year, Leila didn’t just "manage"—she conquered.
She learned to ride a bike, a task that requires immense motor planning and confidence—two things that apraxia often tries to steal. She navigated long-haul flights to California with an ease that would put most adults to shame. Each of these milestones was a quiet rebellion against the idea that non-speaking children are "less than" or "incapable."
If this year has proven anything, it is that the challenges of autism and apraxia are never about a lack of intelligence. Leila is, and always has been, incredibly bright. Her struggle was never a cognitive one; it was a motor-planning one. She had the thoughts; she just didn't have the "output" system to deliver them to the world.
This realization brings with it a certain amount of grief and anger, particularly when dealing with the "systems" designed to help children like her. We are currently embroiled in our third tribunal battle with the local authority. It is a exhausting, soul-crushing process where parents are forced to prove, over and over again, that their child deserves the tools they need to succeed.
Throughout this journey, I have realized a hard truth: many professionals, despite their titles, do not understand Leila’s specific needs. Yet, they often believe they are in the best position to make life-altering decisions for her. They see a child who doesn't speak and they often mistakenly assume there is nothing to say. Seeing Leila prove these "experts" wrong has been my proudest moment as a parent. She is showing the world that speaking is not the only validation of intelligence, and that children like her should never be cast aside or underestimated.
Choosing to invest our time and efforts into Connect through Spelling was the single best decision we ever made. To any parent of a non-speaking or minimally speaking child who is reading this: there is everything to gain.
I won't sugarcoat it—it requires an enormous amount of your time. It requires finding the right practitioner who truly believes in your child’s competence. It requires consistent, daily practice, even on the days when you are tired and the progress feels slow. But the payoff is a life changed forever. It has changed Leila’s life, and it has changed our entire family’s dynamic.
Before this, I can only imagine the internal frustration and aggression that Leila must have felt. Imagine having a joke to tell, a fear to share, or a dream to describe, and having no way to get the words out. That kind of entrapment leads to "behavioral issues" that are really just cries for help. By giving her a way to communicate, we didn't just give her words; we gave her peace.
We are no strangers to skepticism. We faced it years ago when we fought for Leila to have ABA therapy. People told us it wouldn't work or that it wasn't the right path. But that therapy led to her engaging with the world and gaining vital life skills that she uses to this day. We face that same skepticism with spelling.
People often recommend "out there" or expensive medical solutions, but in the end, the most valuable thing we had to give was our time. Time to sit with her, time to practice, and time to believe in her when no one else would. Even if the outcome had been different—even if she had never mastered the board—I would never regret giving her that time. Every child deserves a parent who refuses to give up on their voice.
The most beautiful part of this entire year has been the conversations I’ve finally been able to have with my daughter. For years, I shared her story on my blog, My Non-Speaking Child, always wondering in the back of my mind: Does she want me to do this? Is she okay with the world knowing her journey? Now, I finally have my answer. She doesn't just want me to share it; she wants to share it herself.
Leila has become a passionate advocate for non-speakers. She was recently asked to join a panel for the charity Unlocking Voices, where she shares her perspective on what it's like to navigate a world that ignores you. She is currently writing for a disability magazine, providing rare and vital insights into apraxia and her experience with the education system.
She even decided to start her own Facebook page, appropriately named Leila’s Voice. Seeing her take ownership of her story and use her hard-won communication skills to help others is more than I ever dared to hope for.
The future is looking incredibly bright. Do we still have challenges? Absolutely. We take them day by day, sometimes hour by hour. But we no longer focus on what Leila can’t do. We choose to focus on the incredible, undeniable progression she makes every single day.
My goal in sharing this is to reach just one parent, one teacher, or one professional who knows a child like Leila. I want you to look at that child and see the potential, not the diagnosis. I want you to realize that just because a child is quiet doesn't mean they don't have the intelligence.
I will never stop advocating for Leila. She has taught me more about resilience, intelligence, and grace than anyone I have ever met. I hope our story can help other families find their way out of the silence too.
Please follow Leila's Voice on Facebook to hear directly from the girl who was told she had nothing to say, but is now speaking loud enough for the whole world to hear.
#autismawareness #nonspeaking #worldautismmonth #leilasvoice #apraxia #inclusion #spellingtocommunicate
Add comment
Comments