I am a mother of three children, two of whom are autistic. Both of my youngest are autistic, but their support needs and experiences are very different. They are close in age. Layla is 10 and Rocco is 9.
My son, Rocco, has severe autism. Rocco was diagnosed with autism at age three. He is nonverbal and does not have safety awareness, so he requires one on one support in school. He is physically large for his age, which means safety is a continuous concern. His communication and sensory needs are more immediately apparent. Rocco experiences the world very freely, with constant movement and curiosity. To him the world is a playground and he is simply happy to be here, living in what we lovingly call “Rocco world.”
My daughter, Layla, is also autistic, but her needs look entirely different. She has safety awareness and is highly observant, yet she struggles with confidence and has an intellectual delay. She requires one on one support. Layla’s journey has been very different. She was originally diagnosed with a developmental delay rather than autism. At the time, I did not want her to immediately be judged through the lens of her brother’s support needs, so we allowed her development to unfold without that label, until her needs became significantly apparent this year. Layla is verbal, very self-aware, and emotionally perceptive, but she has a severe intellectual delay. Scholastically, she operates at around a kindergarten level, although some things are easier for her, depending on how the material is presented. Unlike her brother, Layla is very self-conscious about her autism and often feels judged, which can make her very hard on herself emotionally. Before her autism diagnosis, there were several situations at school where her needs were misunderstood. Substitutes were not always aware that she required additional support, and there were times when she was expected to complete work independently that she did not yet have the developmental ability to manage. In one instance, she became overwhelmed and cried until she hyperventilated in the bathroom because she felt she was doing something wrong when she was simply trying to ask for help. At that time staff did not yet understand that she had a developmental delay.
Layla was officially diagnosed with autism this past November, and ultimately could not be properly accommodated at her private school. She has been homeschooled since November, and since learning in an environment that supports her needs, she has been doing much better emotionally and has truly begun to thrive. Although they are both autistic, their profiles, experiences, and support needs are vastly different.
Layla and Rocco share a diagnosis, but their support requirements are completely different. This reality shaped my understanding early on that no single approach works for every child, and that education alone is not enough.
My daily life looks ordinary from the outside. It includes repeated daily routines, and navigating transitions that many families take for granted. It also includes explaining my children over and over, so that others can understand how to support them safely and respectfully.
I am not part of a campaign or a brand. I am a stay at home mom learning as I go, doing my best to make sure children like mine are seen, understood, and supported in the world around them.
Through my journey as a parent, I have learned there is an important distinction between awareness and advocacy. Awareness helps people recognize disabilities. Advocacy changes how people respond when a child needs support. Awareness informs. Advocacy protects. Both matter, but they are not the same.
Knowledge, training, and structure are essential. However, without emotional intelligence, even the most well intentioned support can miss the child standing right in front of you. Learning and emotion are deeply connected, particularly in autism and special education. When emotion is ignored, misunderstanding grows.
When adults understand why a child responds the way they do, often, frustration softens and safety improves. When families feel understood, their support systems strengthen rather than shrink. Advocacy, at its core, is about preserving those family circles.
Over time, I realized that many challenges families face are not caused by lack of effort, but by lack of shared understanding. Parents, educators, and professionals often want the same outcome, but lack a common language to get there. This gap can lead to frustration, breakdowns in trust, and family isolation.
In response to this, I created a visual resource titled “Come On, Rocco, It’s Time for School.” It was developed at home, shaped by lived experience, and designed to be practical. The resource is intentionally brief, approximately twenty minutes, because families and professionals rarely have hours to dedicate to training materials. It is visual, accessible, and focused on shifting perception quickly so that understanding can begin. The goal is not compliance. The goal is connection.
After completing the resource, I began sharing it freely. I did not approach this as a business venture. I offered it without cost, because my priority was impact, not promotion. To date, more than one thousand free copies have been shared, and I continue to distribute them. Not because of metrics or recognition, but because the work is being used. It is reaching families, educators, and communities who need it.
I live in New Hampshire. My days include school schedules, appointments, errands, and caring for my children. I am an ordinary parent. But ordinary people can create meaningful change when they remain persistent.
Real advocacy, in my opinion, is not flashy. It does not follow trends. It grows slowly through consistency, compassion, and showing up even when no one is watching. It is durable. It is steady. And it is built to last.
My goal is simple. I am trying to help create a safer, more understanding world for my children and for others like them. That kind of change does not happen overnight. That is okay, because in my opinion, real advocacy is not about being seen. It is about staying present.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Ashlee Savia DeConinck is a stay at home mother and autism advocate based in New Hampshire. She is the parent of three children, her youngest two of whom are autistic with very different support needs. This lived experience has shaped her understanding of safety, communication, and emotional intelligence. Her work emphasizes visual learning and practical, accessible supports that help families, educators, and professionals better understand the children they support through compassion and real life experience.
Read the article here.