The Beginning: Communication Struggles and My Oldest Son

Our neuro-spicy adventure began early with my oldest son. I noticed something was off when he was just nine months old. He didn’t mimic sounds or try to babble back—he simply stared at me like I was speaking a foreign language. By the age of two, he only had three words in his vocabulary: Mom, Dad, and up.

Desperate to connect, I taught him American Sign Language, which became our primary way of communicating for a while. It wasn’t until we moved back to our hometown, closer to family, that he began speaking—mostly out of frustration that no one but me could understand his signs.

At age four, an eye twitch sent us to neurology. Thankfully, the brain scan came back normal, but a year later we learned he was severely nearsighted. It was heartbreaking to see him go through so much—wires taped to his head, tests, appointments—just to understand that his eyesight was opposite my own.

By eight, he was diagnosed with Auditory Processing Disorder (APD). An audiologist confirmed that he was in the 13th percentile for his age in processing and understanding sound. Suddenly, his early silence made more sense—he wasn’t being defiant; the world just sounded muffled.

We dove into six months of speech and hearing therapy. He made noticeable progress, even passing a therapist’s evaluation, but when re-tested by the audiologist the following year, he’d only jumped to the 14th percentile. Insurance wouldn’t cover more therapy, so we’ve continued at home—recreating what the therapist was doing as well as reading aloud, discussing stories, and comparing books to their movie adaptations.

Today, at almost 12, he’s still struggling—with APD, anger, depression, emotional regulation, and tics. The puzzle pieces are starting to come together, and we’re now preparing for a full evaluation for Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD).

My Middle Child: ADHD, ODD, and Finding What Works

Right around the time we were processing my oldest’s APD diagnosis, my middle child was diagnosed with ADHD and Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD).

Occupational therapy has been difficult to access due to a local shortage, but we’ve managed to get him into counseling every other week. His counselor works with him on self-awareness, and I’ve thrown myself into parenting books, trying to figure out what actually works. Spoiler: it changes. A lot.

One week, a laundry race against the timer worked like magic. The next week, he melted down at the idea of a timer. Discipline has been its own trial. Traditional methods? Not effective and sometimes damaging. Timeouts don’t work—he’s terrified of being alone, like to the point he will not be on a different floor level as everyone else in the house. Spanking only made things worse. Taking toys away? He just retreated into his vivid imagination and didn’t care.

The game-changer? Minecraft.

He gets one hour of game time a day. Now, instead of yelling or punishing in ways that backfire, we subtract minutes. Hitting siblings? Minus 10 minutes. Ignoring instructions? Minus 5. This has helped him take ownership of his actions without damaging our relationship. He’s learning that actions have consequences, but also that he’s safe and supported.

The Youngest: Sensory Issues and New Challenges

Then there’s my youngest.

At his last yearly checkup, I brought up the fact that he still only eats a very small list of foods—maybe 25 total. Texture seems to be a huge barrier, and not just with his food, his socks must fit just right, or the day starts with a meltdown.

We were referred to food therapy (yes, that’s a thing!). We managed three months before insurance issues put that on hold. Since then, we’ve continued what we learned at home: gently exposing him to new foods, using sensory techniques, and trying every type of sock known to man.

More recently, he’s developed a behavioral tic—a persistent throat-clearing cough. It started during a bad cold season and just never stopped. He also bounces on his toes all day and has started having clothing-related meltdowns. Just the other week, I found him in tears, completely undressed, hiding in his closet because his underwear “felt wrong.”

I wrapped him up in a hug and let him cry until he could listen. We problem-solved together, but these moments are frequent and emotionally exhausting—for both of us.

It’s clear now that, like his oldest brother, we need to have him evaluated for Autism Spectrum Disorder as well.