There was no miracle transformation overnight.

Tobi still woke at odd hours, still screamed when he couldn’t find the red car, still flapped his hands when the ceiling fan turned too fast. But something was different now: Busola was no longer carrying it alone.

Segun started coming home earlier. Not always, and not perfectly. But enough. Enough to hold Tobi’s hands while he danced in circles. Enough to sit quietly beside him, even if he didn’t always understand why Tobi laughed at nothing or stared at spinning things for minutes.

One evening, as the harmattan breeze cooled their small compound, Tobi ran to Segun holding his alphabet cards.

Segun, surprised, took the cards and read out loud.
“A… Apple. B… Ball.”

Tobi flapped excitedly.
“C!” he yelled.

Busola clapped from the doorway, her heart swelling.

This—this was a kind of music.
Not the one they used to dream of…
But a rhythm their family was slowly learning to dance to.

A Turning Point
Weeks later, Busola found herself at a local church women’s gathering. The theme was “Raising Unique Children in Challenging Times.”

As the other mothers shared stories of bed-wetting and school fees, Busola sat quietly. Then, one mother mentioned her son’s speech delay and how people laughed at him.

Busola raised her hand.

“My son doesn’t talk much either. He may never talk like your children. But he sings with his eyes. He feels with his hands. He teaches us love without language.”

The room fell silent.

And in that silence, other mothers nodded. A few teared up. One woman reached over and held her hand.

That day, something awoke in Busola. She had a voice—and others needed to hear it.

The Community Begins
By the next month, Busola had started a WhatsApp group for mothers raising neurodivergent children. It was called “Mothers of Grace.”

Each week, she shared stories, prayer points, links to free autism resources—even simple breathing exercises for tired moms.

One day, she got a message:

“Sis Busola, God bless you. I no longer feel alone.”

And then another:

“I copied your letter to your son. I read it to mine. He smiled. It’s the first time I saw him smile this week.”

Segun’s Shift
Meanwhile, Segun had taken to fixing things around the house again. Not because they were broken. But because he was healing. It became his quiet therapy.

He even built a small wooden swing in the back for Tobi.

Sometimes, he would push him slowly and hum songs from his youth.

Other times, he would sit beside Busola and read articles on autism, occasionally asking,

“What does stimming mean again?”
“Why does he cover his ears?”

They didn’t have all the answers. But they had each other.

And now, they were searching together.

A Mother’s Peace
One night, after Tobi had fallen asleep—peacefully, curled up like a question mark—Busola knelt beside her bed, her hands clasped.

“Thank you, Lord,” she whispered.
“Not for healing yet. But for holding me through it all.”

Her prayers were no longer desperate cries.
They were now conversations—sometimes silent, but always sincere.

 

📩 For Trainings:

As a non-profit organization, we provide both virtual and in-person behavioral training for parents and caregivers of children diagnosed with autism. For families who may need more personalized support, we also offer individualized Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) services. These services focus on promoting socially significant behavior change—supporting skill acquisition, behavior modification, and reduction programs designed to enhance the development, abilities, and independence of children on the autism spectrum.

Email us at:
📬 info@hope4autismfamilies.com

You are not alone. 💙

Disclaimer:

The characters in this story are fictional; however, the events and situations depicted are true to life.