As a mother of eight — five biological and three stepchildren — my life is full of noise, love, and responsibility. Marcus, my youngest, is also my third child born back-to-back. I had one child in 2017, another in 2018, and then Marcus in 2019. So I have other young ones close to his age — all growing, learning, and discovering the world in their own unique ways.
But Marcus’s world looks different.

From early on, I noticed his way of connecting wasn’t like his siblings’. He didn’t always use his words to communicate. He found comfort in letters and numbers. He sometimes expressed himself in ways that others couldn’t immediately understand. And as a mother, that broke me and built me all at once.

Because while I was learning how to reach Marcus, I was also trying to help his brothers and sisters — and our extended family — understand him too.
That part wasn’t always easy. Growing up in Jamaica, we didn’t know much about autism. We didn’t have the awareness, the language, or the understanding of what signs to look for. When a child wasn’t speaking or developed differently, it was often explained away as “late talking,” “stubbornness,” or “boys being boys.”

We didn’t realize that early signs could mean something more — something that needed attention and support, not judgment or shame.
Because of that, the process with Marcus was delayed.

By the time I started to recognize that his behaviors and speech delays were more than just personality differences, he was already older. We got him into early intervention, but by the time the services were fully in place, Marcus had already aged out of the program.

That experience changed me. It made me realize how many families — especially in Caribbean and immigrant communities — are missing the opportunity for early help simply because of lack of awareness.
That experience opened my eyes, and it lit a fire in me to make sure other families — especially in communities like mine — wouldn’t have to go through the same confusion and delay.

That’s one of the biggest reasons I do what I do — the We Are Autism website, the Marcus Goodboy book, the We-Are-Autism Care Circle on WhatsApp, the YouTube channel, and the community events I organize to spread awareness, connect families, and bring direct, hands-on support to those who need it most.
I do all of it because I know how it feels to be searching for help and not know where to turn.

The Purpose Behind the Work

Everything I do now was born from the same place: pain, love, and purpose.
Because I realized something — the struggles I face with Marcus are not mine alone. There are parents out there facing even harder days. Parents who cry in silence after the kids go to bed. Parents who have large families — brothers, sisters, grandparents — and yet still feel completely alone on this journey.

You can have a house full of people and still feel unseen.
Because while others may offer to watch your other kids, nobody’s saying, “Let me watch your child who’s on the spectrum.”
It’s not out of cruelty — it’s out of fear, misunderstanding, or simply not knowing how. But that kind of isolation runs deep. It makes you feel like the one person carrying something no one else wants to touch.
I know that loneliness. I’ve lived it.

That’s one of the biggest reasons I created We Are Autism — so no parent would ever have to walk that road alone again.
I wanted to create something that feels like family — a space where people can vent, cry, ask questions, or just breathe.
And also a place where we can celebrate the little wins — the moments that may seem small to others but mean everything to us.

Because as parents of children on the spectrum, we see hope in places the world often overlooks.

Just the other day, Marcus headbutted me right in the eye. I pretended to cry, and a few seconds later, he gently touched my eye and kissed it. Someone else might see that and think, “That’s too much — that’s not progress.” But another parent raising a child with autism would see what I saw — a breakthrough.
He showed emotion.
He showed empathy.
He understood that he hurt me and wanted to make it right.

Moments like that remind me that there’s always hope, even in the hardest days. Because for us, progress doesn’t always look perfect — but it’s still progress, and it still deserves to be celebrated.

That’s what We Are Autism is to me. It’s not just a platform. It’s a community. A safe haven. An extended family for every parent who’s ever felt invisible — a place to find understanding, share hope, and celebrate every step forward, no matter how small.

The Cost and the Calling

There are nights I sit in front of my laptop long after the house is quiet — working on videos, writing, or answering messages from parents around the world. My heart is tired, but it’s also full.
This isn’t a career for me. It’s a calling.
And calling doesn’t stop when things get hard — that’s usually when it speaks the loudest.

I know what it feels like to look at your child and not know how to help them. I know what it feels like to feel financially strained while trying to provide therapies and resources. I know what it feels like to be strong for everyone else when you’re running on empty.
That’s why I keep going — for the parents who don’t have the words yet. For the ones who think they’re alone.

Why I Keep Sharing Marcus With the World

I share our story not because it’s perfect, but because it’s real.
The meltdowns. The breakthroughs. The laughter. The tears.
Every piece of it is part of who we are — and if sharing it helps one parent feel seen, one child feel celebrated, or one teacher understand a student better, then it’s worth it.

Every time I see a parent join the Care Circle and say, “I thought I was the only one,” it reminds me that this mission is bigger than me.
This is about community. About changing how the world sees autism. About helping families — from Jamaica to America and beyond — know that they are not alone.

What started as my story has become our story — a movement of parents, caregivers, and supporters standing together.

A Message to Parents Walking This Road

To every parent reading this: I know it’s not easy.
You may feel tired, stretched thin, or unsure if what you’re doing makes a difference. But it does. Every therapy session, every deep breath, every tear, every bedtime story — it all adds up.
You are the safe place your child returns to.
You are the steady voice in their world of noise.
And even when no one thanks you, Heaven sees your effort.

I know the road is long. I know the weight is heavy.
But I also know that purpose can rise out of pain — because that’s exactly what happened to me.

🎥 You can follow our journey and find encouragement on the We Are Autism YouTube Channel.
💬 And if you need a space where people truly understand, join our We-Are-Autism Care Circle — a safe place to share, learn, and heal together.
💙 Keep an eye out for our We Are Autism community events, where we bring families together for real conversations, learning, and love.

Support • Educate • Thrive

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