When the Diagnosis Doesn’t Come With a Map

There are days where I stare at my child’s face—his brilliance, his struggle, the storm behind his eyes—and I think, Lord, I don’t know what I’m doing. Doctors hand you pamphlets. Therapists give plans. But no one tells you how to hold your heart when your child is hurting and the world doesn’t see it. Our journey has been filled with layers: Autism. PANS. Mold exposure. Gut issues. Sound sensitivity. OCD flares that come and go like waves. It’s like trying to solve a puzzle while the pieces are still moving. I have cried in the bathroom, shouted in the car, whispered desperate prayers into my pillow. And still—there is peace. But not because the problems disappeared. Peace comes when I pause. When I light a candle, even if the dishes are piled high. When I play Gregorian chant in the morning, even if the house is chaos. When I whisper, “Jesus, I trust in You,” even if my heart doesn't fully believe it yet. Peace, I’ve learned, isn’t the absence of difficulty. It’s the presence of God within it. So no—I don’t have a map. But I have a lantern. And that’s enough to keep walking.