“The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.”

Jordan was diagnosed with autism at the age of two. From very early on, it was clear that he was developing differently, not through a sudden loss of skills, but through milestones that never fully emerged.

By his first birthday, I was already concerned about his lack of speech. At our one-year appointment, I was encouraged to wait and reassured that some children are simply late talkers. By eighteen months, when Jordan still wasn’t speaking, those concerns were finally taken seriously.

In his early years, food was not initially a challenge. Jordan ate what I ate and shared meals with our family, even foods most toddlers would refuse, including tripe at dim sum. He was never particularly interested in fruit (I still remember him cautiously trying a strawberry at his first birthday), but he wasn’t a picky eater at the start.

Over time, his relationship with food changed. What began as typical toddler preferences slowly became more rigid. Texture, sameness and colour began to dictate what he would eat, eventually narrowing his diet to what many in the autism community refer to as “blonde foods.” At the time, my focus was simply ensuring that he ate, without realizing the impact this narrowing diet was having on his health.

Looking back, there were signs that his digestion wasn’t functioning optimally. Jordan struggled with ongoing gastrointestinal issues which alternated between constipation and diarrhea. His stool was often pale and beige-gray rather than the deep brown typically associated with healthy digestion. At the time, I didn’t yet understand what this was signaling.

Alongside this, his sensory sensitivities intensified. Sounds such as flushing toilets or hand dryers were overwhelming. Busy environments like stores were difficult to navigate. His communication remained limited, he avoided eye contact, didn’t respond to his name, and his play was repetitive and rigid. His behaviors were unpredictable and small disruptions could derail an entire outing.

It’s also important to understand that Jordan didn’t simply “catch up” on his own. He needed to be explicitly taught skills that many children acquire intuitively. He had to be taught how to communicate, how to form sounds, pronounce syllables and eventually put words together. Speech did not emerge naturally for him; it was built deliberately, step by step, through years of support and repetition.

Social interaction also had to be taught. Jordan didn’t instinctively understand how to engage with others, read social cues, take turns in conversation, or navigate group settings. Even motor-based skills that many children learn through observation such as riding a bike required direct teaching and patience due to challenges with proprioception and body awareness. Understanding language, following multi-step instructions and making sense of abstract concepts often required additional support as well.

In Jordan’s early years, we also came to understand that he was a strong visual learner. Verbal instruction alone was often not enough for him to process or retain information. Daily routines, transitions, and basic life skills had to be taught visually using picture schedules, visual cards and consistent visual cues. These tools became essential for helping him understand expectations, sequence tasks, and feel more regulated in his day-to-day life.

Like many parents, receiving the diagnosis was emotional. We were offered therapies like speech, occupational therapy, structured programs and those supports mattered. Jordan benefited from them and I continue to believe they play an important role. But despite years of consistent effort, progress often felt slow, incomplete and fragile. I was left with a label, a checklist and very little clarity about why my child was struggling the way he was.

What eventually shifted my understanding was learning to look beyond behavior alone.

Through my own health journey and with the guidance of experienced practitioners and mentors in nutritional science and functional health, I began to understand how deeply the body influences regulation, behavior and learning. When we started supporting Jordan’s gut health, nutrient status, and overall biological resilience alongside therapy, things began to change. Not suddenly and not perfectly, but meaningfully.

That perspective reshaped how I understood autism entirely.

Today, Jordan is a healthy teenager and a truly neurodivergent young adult. He thrives in a mainstream school environment and is enrolled in an enriched academic program. He is social, motivated and independent, though still socially awkward in ways that reflect how his brain processes the world. He is exceptionally strong in math, works incredibly hard and values structure and routine. Language comprehension and abstract thinking can still be challenging and he tends to interpret things literally, often missing humour or implied meaning.

He has also become a foodie; curious, open and adventurous with food, with the exception of lamb, which he finds far too gamey.

These differences are not problems to fix. They are part of who he is.

Today, the work I do with families is shaped by this understanding. While diagnoses can be helpful for accessing services, they are often based on behavioral checklists that don’t explore what may be contributing to a child’s challenges. Parents are frequently left feeling overwhelmed, uncertain, and unsure of how to move forward, especially when therapy alone doesn’t seem to be enough.

Therapies absolutely have value. But in many cases, progress is limited by how regulated and supported a child’s body and nervous system are. When underlying biological stressors are present; whether related to digestion, nutrition, inflammation, or sensory processing, even the best therapies can plateau.

I’m very open about our journey. Jordan’s story isn’t something I keep at a distance; it’s something I’ve lived, learned from, and continue to learn from. Transparency matters to me, because this work isn’t theoretical. It’s personal.

My role is not to change who a child is or to try to “fix” them. It’s to help families uncover hidden stressors that may be interfering with regulation, learning, and independence, and to create the conditions that allow a child to function at their best. Whether a child is truly neurodivergent, developmentally delayed, or struggling due to underlying biological stress, my goal is the same: to support their opportunity to thrive and become more independent in their own way.

Jordan’s journey is proof that neurodivergence and progress are not mutually exclusive. With the right understanding and support, growth is always possible not toward becoming someone else, but toward becoming more regulated, more capable, and more confident in who they already are.

If you’re feeling unsure about how to support your child, or wondering whether there may be more beneath the behaviors you’re seeing, you’re always welcome to reach out. You can book an appointment if you’d like to explore your child’s unique needs and discuss thoughtful next steps for your family.