I cannot believe that we got here.

 

If you had told me 10 years ago—when we were truly in the thick of things with Loghan—that we would get to see him matriculate, that he would be handing out CVs and booking his learner’s test, I am not sure I would have believed you. At that stage, living day to day, waiting for the next crisis to hit, the next appointment, the next school meeting, the next meltdown, it was an incredibly difficult time and continued to be so for years.

Yet here we are, and I am so incredibly proud of how far he has come and how far we have all come as a family. At the end of the day, it has taken a nonstop fight, and quite frankly, the resources and paths available for neurodivergent children and adults— not only in South Africa but internationally—are still shocking.

One day, leading up to the end of Loghan’s final exams, he climbed into my car, and I could see he was down. I asked him what was wrong, and after much coaxing, the words that came out of his mouth were, “I just wish that I could be normal… that people would treat me like a normal child.”

I had to catch the tears, take a breath, and tell him: “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You have just as much right to be here—to write exams, make friends, learn, grow, and express yourself. You can achieve everything you put your mind to. And I know this because I have travelled this journey with you. I have fought with you and alongside you. Over the years, we’ve gathered an amazing support system—family and chosen family—and they know, just as I do, who you are and how far you have come.”

Just to put a pin in it here: it wasn’t his teachers or peers who made him feel this way. It was actually someone who was supposed to be there as a support for him—someone who has travelled their own road in this space and should know what it feels like to be different. And that is something I’ve learnt along the way: sometimes the people within the very community you seek strength from can be the ones who make you feel ashamed or “out of place,” and that quite frankly sucks.

Be that as it may, it didn’t take long for Loghan to stand up again and push through the hurt he was feeling. The strength of my child—and of every neurodivergent child—is a force to be reckoned with. I will say it again: I am so proud of how far we have come, and I know we will continue to push forward.

And as we step into this next chapter—new challenges, new hopes, new victories—I want Loghan to know this: you are not just capable; you are extraordinary. Your journey has shaped you into someone resilient, brave, and deeply compassionate. The world may not always understand you, but you have already shown that you can rise above anything. And wherever you go next, we will be right beside you, cheering you on, every step of the way.