Remember the Why

Lately, I have found myself needing to remember the why.

Not the meetings.

Not the politics.

Not the personalities.

Not the egos.

The why.

The reason Dylan’s House exists.

The reason I refuse to quit.

The reason this mission became my passion .

I don’t often go back and really talk about the hard years. I skim over them/ I allude to things/ I share bits and pieces.  But there is a lot I havent shared.  All those  years that I was barely surviving.  All those years that Autism seemed to be taking everything from me.

My marriage.

My family.

My dreams.

My future.

There were moments when the weight of it all felt unbearable. Moments like when my husband looked at me and said, “I can’t do this anymore.”

And honestly, I don’t blame him. Even though that crushed me.

We were exhausted.

Heartbroken.

Terrified.

Watching the life we thought we were going to have slowly slip through our fingers.

Autism had rewritten every plan we had made.

And while Dylan was the center of our world, I often felt like I was disappearing.

Back then, I couldn’t see the other side.

I couldn’t imagine a day when things would be easier.

But today, sometimes, I get to sit on the other side. Even if it's short lived.

I stop by Dylan’s workshop and visit him during the day. He’s a gentleman. He smiles when he sees me. He enjoys our time together.

And when it’s time for me to leave, he doesn’t fall apart.

He simply says, “Mom, you’ll come back, right?”

“Mom, you’ll see me later?”

And I tell him yes.

Because I will.

We do telehealth doctor’s appointments now. Appointments that don’t involve chasing him through a parking lot. Appointments that don’t end with me sitting in my car crying because we never even made it inside to see the doctor.

For years, every small task felt impossible.

Today, many of those same tasks feel manageable.

Not because Autism disappeared.

Not because life became perfect.

But because Dylan grew.

Because we found support.

Because people helped carry us when we couldn’t carry ourselves.

And that’s why Dylan’s House matters.

Because every family deserves hope.

Every parent deserves to believe there can be another side.

Every individual with autism deserves a safe, beautiful place to call home.

This mission is personal.

It always has been.

The work is real.

The need is real.

And lately, I’ve had to remind myself of that.

Because somewhere along the way, I’ve allowed myself to get distracted.

I’ve allowed myself to get caught up in other people’s agendas.

I’ve allowed strong personalities, egos, and opinions to take up space in my head that belongs to this mission.

I’ve let people bully me.

I’ve let people convince me that they make the rules.

But they don’t.

The families make the rules.

The mission makes the rules.

The why makes the rules.

Dylan makes the rules.

His friends make the rules.

The parents lying awake at night wondering what happens when they are gone make the rules.

That is who I answer to.

Not the loudest voice in the room.

Not the biggest ego.

Not the person trying to control the conversation.

When I remember the why, everything becomes clear.

Dylan’s House was never about me.

It was never about recognition.

It was never about buildings.

It was never about who gets credit.

It was always about creating good homes for good people.

It was always about making sure families have hope.

And every time I watch my son smile and say, “Mom, you’ll come back, right?” I remember exactly why we started.

And exactly why we’ll keep going