As parents, it’s only natural to want to know the best way to help our children. We search for the best school, the best therapy, the best parenting strategies, and the best interventions. We read books, ask for recommendations, and hope someone can point us toward the answer that will make the biggest difference.
Over time, I’ve come to believe there is a different place to begin.
Before we ask what works, we first need to ask, “Who is this child?”
That simple question has shaped the way I work with children and families. It has also reminded me that no two children or families are alike. Every child brings their own personality, strengths, interests, challenges, and way of seeing the world. Every family brings their own values, routines, relationships, hopes, and story. That is why meaningful support can never be one size fits all.
This is especially true for children with Autism and ADD/ADHD.
A diagnosis can provide valuable information, but it can never tell us everything about a child. Two children with Autism may share the same diagnosis while having completely different personalities, sensory needs, communication styles, interests, and ways of learning. The same is true for children with ADD/ADHD. While a diagnosis may help guide us, it should never replace getting to know the individual child in front of us.
In my experience, we don’t truly come to know a child through an assessment alone. We come to know children through relationship. Through shared experiences, play, curiosity, observation, and trust, children begin to show us who they are. Little by little, we start to notice what brings them joy, what feels overwhelming, how they solve problems, how they communicate, what captures their attention, and what helps them feel safe enough to engage with the world around them.
Play, in particular, offers a unique window into a child’s world. It allows us to slow down and see beyond behaviors or expectations. We begin to notice their creativity, their interests, their sense of humor, and the ways they naturally engage with others. We also begin to recognize moments of frustration, hesitation, or sensory overwhelm with greater understanding. These shared experiences help us see the child as a whole person rather than simply a list of goals to accomplish.
Relationships are built over time. They cannot be rushed or created from a checklist. They grow through consistency, patience, and simply showing up. As trust develops, children often become more willing to explore, communicate, try new things, and move through challenges because they know they are with someone who is taking the time to understand them.
Parents are an essential part of that process.
No one has accumulated more shared experiences with a child than the people raising them. Parents notice the little things that often go unseen. They know what helps their child settle after a difficult day, what routines bring comfort, what sparks excitement, and what situations create stress. They know the dreams they have for their child, the victories worth celebrating, and the challenges that may not be visible to anyone else.
This is one of the reasons I believe so strongly in a Whole Family, Whole Child approach. Supporting a child isn’t simply about working with the child. It is about listening to the family, learning from their experiences, and partnering together. When parents and professionals work alongside one another with mutual respect, support becomes far more meaningful because it is built around the child and the family’s unique needs rather than a predetermined plan.
An individualized approach is not about lowering expectations. It is about recognizing that children do not all learn, regulate, communicate, or grow in the same way. Success may look different from one child to the next, and that’s okay. The goal is not for every child to follow the exact same path. The goal is to help each child continue moving forward in a way that honors who they are.
As a child, I had an Individualized Education Program, or IEP. I remember sitting at a table with adults discussing my education and the supports they believed I needed. I don’t remember most of the specific goals that were written down, but I do remember how it felt to be part of those conversations—and what mattered most to my family.
At one of those meetings, my dad said something that has stayed with me ever since.
“All I care about is my daughter’s confidence. If that’s good, you won’t hear from me.”
Looking back, I realize he was naming something essential. Before children can fully grow into their potential, they need to feel known, understood, and believed in.
Confidence doesn’t come from finding the perfect program or checking off the right goals. It grows through relationships—through trust, encouragement, and the experience of having someone truly see you.
As another school year begins, I hope we can give ourselves permission to slow down. Instead of asking only what strategy comes next, perhaps we can spend more time noticing the child in front of us. We can become curious about what they enjoy, what they find difficult, how they experience the world, and what helps them feel connected.
Children tell us who they are over time. Our role is to slow down enough to notice.
Every child deserves to be known before they are directed, understood before they are evaluated, and supported in a way that reflects their individuality. When we begin with relationships, shared experiences, and a genuine desire to understand both the child and the family, we create support that is thoughtful, meaningful, and lasting.
