My Son’s Autism Changed Me, Inspired a Children’s Book

This past May, my son Frank graduated from high school, an achievement that doctors once said wouldn’t happen. You see, Frank was diagnosed with autism at the age of three. By that time, he had gone through multiple evaluations in search of answers. I remember being at work one afternoon, receiving the dreaded phone call and being told that he might never progress beyond the developmental level of a 13 year-old. 

I sobbed uncontrollably in front of well-meaning coworkers with strong opinions saying everything from: “He’ll grow out of it!” to “You can heal him with good nutrition!” At that moment, I didn’t need unsolicited advice or quick fixes. I slipped into a deep depression and had to take medical leave. 

I got help and a doctor would eventually put me on medication. It made me drowsy to the point that I would fall asleep as Frank would play alone with his iPad. I didn’t want this for me, and I certainly didn’t want this for him. At the next visit, my therapist suggested if I didn’t want to be on drugs, I should just run. So I did. My mood was elevated; I had more energy; and I regained my strength to fight for myself. To fight for him. To go back to work and fight like hell for us. Slowly, as the fog began to lift, I did what any immigrant mom does, me puse las pilas. I picked myself up, turned my pain into purpose and went to war for my son’s future.

After all, I am a Salvadoran woman, a survivor in every sense of the word, built for tough times. I became a researcher, therapist, educator, advocate. I was his shield and his voice. And I became my family’s teacher correcting them by saying “no, el no esta enfermito.” He’s not sick.

Frank simply experiences the world differently. So I assembled his army of experts—a revolving door of specialists—who, for years, poured their time and knowledge into him. My son’s graduation isn’t just a milestone; it’s a declaration: we belong, and our neurodivergent children deserve every opportunity, no matter what the system tries to predict for them.

Truth is, my son and I have always been the underdogs. Our special needs community knows this sentiment all too well. Expect less. “Lower your expectations,” they tell us. 

Is this what our ancestors would want for us? I have to remind myself, I crossed two borders when I was just a child. I came to the U.S. from El Salvador when I was seven years old: undocumented, scared, and unable to speak English. My mother was just 19 years old when she left Soyapango to Los Angeles, leaving me in the care of my grandparents. I grew up in the arms of my abuelitos and by the time we were reunited, forming a bond with her presented a different set of challenges. 

From my own experience, I can say neurodivergence is still misunderstood or met with silence in Latinx families. Autism isn’t discussed in multigenerational families like mine. Not because we don’t love our children, but because we often lack the language, resources, or cultural permission to name what’s happening. I wanted to change that. And not just for my family.

As a journalist-turned-public servant and political strategist, I’ve spent over a decade working in government, launching anti-poverty programs, supporting immigrant families, and leading statewide health equity campaigns with Covered California. My work has always lived at the intersection of policy and people; centered on uplifting unheard voices, immigrants, working-class families, and those often left out of the conversation.

But the most personal and powerful advocacy I’ve ever done has been for my son. As a mom to a child with autism who continues to defy every expectation, my advocacy is taking on new meaning. I am ready to step into an era where I can use everything I’ve learned throughout the years to expand understanding, visibility, and dignity for all children.  

That’s why I wrote Franky(sito)’s World, my debut children’s book which is launching in English and Spanish this summer inspired by Frank’s life and our Salvadoran home. It centers a brown, neurodivergent boy and helps young readers understand the difference with empathy, joy, and curiosity. The book, which is his graduation gift, is also a thank you to everyone who walked alongside our family when we were exhausted and felt like we couldn’t go any further. 

It’s for every Latina mother, for my comadres, who are stretched thin—mentally, spiritually, emotionally. As someone who is now standing on the other side of what once felt impossible, who fought through the fear and stigma, believe me when I say there is light. My family’s light will certainly be different than yours but if we share one thing, it is undying hope. 

When the doctors, your family, co-workers and culture tell you otherwise, remember no one knows your child better than you do. Push back against the silence, honor your child’s uniqueness, armor up and remember a diagnosis is only the beginning. 

We need more stories like Franky(sito)’s World because when we don’t talk about autism in our communities, it doesn’t disappear. It just becomes harder to get help. And it becomes harder for our kids to feel seen.

As Frank walked across the stage, I was reminded of how far we’ve come. Our children’s victories are our victories. And every breakthrough is a reminder of our stubbornness, not just as mothers, but as mujeres who are not afraid to lead, rise, and reshape the future for generations to come. Let this serve as a tribute to our stubborn love.

Congratulations to all of our graduates who were told you wouldn’t make it.