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By Brigitte Shipman
I started advocating for my son Joseph the day he was born, years before I knew he had a lifelong developmental disability. But once he was diagnosed on the autism spectrum, advocacy stopped being an occasional part of motherhood and became a permanent way of life. From that point forward, it didn’t matter whether I was sitting across from a doctor, a therapist, a school administrator, or a family member — the process was the same. State my son’s case, push for what he needed, and if the answer was no, go back to the drawing board and find another way.
I never took no for an answer. And over thirty years, I’ve learned that the single most important tool in a mother’s advocacy kit isn’t anger, volume, or legal threats. It’s kindness.
That might sound soft. It isn’t. Kindness is strategy.
When Joseph entered public education, the first battle was proving he could be in a mainstream classroom. Administrators suggested a half-day in a self-contained special education room. One recommended we medicate him. I nodded, I listened, and I went to work finding a classroom teacher I knew would welcome my son with open arms — our first “earth angel.” With constant problem-solving, a little luck, and a lot of love, we made inclusion happen.
Then came third grade and the Gifted and Talented program. Joseph’s teacher nominated him. He passed every marker with flying colors. But an administrator blocked him because he also had an Individualized Educational Plan. The man’s assumption was simple and wrong: a special education student could not also be gifted.
I showed him Joseph’s nonverbal IQ scores, which were in the genius range. He glared at me, took the folder from my hand, and never uttered a word. I walked out, determined not to be intimidated.
What I did not do was explode. I could have let anger lead. Instead, my husband and I became parent coaches for the Odyssey of the Mind creativity competition — the first year it was offered to third graders. Joseph participated in every Gifted and Talented activity alongside his peers, even without official enrollment. That same administrator came to our competitions. He glared, but said nothing.
Years later, when I had become a school administrator myself, he approached me at a conference and apologized. He finally understood that students on the spectrum didn’t have to live with artificial limitations.
I share that story because it captures the long game of advocacy. I didn’t win by shouting. I won by showing up, by staying five steps ahead with solutions, and by refusing to let someone else define what my son was capable of. I looked every adversary in the eye and thanked them for their time — even when my thoughts were not kind — because I knew that changing attitudes was a marathon, not a sprint. One meeting might not move the needle. But persistent, prepared, respectful advocacy does, over time, reshape the landscape.
I’ve coached hundreds of mothers on the autism spectrum journey since then, and I’ve seen every one of them become a world-class problem-solver. When they hit a wall blocking their child’s future, they find a way around it — and then they bring other families along for the ride. These women rarely get the credit they deserve.
If you are a mother at the beginning of this journey and the thought of one more meeting makes you want to scream, here are four tips I’ve learned the hard way. They work.
Build your wolf pack. Being your child’s champion can feel lonely. You don’t have to do it alone. Find a local support group for parents of children on the spectrum and become an active member. If one doesn’t exist, start one — even a small online group counts. Once you take the first step, other parents will follow. Your wolf pack becomes your outlet for anger, your source of ideas, and the reason you don’t lose your mind after a bad meeting. We all need a team behind us.
Prepare before you walk in the room. Every time I entered a meeting or conference, I had resources in hand — research, IQ scores, articles, whatever supported my son’s case. You are the expert on your child. Don’t assume that the people across the table know what your child needs or what autism looks like in your family. Write down your outcome goal before you go. Practice what you want to say. Get feedback from your wolf pack. When you walk in prepared, you walk in confident — and that confidence is more persuasive than any amount of frustration.
Communicate with clarity and kindness. Words are powerful, and how you use them shapes the outcome. Be clear about what you need, choose language that opens doors rather than slams them, and resist the urge to react in the heat of the moment. If a conversation goes sideways, pause. Go back to the drawing board and try again with better language and a cooler head. I always left meetings with a sincere thank you, no matter how they went. That single gesture kept doors open that anger would have shut permanently.
Advocate for yourself, too. This was the hardest lesson of all, and the one I resisted longest. My 32-year-old self would have laughed at the idea of putting herself first. But I now know it’s the golden ticket. You cannot sustain years of relentless advocacy if you’re running on empty. Before you prepare for your next IEP meeting, ask yourself: What is one small act of kindness I can give myself today? The mother who fills her own tank first shows up sharper, calmer, and stronger for her child.
Advocacy is a journey, not a single battle. Some days you’ll feel like a superhero. Other days you’ll feel like you’re pushing a boulder uphill. Just remember: the goal isn’t to be the loudest voice in the room. It’s to be the most prepared, the most persistent, and the kindest. That’s what changes minds — and that’s what changes your child’s life.
Brigitte M. Volltrauer Shipman is an author, life coach, speaker, and teacher. She specializes in coaching mothers with children diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). Her current book is A Mother’s Guide Through Autism, Through The Eyes of The Guided. Learn more at mothersguidethroughautism.com.
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