I got an email from Lucas’s counselor this week.
It was casual and kind…almost an aside.

“By the way… he came down today and showed me this article you wrote.
He wanted me to see it and know a little more about him. I had him send it to me so I could read the whole thing…Great work, mom. Also—what a cutie that kid was (and is!). 💜”

The article was something I wrote years ago and honestly had forgotten about. Here is the link if you wish to read it.

Lucas found it.
He had read it.
And then, this part still takes my breath away, he chose to share it, deliberately, as a way to introduce himself.

He did not choose to use scripted small talk, or labels, or struggles he may be facing… he chose to use his story.
That moment hit me at a level I wasn’t prepared for because what I saw in that choice was a deep, human desire to be seen, heard, and understood—on his own terms.

And the clarity with which he did it?
Stunning.

He didn’t stumble across this old link by accident, he went looking. It was intentional, and it wasn’t the first time. I share this story with his permission. He once wrapped a copy of my book Redefining the Reality of Down Syndrome to give to a friend so that friend would understand him. Even writing this post I am feeling all kinds of weighty things. I am so proud of the young man he is.

It also landed as a quiet but powerful reminder of something I have believed for a very long time that one day, our children will read what we write about them.

They will scroll the posts.
They will find the blogs.
They will see the comments, the vents, the screenshots, the “safe spaces” we assumed were invisible to them.

And at that point they will do that not as children, they will do it as adults trying to understand how the world saw them…
and how we saw them.

I know parents need places to process. I know this journey can be isolating and overwhelming and heavy, but there is a difference between processing with care and publishing pain without perspective.

Even when our intentions are good—or maybe especially when they are—we must be clear and intentional about what we put into the world because our children do not stay children. They grow into adults with memory, insight, and dignity.
They deserve to inherit a digital narrative that does not reduce them to diagnoses, deficits, or our hardest days.

I am grateful, so deeply grateful, that I have always held this perspective. I am so relieved that the DSAP FB group was a place where “brags” were encouraged and proud moments shared. I am grateful for the connections with other parent made so that the hard days were shared in private, but the public space was filled with love and pride.

Lucas knows there is a lot written about him.
He knows I write publicly.
And, now he looks for it.

I am so grateful for the things I have written over the years because they make him feel seen and very, very proud. That is a gift I will never take lightly.

Yesterday, I asked him about finding ,and deciding to share the article.

He looked at me and said:

“Nobody loves me like you do.”

There are just simply no words big enough for that moment.