National Developmental Disabilities Awareness Month

Marcee Merriam, Autism Navigator – Kindering

A Reflection from a Parent and Professional

When my oldest son Tom was born in 1995, I didn’t know I was beginning a journey that would shape both my family and my career.

Tom’s pediatrician was also my pediatrician growing up. There was comfort in that continuity and perhaps that familiarity made me more willing to ask hard questions. Tom had constant ear infections and very little speech. I pushed for answers. He eventually received ear tubes, and I hoped that would quiet my fears. I told myself the infections explained everything.

At the time, I worked part-time in childcare and was part of a PEPs group. I was surrounded by young children. Most seemed to develop in predictable ways. One child had recently been diagnosed with dyspraxia, and that word lingered in my mind. Tom was happy and engaged, but he was quiet. I lived in that in-between space many parents know well where everything might be fine, but something feels different.

Through a local birth-to-three program, I heard a simple message:
“If you wonder about a child’s development, come in. Screenings are free.”

I made the appointment. Within two weeks, Tom was receiving services. I was the mother who asked directly, “Will he ever talk?” Providers gently reminded me they didn’t have a crystal ball but he was making progress. For a while, we lived under the term “Global Developmental Delay.”

When autism was finally raised as a possibility, it was overwhelming. During his evaluation at Seattle Children’s, I listened as clinicians identified traits one by one. I quietly said, “Well… I guess it could be autism.” In that moment, I felt both brave and deeply vulnerable.

That day, I made a promise to myself: If I could ever make this journey less painful for another family, I would.

Fifteen years later, I joined Kindering as an Autism Navigator. Following a class-action lawsuit that expanded access to medically necessary autism services, birth-to-three programs hired navigators to help families access evaluations and therapies through insurance. I have now spent a decade sitting beside families as they navigate systems that can feel overwhelming — even to those with resources and education.

So much has improved since 1995: earlier screening, better diagnostic tools, stronger insurance coverage. But what has not changed is the tenderness of the moment when a parent begins to wonder.

National Developmental Disabilities Awareness Month invites us to celebrate inclusion and the strengths of individuals with developmental disabilities. I celebrate that fully. My son is now an adult, and he has shaped our family in ways I would never trade.

But awareness also means remembering the parent in the exam room absorbing words that may change how they imagine the future.

Families do not need certainty as much as they need partnership. They need space to process. They need to feel respected in their questions, even when those questions are asked more than once.

If I could offer one gentle call to action this month, it would be this:
When a parent raises a developmental concern, pause long enough to recognize the courage it took to say it out loud. Your response may shape not only that child’s trajectory but that family’s lifelong relationship with the system meant to support them.

Awareness begins there.