Starting Over: Moving Across the Country and Watching My Autistic Son Rebuild

raising an autistic child

There’s something no one tells you about uprooting your life and starting over:

helping autistic kids adjust

It isn’t the packing or the logistics that break you open—it’s watching your child face a whole new world with no familiar landmarks to hold onto.

When we moved across the country last year for my husband’s new job, I told myself it would be an adventure. A fresh start. A chance to build a better future for our family.

And all of that was true.

But it was also a leap straight into the unknown.

Especially for my son, Liam. And even now, I feel the weight of our choice and the uncertainty that comes with stepping into something unfamiliar.

Rebuilding From Zero

Most kids can adapt quickly when their environment changes. New house, new school, new neighborhood—they explore, absorb, connect, and eventually find their place.

Neurodivergent kids?

The transition hits differently.

Everything Liam relied on—his routines, his comfort spaces, his comfort people, his predictable rhythm—was suddenly gone.

• No familiar neighborhood layout

• No regular visits from Grandma and Papa

• No friends who already understood him and his uniqueness

It was starting over in the truest, rawest way.

And for the first few months, I could see the overwhelm sitting right under his skin: the tight shoulders, the pacing, the careful scanning of every room as if he were memorizing exits.

This wasn’t just a move.

It was a total nervous-system reset.

Planning: The First Layer of Safety

The truth is, we didn’t just wake up one day and decide to move. The window between “this might happen” and the actual move was only four months—which feels fast to some and slow to others—but for Liam, that time was everything.

Planning is one of his deepest needs. Predictability is how he finds safety.

So we planned.

A lot.

We watched videos of the new city and of the state as a whole.

We talked through the weather, the landscape, and the new experiences waiting for him.

We showed him photos of the house—over and over—until it started to feel familiar before he ever stepped inside it.

We walked through how the actual move would happen, day by day.

And because the cats are such an important part of his emotional world, we talked endlessly about how they would handle the trip and what we’d do to keep them safe.

Those early conversations didn’t erase the difficulty.

But they softened the shock.

And when the time came, he wasn’t walking into a blank unknown—he was walking into something his brain had already rehearsed.

The Cats: His Unexpected Anchors

What made the move feel safe in a deeper way were our cats.

Three creatures many see as “just pets” became a massive source of stability. They helped him feel like this new place could become home, because the six of us—our family plus our three cats—were all together.

We made the journey in five long days, driving 10–11 hours at a time across the country, crammed into my SUV with three cats, five suitcases, four computers, and every snack we could squeeze in.

But their presence brought reassurance and resilience. Liam took responsibility for keeping them comfortable, and in return, he felt more confident. Helping them through the journey helped him, too.

He knew: If they’re okay, I can be okay.

The Slow Work of Finding Safety Again

The world doesn’t feel safe just because we know it is. Neurodivergent kids need repeated experiences of safety before their bodies believe it.

So we went slowly.

First, getting him comfortable simply seeing the neighborhood kids.

Then maybe waving.

Then quietly lingering while I chatted with their parents.

And eventually—over time—one real connection formed.

If you’ve read my previous posts, you already know: I truly believe divine intervention played a role in how we ended up in this house. This neighborhood is filled with the greatest, kindest, most endearing people I could have hoped for. And I'm not sure we would be where we are today without these amazing people.

Now, at 14 months in, piece by piece, the scaffolding of Liam’s world has started to rebuild.

Letting Go of What We Left Behind

There were moments I grieved the life we left.

The family who understood his sensory needs without a full explanation of why he needed breaks.

The friends who knew his rhythms and accepted them.

The routines and comfort we spent years fine-tuning.

And there are moments that I still battle with that grief to this day.

But I realized that starting over meant letting go—not of the progress he’d made, but of the environment where that progress happened.

And as parents, that’s a hard truth:

We carry the loss so they don’t have to.

The First Signs of Growth

There’s a moment you don’t realize you’re waiting for until it finally happens—the moment your child shows you the new world is starting to feel like theirs.

For us, it happened in the smallest, quietest way.

We were back on the West Coast visiting family for a graduation when Liam walked into my parents’ kitchen, looked at us, and said he was "homesick."

Homesick—but not for the house we left behind, just twenty minutes from my parents’ place —but for the new home across the country that had become his.

Not because everything was perfect.

Not because everything was easy.

But because the new world had finally stopped feeling like a threat.

His routine was solid.

His space was predictable.

His nervous system had room to relax.

And from there, the real rebuilding began.

Rebuilding Doesn’t Mean Replacing

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that starting over doesn’t wipe the slate clean. It gives your child a new landscape to grow into.

None of the skills he built before were lost.

None of his progress disappeared.

None of his strengths reset.

They were simply waiting for the soil to be 'right' again.

And slowly, in this new place, I’ve watched him:

• find neighbors who truly get him

• discover new routines that work

• build confidence in unfamiliar settings

• create friendships on his terms

• reconnect with joy

He didn’t rebuild from zero.

He rebuilt from strength.

But I also want to be honest: we’re not past all our challenges—not even close.

We’ve made one real connection here, and while that connection has been meaningful, he still needs more. He still gets anxious. He still gets uncomfortable. He still avoids trying new things whenever he can, and unfamiliar situations continue to take a lot out of him. He still misses his grandparents and cousins. Misses the life we left behind. And none of this is likely to change or improve anytime soon.

But that's okay.

We’re not done.

We’re not suddenly living a life without struggle.

We’re not on the other side of this journey.

But we are making progress—and that matters.

This is a marathon, not a sprint.

And every small moment of openness, every tiny step forward, every quiet victory tells me that even slow growth...is growth worth celebrating.

Until next time,

Vanessa 🎃✨

You don’t need to have all the answers right now. I certainly didn’t when I first started learning how to support my son, Liam. If you’re ready for guidance that understands both the science and the emotions of raising a neurodivergent child, our therapists at Parenting Autism Therapy are here for you. Many are parents of neurodivergent kids themselves—and they truly get it.

Looking for help now? Get Started Here!

Coming Next Week: When Thanksgiving Feels Overwhelming: How We Make It Easier for Our Neurodivergent Son.

Follow me on Instagram @beyondthemilestonesfam for honest autism parenting—a safe space filled with laughter, love, and the messy reality in between, where we celebrate our own timelines and support each other through the highs and lows. You're not alone here.