No One Is Coming. You Have to Save Yourself.

No One Is Coming. You Have to Save Yourself.

Growing up, me was no picnic.

I was the middle child of five, painfully shy, raised by a father who terrified me and a mother who was physically, mentally, and emotionally abusive. On top of that, I was bullied every day at school.

In my darkest hours, I imagined a superhero or a strong adult swooping in to save me from this life.

I remember having that same thought for the last time in middle school during my chemistry class. The teacher had us hold hands with a student sitting next to us to show how atoms fire together. Of course, I was seated next to a kid who constantly picked on me.

As we did the exercise, he started making pig noises, and the class erupted in laughter.

My mind was screaming out for help from that imaginary person.
And then I heard a new voice:

“No one is coming. You have to save yourself.”

Instinctively, I dug my nails into his hand. He screamed, ripped his hand from mine, and ran out of the classroom.

He never messed with me again.

At 18, I made the difficult decision to leave home. I had no money, no plan, but I knew I needed to get away from my mother. The night before I left, she proclaimed, “You’ll be back.”

I looked her dead in the eyes and said, “I am never coming back.”

I didn’t.

But life didn’t suddenly get easier.

I worked two jobs and barely made enough to survive. I quit college and, at my lowest point, drove around in my car with no insurance and wrote a check for food I knew would bounce.

Even then, that voice stayed with me:

“No one is coming. You have to save yourself.”

Slowly but surely, I turned my life around.

For most people, those challenges might define their life in a negative way. For me, they became fuel—a fire that drove me to destroy roadblock after roadblock.

They made me tough as nails.

A master problem solver.

Not just for what I’d been through, but for every challenge that came my way.

Fast forward to December 18, 2014. Life was finally steady. I was married with two kids. That day, the psychologist came to my home and delivered news that shattered everything I thought I knew:

My two-year-old daughter, Julianna, was diagnosed with autism.

At that moment, my only frame of reference for autism was Rain Man, a movie from the ’80s about two brothers—one of them autistic, needing forever care in a group home.

One pivotal scene burned itself into my memory: the younger brother running a bath for his autistic brother, Raymond. The act triggered Raymond’s memory of burning his brother with scalding water as a child. That event led to his removal from their home.

As the psychologist left my house that day, that scene replayed in my mind.

“Bye-bye, Rain Man.”

And then, another thought hit:

“Bye-bye, Julianna. Bye-bye, us.”

I was terrified. My heart raced with panic at the vision of what her life—and ours—might become.

The old me wanted to retreat, to wait for someone to come and save us.

But then that same voice from middle school screamed through the fear:

“No one is coming. You have to save yourself. You have to save her.”

Still, I struggled for months, grieving the typical childhood I thought Julianna would live. I grieved the future I had imagined for her, for us.

One night, as I tucked my babies into bed, I caught my reflecton in the mirror.

A new thought flashed across my mind, one that would define the rest of my life:

“I’m going to die one day. Who will care for her when I’m gone?”

Between these two powerful thoughts—“No one is coming” and “Who will care for her?”—I realized I couldn’t afford to sit in grief and hope things would change.


I had to be the catalyst.


I’m a God-fearing woman, and I believe that when my time comes, I’ll stand in front of the gates of heaven and God will play back the reel of my life.

Would I like what He showed me on how I showed up as a mother?

The answer was no—unless I changed, unless I acted.

Shortly after I was sitting in my office in front of my computer searching for help.

My mother-in-law poked her head in and asked if I was alright.

“No, I’m not alright, but Julianna couldn’t have a better mother to figure this out.”

That certainty didn’t come from knowledge about autism – I had none. It didn’t come from any special education background or therapy training. It came from a lifetime of turning devastation into determination.

When I started searching for someone who could help get my daughter to an independent life, I couldn’t find what I was looking for.

So I became her.

Even without knowing what I could do or where to start, I swung for the fences.

Whether or not I made a dent in helping my daughter get the skills she needed to live an independent life became inconsequential.

What mattered was that I showed up as the mother she deserved, no matter the outcome.

The action I took wasn’t for her—it was for me.

My entire life, I’ve turned devastation into determination.

Every time I went hungry, I learned resourcefulness.

Every time I faced abuse, I developed steel nerves.

Every time I had to survive, I built resilience.

All that pain was training for this moment.

The pain YOU’VE survived isn’t your weakness. It’s YOUR hidden strength.

YOUR past didn’t break you. It built YOU.


YOUR past pain isn’t just baggage YOU carry. Those struggles weren’t just shit YOU survived. They were training for this moment.

Every hardship that didn’t break you built something in you that your child needs right now.

No one’s coming to save them. But you’re here. And trust me – you’re exactly the fighter they need.

Xo Michelle

P.S.

Do you feel like you’re stuck in survival mode, unsure how to navigate the challenges autism throws your way?

I can help you turn your pain into power.

Let’s have a conversation about how to use the resilience you’ve built to create breakthrough results for your child with autism working together in my group coaching program. Click here to book your complimentary consult call.

Michelle B. Rogers is an Autism Mom & Life Coach for Parents of Children with Autism. She is an expert in helping parents Potty Train and Improve the Communication Skills of their children, with a "straight forward" results-driven approach. Her mission is helping every child with Autism to reach their greatest potential by empowering their parents. She provides Autism Parents with the mental, emotional and tactical tools and strategies to help their child live as independent of a life as possible so they too get their independence back.

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