Published: April 8, 2026
Estimated reading time: 5 minutes
When Tiffany Coleman describes her 5-year-old son, Jack, her entire face lights up. He is “funny, clever, and determined” — a child whose personality fills every room he enters. Jack loves Play-Doh, cartoons, and creating little storylines with toy figurines. He is a child in motion, always climbing, running, exploring, and touching everything from sensory tiles to the nearest light switch.
According to Tiffany, when something makes Jack laugh, “His whole body joins in.”
Jack’s energy and curiosity are matched only by his unique way of experiencing the world. Jack has full-mutation fragile X syndrome and is autistic — diagnoses that have shaped the rhythms of the family’s household but have never dimmed the joy he brings into it.
Tiffany sensed early on that Jack’s development looked different. By 6 months old, he was missing certain milestones, seeking intense sensory input and showing anxiety in ways she couldn’t yet fully understand. Some behaviors were alarming, like hitting his own head or biting others.
Complicating everything was timing. Jack was born during the COVID-19 pandemic, when early intervention services were limited or delayed. Tiffany and her family waited as long as they safely could before enrolling him in Kentucky’s First Steps program. Through the program, therapists began helping Jack build skills through occupational, physical and speech therapy.
In summer 2022, Jack received a formal autism diagnosis at the Norton Children’s Development Center.
Parents naturally imagine a certain future for their children, according to Tiffany. Adjusting that vision can bring a quiet form of grief.
“Realizing that his path might be different brought grief, fear and determination all at once,” she said. “I had to let go of certain expectations and learn to celebrate progress in new ways.”
But the diagnosis also brought clarity. It didn’t change who Jack was — it simply gave the family information. Tiffany learned more about autism, sensory needs, communication differences and how anxiety shapes Jack’s behaviors. That knowledge didn’t soften the challenges, but it made them understandable.
And understanding, she said, is everything.
A typical day for the family begins early — sometimes as early as 1:30 a.m. Jack requires constant supervision for safety, so Tiffany’s day begins whenever his does. He attends applied behavior analysis therapy Monday through Friday and participates in weekly occupational and speech therapy at Norton Children’s Autism Center.
At home, the environment is built intentionally around movement and regulation. The living room might include a crash pad, a sensory swing, a ball pit or a collection of toys arranged in Jack-approved patterns. Bedtime begins with high-energy games like “Ready, Set, Go!” —because Jack needs movement to wind down, not quiet.
Even daily tasks that seem routine—haircuts, dental visits, errands, birthday parties — require planning, strategy and patience. A family visit or vacation requires weeks of preparation and social stories to help Jack anticipate the changes.
Still, Tiffany describes their routines with a sense of purpose rather than frustration. It’s their normal, shaped around what helps Jack thrive.
What Tiffany wishes strangers understood is that autistic children are often underestimated.
“Low expectations limit opportunities,” she said. “Children like Jack deserve environments that assume they can learn and grow.”
Jack is learning colors, shapes, numbers and new functional ways to play. He shows determination in every new skill and has a sense of humor that brightens the whole house.
Communication is an area where misconceptions are especially common. Jack is considered nonverbal in the conventional sense, but he uses gestalt language processing — reciting phrases or scripts he has learned to express feelings or requests. When anxiety overwhelms him, his body communicates what words cannot. These moments are not misbehavior, according to Tiffany. They are expressions of need.
Parenting Jack requires Tiffany to take on many roles: therapist, care coordinator, behavioral specialist, teacher and advocate. She worries about the future and choosing the right treatments.
“It gets heavy,” she said. “And I’ve learned that getting support for myself matters too.”
Alongside the fear and pressure are joys that many people never see. The day Jack stopped biting was monumental. Each new skill — getting his own snack, waiting his turn, steps toward potty training — feels like watching new doors open.
“Jack’s laughter, curiosity and pride when he masters something new bring incredible joy to our family,” Tiffany said.
For Tiffany, autism acceptance goes far beyond awareness.
“Awareness means knowing autism exists. Acceptance means asking, ‘What supports would make this accessible?’” Tiffany said.
Sometimes that means offering a quiet space. Sometimes it means patience. Often it means recognizing that inclusion isn’t about forcing a child to adapt to the environment. It’s about shaping the environment so everyone can belong.
Her hope for Jack is simple but profound: that the world sees his potential before his limitations, that compassion doesn’t fade as he grows older and that he is always included.
“Autism doesn’t mean less,” she said. “It simply means different. And different can still be extraordinary.”