Nobody asks how you’re doing.

Everyone in your life has a plan for your child. Not one of them has a plan for you.

8 weeks. One to one. About you.

You know the exact tone of voice people use when they ask about your child, and you know that the question is never really about you.

You have a folder. Maybe three. You know what the acronyms mean now, which you didn't two years ago. You have learned to read a room full of professionals and figure out which one is actually going to help. You can hold a meeting together while your hands shake under the table.

You are extraordinarily good at this now.

And somewhere in becoming good at it, you stopped being a person who exists on her own terms. You became the manager of a case. You know your child's goals by heart and you cannot remember the last thing you wanted for yourself.

You are tired in a way that sleep does not touch.

You have been told to be consistent. You have been told to take care of yourself, usually by someone who then handed you more work. You have read that you cannot pour from an empty cup, which is a nice thing to say to a woman who has not been offered anything to drink.

And underneath it, most days, there is a quieter thing:

Maybe I'm the reason it isn't working.

I want to say this clearly, because I don't think anyone has said it to you.

You are not the reason. You were handed a plan and never handed a relationship, and then you were asked to carry the whole thing alone.

You did not fail. You were failed. And you are still in there.

What coaching looks like:

It is one hour, every week, where nobody asks you for a data sheet and nobody needs anything from you.

We talk about your exhaustion — the real kind, not the kind you're allowed to mention at pickup. We talk about the guilt, and we take it apart, because most of it does not belong to you. We talk about what you are allowed to stop carrying. We talk about who you are besides this, and whether any of her is still reachable.

By week eight, most women can name one thing that is theirs and protect it. Most can say a sentence they could not say in week one — usually a version of no, or a version of I did enough today.

That's it. That's the whole offer. It is small and it is not small at all.

What coaching does not look like:

This is not parent coaching. Parent coaching helps you parent better — one more skill to acquire, one more way to be found wanting. This is the opposite of that. Nothing here is a technique to go home and execute.

This is not therapy. I am not your therapist and I will not pretend to be. If what you're carrying needs a therapist, I will say so plainly and help you find one. There is no shame in that direction and I will not make you feel there is.

This is not about your child. He is context, not content. If you want to think out loud about him, my clinical brain is right here and you can use it. But that is not the point of the hour and I will keep bringing it back to you, even when you'd rather it stayed on him. Especially then.

Why work with me?

I'm Lauren. MS in Education, BCBA, licensed behavior analyst. Thirteen years in this world: eight as a special education teacher, five as a BCBA across clinics, homes, and telehealth.

Which means two things for you.

I already know your world. You will not spend twenty minutes explaining what an IEP is, or why the authorization thing matters, or what your BCBA meant. I have sat on both sides of that table — the teacher's chair and the clinician's chair. You can talk in shorthand and I'll keep up.

I watched this happen from the inside, over and over. A good plan, a willing mother, and nothing carrying over — and then a note in the file about parent follow-through. Nobody ever wrote down that the plan was built for a clinic and not for a Tuesday. Nobody ever asked the mother what she had left.

I left to do it differently. This is the differently.

The next eight weeks:

Week 1 — Ninety minutes on you. Your story. Not your child's. No advice, nothing assigned. For a lot of women this is the first time anyone has asked.

Week 2 — Where it's actually going. An honest look at what's draining you. Some of it will surprise you.

Week 3 — The guilt. We take it apart. We work out what's yours and what was handed to you by people who should have known better.

Week 4 — What you can put down. Not everything you're carrying is yours to carry.

Week 5 — Boundaries. With the team, the school, your family, the group chat. What to say, and how to survive saying it.

Week 6 — Who you are besides this. The part you think is gone. She isn't.

Week 7 — Something that's yours. Small, real, protected. Not a self-care checklist.

Week 8 — What holds. What you take with you when we stop.

Held loosely. If week three is on fire, we spend week three on the fire.

What is included:

  • One 90-minute opening session

  • Seven weekly 50-minute sessions

  • Messaging between sessions, weekdays, answered within one business day

  • My clinical brain available when you want it — no extra charge, no separate appointment

  • Referrals if you need something I'm not the right person for

All remote. Camera on or off; some of the best sessions happen with it off.

The Investment

$179 for the full eight weeks.

This is the founding rate. It will go up.

I've set it here on purpose, because the woman this is built for is the last person in her house to spend money on herself, and I'm not willing to let the price be the reason you don't come.

Payment plan available — just ask. It is not a big deal and you do not have to explain.

Who is this for?

$179 for the full eight weeks.

This is for you if:

  • You are the parent of an autistic child, at any stage — newly diagnosed, five years in, or somewhere in the middle

  • You have said "I'm fine" this week and it wasn't true

  • You are functioning. Doing everything. And running on nothing

  • You would like one hour that is yours

This is probably not the right fit if:

  • You are in crisis right now and need clinical mental health care — that's a therapist, and I'll help you find one

  • What you actually want is a new behavior plan for your child — that's your team, and I'd rather help you talk to them

  • You want someone to tell you what to do. I'm going to ask you what you think, and I'm going to wait

FAQ: Questions You Might Be Sitting With

I can't justify spending this on myself. I know. That's the thing we're working on, and it starts before you ever book. Let me put it plainly: you are allowed to have one hour a week. Not because it makes you a better mother — I don't want you to buy this for him. Because you are a person and you have been treating yourself as infrastructure.

Isn't this selfish? No. And I want you to notice that you asked.

What if I cry the whole time? Then you cry the whole time. Nobody has asked you in a long while. That has to go somewhere.

What if I don't know what to say? Most women don't, in week one. You've been fluent in your child for years and out of practice on yourself. That comes back faster than you'd think.

Do I have to talk about my child? Only as much as you want. Some weeks he'll be all over it. Some weeks he won't come up.

Can you help with my child's programming? I can think with you about it, and I'm qualified to. But I'm not your child's provider and this isn't therapy for him. If you need clinical services, I'll point you somewhere good.

What if I need to reschedule constantly? You will. You have a life that does not respect a calendar. We'll work it out.

Is this confidential? Yes. Nothing you say gets back to your team, your school, or anyone else.

Let’s Work Together

You have spent years learning your child's language.

Eight weeks to remember your own.