Let me tell you something real, mama to mama—this is not just another crunchy detox post. This is my story. My heartbreak. My fight. My redemption. And if you’re here reading this, I’m betting you’re in the middle of it too.
There was a moment—crystal clear—when I realized I had been waiting. Waiting for someone to tell me I was right. Waiting for permission to go against the grain. Waiting for a doctor, a therapist, someone in a white coat to validate what
There was a time when I sat staring at an intake packet, one that promised “help” for my son. A form that, once mailed in, would officially set us on a path I knew deep down wasn’t ours to take. The speech and occupational therapists insisted—he has autism. They saw the headbanging, the meltdowns that could shake the walls, the food refusals that turned mealtimes into battles.
Pure & Simple
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