The Spectrum

Episode 1: “Same Street, Different World”
Two families. One neighborhood. Both raise sons diagnosed with autism in 1996—but their journeys unfold in drastically different ways. In this opening episode of The Spectrum, we explore the early signs, emotional toll, and quiet sacrifices of parenting children on opposite ends of the autism spectrum—and the societal forces that embrace one story while overlooking the other.

Transcript

0:11

Welcome back to Take Care Time, the Tells and the Exhales of Caregivers. Am your host Beverly Nance. Autism or autism Spectrum disorder is a complex neurological and developmental condition that affects how a person communicates processes, information, interacts with others, and experiences the world. It's called a spectrum because no two people experience it the same way. Some may need significant support in daily life, while others live independently, but still face challenges with social interaction sensory processing, or routines. Autism is not a disease. It's a different way of being and it's lifelong. The goal isn't to fix. But to understand, support and include those who live with it. In 19 96, 2 families, just four doors and across the street apart from each other, welcomed baby boys into the world. Both boys would eventually be diagnosed with autism, but how their stories unfolded couldn't be more different. One family will be celebrated for their advocacy. The other quietly overwhelmed and largely forgotten. This is a story about how autism lives in the headlines and in the shadows. This is the spectrum. In a new development on the edge of Atlanta, two families settle in just weeks apart, James and Michelle Martin move into their new two story brick home with their daughter Riley, age two. Daniel and Karen Sadler move in down the block with their daughter Maya, also age two both families have babies on the way. They don't know each other yet, but their lives are about to run parallel and slowly, painfully apart. November 2nd, 1996, Sean Martin is born. December's 18th, 1996. Greg. Sadler arrives six weeks early. Sean is a quiet baby. Alert, serious. Greg is fussier colicky. Hard to soothe. Both mothers jot down milestones, both sense things that don't quite fit, and both at first keep their feelings to themselves. Sean lines up his toy trains by color cries when his routine is disrupted. He knows the names of all 50 states by the age of two, but doesn't answer to his name. Greg Flaps his hands constantly avoids eye contact, doesn't speak, doesn't point. He covers his ears and rocks in the corner when the microwave beeps. At the pediatrician Michelle brings up Sean's quirks. She's told he's advanced, maybe gifted. Karen raises her concerns too. She's told. Waited it out. One summer evening, the neighborhood hosted cookout amid the grills, burgers, and backyard sprinklers, Michelle and Karen finally meet. Both are holding boys who recoil at the noise. Although Sean speaks a little bit more than Greg, neither child really talks. Sean says some words, neither plays with the others. Karen says, my son doesn't talk either. Michelle replies. Mine screams when I sing. They both laugh, but their weariness is in their eyes that night. Under the flicker of cent candles, they talk about speech delays, sensory meltdowns, and how other moms just don't get it. They swap doctor names, share laminated routines, hope flickers between them. By age three, both boys are diagnosed with autism. Seans label is high functioning. Greg's diagnosis includes the phrase requires full assistance in all areas of life. The Martin family begins early intervention. Michelle throws herself into research enrolling Sean in a BA. OT and speech. Karen does the same, but Greg's progress is agonizingly slow. He doesn't respond to prompts, doesn't imitate. He sleeps in 90 minute stretches and no one, not even specialists, can explain what to expect. Both mothers cry, but one is told he can still have a great life. The other hears, you'll need to think long-term care. The diagnosis are just the beginning. The ripple effects invade every corner of their lives. For the Sadlers, life becomes isolation. They stop attending church because Greg screams through the hymns. They decline. Birthday party invites. A beach trip ends in disaster. When Greg runs into the ocean, fully clothed and bites the lifeguard trying to stop him. Karen hasn't had a full night's sleep in five years. Daniel picks up weekend shifts just to cover therapies. Maya, their daughter, learns how to unlock bathroom doors in case her mother collapses from exhaustion. We don't vacation. We don't go eat out Our joy became managed survival. The Martins face a different kind of grief. Sean while high functioning doesn't have friends. He knows Star Wars trivia, but can't navigate a playground conversation. Other kids tolerate him, rarely include him. Michelle watches him sit alone. At recess, people say we're lucky because he talks a little, but what good is talking if no one listens? James quietly begins to avoid home after work. The weight of fatherhood feels heavier than he expected. At age 10. Sean delivers a speech during Autism Awareness month. His teacher calls him brilliant. A local reporter runs a feel good story. Meet Sean Martin, an amazing kid with autism. That same month, Greg is suspended from his special ed classroom providing a teacher. Karen receives a letter, behavioral plan revision. Recommended no spotlight. Just paperwork and silence. Riley. Martin becomes a brother's voice. She explains his quirks to classmates. She proudly wears a autism sister T-shirt to school assemblies. Maya Satler becomes invisible. She plays quietly, fights at school. Once tells a counselor, no one ever asks me how I'm doing. They only ask if my brother is still broken. In middle school, Sean is diagnosed with Asperger's. Michelle embraces it. It explains him in a way the world understands Greg is labeled severe. The school files say nonverbal. Karen says they act like that means non feeling at a community autism walk. Sean carries the banner. Greg stays in the car with noise canceling headphones For most children, high school graduation is a milestone marked by celebration, but for families of children with autism, especially those on the more profound end of the spectrum, it marks something else. The cliff at age 22 or earlier in some states, students with disabilities age out of the public school system and the services structure and support that came with it often disappear overnight. What was once a predictable routine becomes a daily question. Now what for the Saddlers, Greg's transition wasn't into adulthood. It was into a system that felt unprepared to catch him. For the Martins. Even with Sean's strengths, there was no clear path. Just uncertainty forms, and long waiting lists. Sean now 23 lives at home. He volunteers at the library and runs a YouTube channel on vintage computers. Greg lives in a group home with two other adults and a full-time aide. He doesn't speak, still doesn't sleep through the night, still hums when he is anxious and sometimes when he's happy. One boy's future was shaped by support, visibility, and patience. The other by endurance, exhaustion, and silence. Before Sean was born, Michelle planned to go back to grad school. She wanted to study psychology. Maybe open her own small counseling practice, but between Sean's appointments, IEP meetings and the endless energy required to decode his social world, her textbooks gathered dust in a tote under the stairs. I told myself it was just a pause. Michelle's later said, but the years passed and I became Sean's advocate, his translator that became my identity. James once a weekend guitar player in a small band sold his collection of amps and strings one spring to pay for out of network therapy. He never said it out loud, but he stopped writing songs. It felt indulgent. He told a friend, there's no room for hobbies when your kid needs 10 different specialists. For Karen Satler, the cost was more than a career. It was herself. She taught her quilting classes at a local art center before Greg was born and after his diagnosis. She never returned. I tried once, she said, left halfway through the class because Greg bit through the babysitter's sleeve. Daniel had dreamed of opening his own landscaping business. He had a logo, a business plan, but insurance didn't cover Greg's feeding therapy and every dollar had to stretch, so he stayed in his warehouse job nights and weekends, clocking in on overtime while his body aged twice as fast. You give up your dreams. Karen once said, because it's the only way to protect theirs. Autism doesn't follow one path. It branches into diagnosis, into confusion, into isolation, and sometimes into unexpected connection. For the Martins and the Saddlers, their stories began on the same street. Over time. The world responded to their sons in very different ways, highlighting how the autism spectrum is more than a diagnosis. It is a reflection of what society chooses to support, what it overlooks and who it uplifts, and in that gap, so many families are left to figure it out alone. If you're parenting your child on the spectrum, whether newly diagnosed or years into the journey, you don't have to do it alone. Join our private Facebook group Caregiving Life by Take Care of Time. It's a safe judgment free space to share stories, ask questions, and connect with others who understand the weight and the wonder of this life. You can also explore books like Uniquely Human by Barry Prizant Or visit the resource hub@autismspeaks.org for toolkits support and local services. Hey, caregiver. You show up every single day, whether anyone sees it or not. That's why we created the take Care of Time Respite Box, a bimonthly box filled with self-care surprises, designed to help caregivers like you pause, breathe, and feel seen. From calming teas and journals to sensory friendly treats and reminders that you matter too. This box isn't about fixing everything. It's about giving you a moment because rest isn't a reward, it's a right. Subscribe or gift one today@takecaretime.com. Do you have a story that you would like to have told? We'd love to hear from you. Contact us at podcast@takecaretime.com. Next time on the spectrum, we shift the spotlight to the siblings. Riley and Maya were just kids when their brothers were diagnosed, but in their own way. They became caregivers, protectors, and emotional translators, long before they even knew how to spell autism. In episode two, we explore what it means to grow up in a shadow of a diagnosis and how sisters often carry the stories no one thinks to ask about. Please note that this episode features reenactments and dramatized details. While in most cases the exact verbatim dialogue may not be known, all dramatizations are grounded in thorough research and crafted to honor the stories shared to respect the privacy and confidentiality of the individuals involved Names and some identifying details have been changed. Until next week, take care.