Tenishia Vanderpool

It started with a phone call — one I’d honestly stopped expecting.. They told me my son’s name had finally come up on the waitlist for services. We had put his name down over a year ago, after his autism diagnosis.

A year.
That’s how long it took for his name to reach the top of the list.

The Diagnosis

In September 2024, my son was diagnosed with Autism Level 3 — indicating that he would need some pretty extensive supports. At the time, he was nonverbal, using fewer than five words consistently.

It was really confusing, because at just ten months old, he had been able to tell us he was hungry, ask for food, and even say “Mom” and “Dad.” He was using whole phrases! Then, almost suddenly, those words were gone.

Even though I have a Master’s in Psychology — even though I specialized in Child and Adolescent Developmental Psychology, even though I knew the signs — hearing it confirmed hit me hard.

I spiraled for a bit, trying to figure out what was best for my son and our family, and man where those first few months heavy.
Appointments. Evaluations. New terminology. New worries.

And to make things more complex — we were living in rural Alaska.

To get to therapy sessions, I had to fly an hour to Anchorage and stay there for a week at a time. That was manageable for a diagnosis, but once we learned how intensive his therapy schedule would need to be — weeks of speech, occupational, and physical therapy — it stopped being realistic.

I had a full-time job I loved, kids in school, and a husband deeply involved in helping his parents on the homestead. Me being gone for weeks at a time wasn’t feasible.

And the waitlists…
Speech therapy alone? Eighteen months.

Early intervention is supposed to be key, but how do you intervene early when you’re stuck waiting for a year and a half?

So, we made the hardest — and most necessary — choice: we packed up our lives and moved from rural Alaska to Washington.

Why Washington? We wanted to stay in the Pacific Northwest, close to family but ready to start fresh. We connected with the Early Head Start program, and even before we moved, they had my son’s name on their list.

I started applying for jobs, and everything began to fall into place.

We arrived in Washington on November 11th.
By November 25th, my son started Early Head Start.
By December 2nd, he had speech and occupational therapy.

By February, he was saying new words and using signs.
He had friends. He smiled for the camera.
He made eye contact.
And somehow — he’s learning Spanish. Like what?!

If we had stayed in Alaska, he would still be waiting.
Here, he’s thriving.

That’s what I remind myself on the hard days — the days when I just want to be back home. Tenishia, your son is HAPPY! Your son is THRIVING!

New Soil

When I look back now, I see how much this move wasn’t just about geography — it was about growth.

Uprooting ourselves from Alaska wasn’t easy. My oldest daughter is still in Alaska living with her grandparents until she graduates high school. I wish she was here. And there are still days when I ache for the quiet, for the snow, my woodstove, for the closeness of home. But this new soil — as unfamiliar as it felt at first — is where we’re beginning to grow again

Here, my son is finding his voice.
Here, our family is learning new rhythms.
And here, I’m discovering what it means to build a life that nurtures all of who we are.

This new season feels like preparing rich, nourishing soil — turning over what no longer serves us, adding what strengthens us, and creating the right conditions for roots to take hold. I’m learning that growth doesn’t happen instantly. It begins quietly, beneath the surface, in soil that’s been tended with care, patience, and love. And when the roots are strong, what rises above the ground is resilient, vibrant, and ready to bloom.