A Parent-Scientist’s Journey into Sensory Processing I can still smell it if I try: antiseptic, warmed plastic, that oddly sweet hospital air that clings to your clothes after midnight. The waiting room is always the same: fluorescent lights, vending-machine hum, the little beep-beep-beep that makes your chest tighten even when it’s not your kid on the monitor. If you’re reading this as a parent, here’s the honest version: I didn’t learn “sensory processing” from a textbook

A Parent-Scientist’s Journey into Sensory Processing I can still smell it if I try: antiseptic, warmed plastic, that oddly sweet hospital air that clings to your clothes after midnight. The waiting room is always the same: fluorescent lights, vending-machine hum, the little beep-beep-beep that makes your chest tighten even when it’s not your kid on the monitor. If you’re reading this as a parent, here’s the honest version: I didn’t learn “sensory processing” from a textbook

When we first discovered the power of co-regulation, it wasn’t in a clinic—it was in our kitchen, with a loud blender and a frazzled morning. A steady hand on the back. Matching breaths. Lowering the lights. No lectures, no “use your words”—just nervous system to nervous system, bringing Phoebe back from the edge (Ruttenberg, 2025).

When Phoebe was 18 months old, our family left a series of appointments armed with new labels—autism, ADHD, intractable epilepsy—but few answers (Ruttenberg, 2025). While people spoke kindly, the subtext felt like a polite apology for a future that hadn’t started yet. My wife Suzy and I sat with two kinds of fear, but looking at Phoebe’s intense gaze and sense of humor, we promised to parent the child we had, not a brochure version of who she was supposed to be.

Parenting a child who doesn't fit the mold can feel like standing at the edge of a cliff—equal parts fear and excitement, with a spectacular view if only the fog lifts. When our daughter Phoebe received her diagnoses of autism, ADHD, and intractable epilepsy at 18 months, a chorus of specialists lined up to deliver a symphony of warnings, caveats, and low expectations. But they missed something vital: this wasn't the start of a tragedy—it was the beginning of our family's rev

Read a portion of the prologue and learn more about the upcoming book here

Ever wonder what happens when autistic or neurodivergent adults feel forced to hide their true selves? Masking isn’t just emotionally exhausting—it has real, measurable health impacts that wearable tech is helping to expose.

Two weeks ago, COVID-19 put me flat on the couch. Between bouts of fever I kept replaying a scene from earlier this year: scrolling through an unpublished NIH funding announcement for the Autism Data Science Initiative (ADSI)—before NIH had officially released it. The document, labeled OTA-25-006, outlined a $50 million pot, a lightning-fast 30-day application window, and a review process run largely inside NIH.

The recent tragic shooting at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) in Atlanta is the clearest warning yet that health misinformation is more than a nuisance—it is lethal. The shooter’s misguided fury was fueled by persistent anti-vaccine conspiracies, including the long-discredited myth falsely linking vaccines to autism. Decades of rigorous scientific research have thoroughly debunked this claim, yet it continues to cause destruction in families and communiti