Come in.
Sit down.

Maverick was born on November 22, 2021.

Before autism was ever written on paper, before evaluations and therapy sessions and official diagnoses… there was just a little boy his parents were trying to understand.

And if we're honest? We knew early.

Not from one giant moment.
But from a thousand tiny ones.

• The lack of eye contact.
• The silence.
• The stimming.
• The way his name could be called over and over with no response at all.
• The flat expressions.
• The wandering.
• The feeling that he was with us… but somehow still in his own world.

There were moments that hurt in quiet ways people don't always talk about out loud.

One of Maverick's first daycare providers ran up to us one day almost emotional because he smiled.

Smiled.

Not because he had never physically smiled before. But because after months of seeing him every day, they had finally gotten one.

That's the kind of stuff autism parents carry.

• The invisible comparisons.
• The wondering.
• The ache.
• The questions you Google at 2 a.m.
• The pretending you're okay when you're not fully okay yet.

By March 2025, Maverick was officially diagnosed with autism.

But paperwork doesn't start the journey.
Parenthood does.

So we got to work.

• ABA therapy.
• Repetition.
• Encouragement.
• Patience.
• Trying again.
• And then trying again after that.

Little by little, Maverick started changing.

• More words.
• More interaction.
• More engagement.
• More personality.
• More connection.

The eloping decreased. Communication improved. His confidence started showing up before his vocabulary fully did.

And somewhere in the middle of all of this… five words changed our house forever.

At first, it was just something Mom said naturally.

Trying a new food? "Let me see you try."
A new slide at the park? "Let me see you try."
A new experience? "Let me see you try."

But then something beautiful happened.

Maverick started saying it back.

Not fully understanding how to ask a question yet, Maverick found his own way to communicate what he needed.

He would hold up a piece of fruit and say:

"Let me see you try."

What he actually meant was: "Please ask me to try."

And so we would.

"Let me see you try."

Then he'd smile, grab the fruit, and take the bite.

That phrase became more than words in our house.

• It became encouragement.
• Connection.
• Trust.
• Safety.
• Courage.

It became a bridge.

And over time, we realized something:

This phrase didn't only belong to autism. It belonged to anybody trying something hard.

• The kid learning to speak.
• The athlete proving people wrong.
• The parent exhausted but still showing up.
• The person healing.
• The student struggling.
• The adult starting over.
• The person trying again after failing publicly.

Trying is universal.

That's why this brand exists.

Not because life is easy. Not because every attempt succeeds. But because trying deserves to be seen.

And in this house?

Trying counts. 🖤