My Daughter’s Diagnosis Changed The Way I See The World— & What I Expect From It

When my daughter was diagnosed with a rare brain condition called polymicrogyria, I did what I think a lot of moms would do in the same position: I went into research mode. It felt safer to stay busy than to sit with how scared I really was. I made spreadsheets. I found specialists. I learned about therapies I’d never heard of. I listened to every piece of advice I could find and tried to follow it all.

What didn’t cross my mind was to worry about how the world would treat her. We knew her as our hilarious, curious, sweet Junie. That was her whole identity to me. It didn’t occur to me that people might not see what we saw. But that realization came pretty quickly.

Maybe it was how frequently people asked why she couldn’t talk. Maybe it was a well-intentioned teacher who told me she wasn’t relating to her classmates in an “age-appropriate” way. That’s when it hit me: She wasn’t just going to be navigating her own differences, she was going to be doing it in a world that wasn’t designed with her in mind. And that was a really hard thing to sit with. It still is.

Because once that door opened, I couldn’t unsee it. The milestones that come with caveats. The feeling that I need to ‘explain’ her to someone new. The anxiety before heading into a playdate or restaurant that it wasn’t going to go well. I started wondering: is this going to be forever? Will every classroom, every birthday party, every playground bring with it another reminder that she’s not fitting someone else’s version of “typical”? And, honestly, my daughter is low-support needs. You might not notice that she’s neurodivergent when you meet her. She presents fairly typically other than her speech delay and some behavioral issues. I imagined what these same situations must be like for parents of higher support needs kids. Or adults who have had to do this their whole lives.

I knew we weren’t alone. I had met so many families through our therapy groups. Parents, siblings, grandparents all trying to navigate this same blurry terrain. We were all making decisions that felt bigger than us about surgeries, school placements, therapies, that were both meticulously researched but also somehow felt like guesses. With conditions like PMG, and with many forms of neurodivergence, you don’t always get a clear prognosis. You make the best decisions you can with the information you have and try to hold the rest loosely.

It’s this impossible balance: doing everything in your power to support your kid while also trying not to over-schedule them, stress them out, or make them feel like a project. You want them to have the best shot. But you also want them to have a childhood. And you definitely don’t want them to feel like they’re fragile or broken.

It’s exhausting. The appointments, the evaluations, the weekly sessions. It all becomes a cycle of “what they can’t do yet,” or “what we’re still working on.” And in the middle of all that, I started to notice something else: how much joy and celebration there actually was in our community. The therapists who cheered every small win like it was a major breakthrough. The parents who noticed the tiniest progress and shared it like good gossip. I saw a community overflowing with love, humor, resilience, and fight.

And I thought: where’s the pride movement for this community? Where are the messages that say: you don’t need to change to be worthy? Not just more support groups. Not just better services (though we need those too). But a culture shift. A visibility shift. A way to say: we exist, we matter, we shine.

I sat on this for a while, because being a mom to three kids is a full-time job. I was an entrepreneur before. I built my company over 15 years and intentionally left to be home with the kids. Could I really do it again, and did I even have the right to do it? I’m not neurodivergent myself. But I am a mom who wants something better for her kid. And if I want my daughter to grow up in a world where she feels seen, safe, and celebrated, maybe part of that work is mine to do.

That’s what led me to create Radiant Minds — a streetwear brand inspired by neurodivergent brilliance. Not just for kids like my daughter, but for the teens, adults, siblings, and allies who are tired of hiding the most interesting parts of themselves to be accepted. It’s not about blending in. It’s for every person that’s been called “too much” and wants to show up fully. Exactly as they are.

And honestly, starting it has changed how I parent – not just Junie, but all of my kids. I care less about a predetermined path and more about helping each of my kids carve out their own journey, based on their own strengths and passions. I want them in situations where they can be most themselves, and I’m getting better at knowing how each needs to be supported differently. I’m more interested in what lights them up, how they feel, what they need to thrive.

It’s still hard sometimes. I still have moments on the playground or in school meetings where I feel the sting of how different our experience is from most families’. But I also feel something else: purpose. I feel clearer than ever on what I want to model for my kids—not just resilience, but pride.

Heather Kauffman is a two-time purpose-driven founder, mom to 3 humans and a dog, and resides in Larchmont, NY. When she’s not managing therapy schedules, carpooling to sports and growing Radiant Minds, she loves working out, cooking and reading. Check out the initial collection from Radiant Minds and follow them on Instagram @radiant__minds