Lora: Welcome to Mars

If you’re the parent of a child with special needs—especially a child on the autism spectrum—chances are someone has handed you the essay Welcome to Holland by Emily Perl Kingsley. It’s practically a rite of passage, often offered by well-meaning doctors, therapists, or fellow parents. The metaphor is simple: having a child with a disability is like planning a trip to Italy, but your plane lands in Holland instead. You didn’t expect it, but Holland has tulips and Rembrandts and windmills. It’s beautiful in its own way, just… different.

I understand why this essay resonates with so many. It’s gentle. It’s hopeful. It helps people cope in the early, raw stages of diagnosis when all you can feel is disorientation and grief for the expectations you once had.

But let’s be honest: Holland is not just a different destination. For many of us, it’s a harder, more expensive, more isolating journey. It doesn’t just require a change of mindset; it demands sacrifices that are rarely acknowledged in that tidy little metaphor.

No one mentions that going to Holland might cost ten times more than going to Italy. That you might have to quit your job, or take part-time work, to shuttle your child to therapy appointments five days a week. That public school might not be equipped—or willing—to educate your child in the way that he deserves, and that you may find yourself suddenly becoming a full-time advocate, a behavior technician, and eventually, a homeschool teacher. None of that fits on a Hallmark card.

The essay also doesn’t talk about the loneliness. Friends stop calling. Birthday party invitations are rare. You’re no longer in sync with your peer group—career-wise, socially, emotionally. You’re navigating a different country, yes—but also without a tour guide, a map, or even consistent government support.

Do I love my child fiercely? Absolutely. He is bright, funny, complex, and constantly teaching me things I never would have understood without him. But that love doesn’t erase the toll this journey has taken on my career or my own mental health. I shouldn’t have to choose between being honest about that and being a “good” parent. Both can be true at the same time.

So maybe what we need isn’t just a new essay. Maybe we need more honest conversations. Not just about the beauty of Holland, but about the cost of the detour—financial, emotional, and otherwise. Maybe we need to make space for the whole story: the tulips and the turbulence. Maybe we need to acknowledge that it isn’t just being detoured to another European city, but to another planet. 

Because we’re not just travelers on a surprise vacation. We’re navigating an entirely different landscape, often without a guide, and usually on our own dime.

And that deserves more than a metaphor.