There was a time when I felt like I needed the right words, the right explanations, and the right labels to help others understand. I thought that if I could just explain things clearly enough, people would be more patient, more compassionate, more willing to pause instead of judge.
But along the way, I learned something important:
Understanding doesn’t always come from labels.
I’ve stood in public spaces feeling the weight of unspoken judgment, wishing understanding came more easily.
As a single mother, we needed items from the store for our home. We walked through the store without any problems. Then came the dreaded checkout. We never knew what the trigger was, but a meltdown happened every time. No amount of preparation, explanation, or bribery ever helped.
Standing strong, I placed my items on the grocery belt as the screaming began. I focused on taking intentional, slow breaths to keep my composure, fully aware that the entire front end of the store was watching. My loved one was thrashing in the cart—kicking, hitting himself, still screaming.
The cashier was almost finished ringing up our items, and I could see the finish line. I felt proud of myself for holding it together while an audience watched in silence.
Then a woman stepped forward. She placed her hand gently on my shoulder and said, “You’re doing a great job.”
That was all it took.
My composure dissolved, and tears streamed down my face. I shakily paid and left the store. By the time we reached the car, the meltdown had stopped. The groceries were loaded. I sat there and cried, finally letting it all go.
In that moment, understanding didn’t come from labels—it came from compassion.
Labels can be helpful. They can open doors to services, accommodations, and conversations. They can give language to experiences that once felt isolating. But labels don’t tell the whole story of a loved one—and they were never meant to.
Every loved one carries their own combination of strengths, challenges, sensitivities, and needs. Two loved ones may share the same diagnosis and still experience the world in entirely different ways. One may need quiet. Another may need movement. One may struggle with communication. Another may struggle with being misunderstood.
When we rely too heavily on labels, we risk missing the loved one right in front of us.
Meeting someone where they are means slowing down long enough to notice what this moment requires. It means listening—sometimes without words. It means recognizing that support doesn’t look the same from one loved one to the next, and that’s okay.
For families and caregivers, this often becomes second nature. We learn to read subtle cues. We learn what helps and what harms. We learn that progress isn’t linear and that “good days” and “hard days” can exist side by side. What others may see as inconsistency is often adaptation, resilience, and care in action.
For the broader community, meeting loved ones where they are can be as simple as offering patience instead of pressure, space instead of stares, understanding instead of assumptions. Compassion doesn’t require full understanding—just a willingness to pause and see the person in front of you.
At Infinity Pathways, we intentionally move away from symbols and narratives that reduce loved ones to a single idea or expectation. Our goal is not to categorize or define, but to acknowledge the wide range of ways people experience the world. We believe dignity comes from being seen as a whole person, not a label.
Understanding without labels doesn’t mean ignoring differences. It means honoring them without letting them define a loved one’s worth or limit their potential. It means choosing compassion even when we don’t fully understand—and especially when we don’t.
Because when we meet loved ones where they are, we create space for connection. And in that space, understanding has room to grow.
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