Monica Meyer

Welcome to my consulting services, where years of diverse experience and deep insights come together to meet your unique needs. With a lifetime of expertise, I provide tailored consulting for employers hiring or considering hiring individuals with neurodiversity or intellectual disabilities, as well as job coaches who support them. My services include specialized training focused on creating a more inclusive workplace and improving both employee and customer service through Universal Design for Learning principles.

As the parent of an adult with autism and an intellectual disability, I also offer valuable personal experience and knowledge to families and guardians. I am here to support you with resources and guidance as you navigate the service system and plan for the future. Together, we can create more inclusive, supportive environments for all.

What’s new with Michael?

It’s been a heavy few days—full of grief, reflection, and the kind of emotional weight that lingers.

I recently learned that Mark, a man with Down Syndrome who had been a part of my sister’s life since childhood, passed away. Mark’s sister Mary lovingly took over his care after their parents passed. His health had been declining for a bit but even knowing that didn’t soften the blow. His death hit me especially hard—perhaps because I, too, am the parent of an adult son with autism and an intellectual disability.

Over the past couple of years, my daughter Mollie and I have been navigating some very difficult conversations about the future—about what happens when I’m no longer here. These are not easy discussions. They’re emotional, exhausting, and sometimes paralyzing. I’ve told myself that at 65, I still have time—that my health and energy are still with me. But this week shattered that illusion.

A dear friend of mine, someone I admired deeply for her resilience and strength, passed away suddenly. She was just shy of her 60th birthday. A massive stroke took her life in an instant. She was a proud mother of two, a doting grandmother of three, a creative spirit, and a force of nature who refused to be defined by her battle with Multiple Sclerosis. Despite the setbacks MS brought her, she filled her good days with joy, projects, and purpose. And in our friendship, we always picked up right where we left off, no matter how long it had been.

Her passing was a shock. It jolted me into a painful awareness that life can change—end—without warning. And with that came a renewed urgency. I’m suddenly more aware of how fragile my role is in Michael’s life, how much he depends on me, and how difficult it is to plan for the unknown.

Michael’s medical journey has never been simple. His seizure disorder is intractable and dangerous. He’s suffered broken bones, concussions, and now faces an even more serious challenge: a Chiari Malformation Type 1. Neurosurgery is scheduled for late August. As his mom, it breaks me to think about what he’ll endure. How do I explain to him that we’re returning to a hospital—an environment he associates with pain and fear—for a surgery that will likely leave him with the worst headache of his life? If I could trade places with him, take on that pain myself, I would without hesitation.

And yet, I remain cautiously hopeful. If this procedure brings him relief—fewer headaches, fewer drop seizures, and more stability—it will be worth every ounce of anxiety I feel now.

Last night, on our usual Thursday night outing, I found myself holding back tears. That crushing sense of sorrow came over me—wanting nothing more than to shield him from all of it. And still, we carry on. Together.

To all the parents out there—especially those raising children or adults with medically complex conditions—I see you. I feel your fear, your fatigue, your fierce love. And I want you to know that you’re not alone.

May you find peace in your day, even just a moment of it. And may you know that your strength, though it may feel invisible, is profound.

—Monica