What happens when a thriving six-year-old suddenly stops speaking—and no medical explanation can be found?
Years ago, I worked with a homeschooling family I came to care about deeply: the Roberts family. They had chosen to home educate their daughters from the very beginning, creating a home filled with warmth, structure, and intentionality.
I first met them during a difficult season of uncertainty surrounding their oldest daughter, Giana.
Not long before our first meeting, Giana had experienced an unexplained medical episode in her sleep. Her mother, Riley—a skilled and attentive nurse—pursued every avenue she could think of. Specialists were consulted. Tests were run. But no clear answers ever emerged.
What was clear was that something profound had changed.
The bright, engaging six-year-old who had once seemed ready to begin formal academics had suddenly stopped speaking.
Giana had already faced physical challenges since birth, including scoliosis and mild cerebral palsy affecting one foot. Even so, she had always been vibrant and expressive. Her younger sister, Ellie, was developing typically and was even somewhat advanced in several areas.
When Riley first brought the girls to my home, Ellie happily disappeared into the dollhouse and preschool toys while Giana and I worked through developmental screening activities together.
At the time, Riley was understandably eager to help Giana begin learning to read. But I felt we needed to slow down.
Before phonics worksheets or spelling lessons, I wanted to focus on something more foundational: communication.
Until Giana could reliably express her needs, discomforts, thoughts, or joys, it was difficult to know what she understood—or how she was experiencing the world around her.
Over several visits, Riley and I gradually shifted our priorities. Instead of focusing primarily on reading and writing goals, we concentrated on communication, personal interaction, following directions, self help skills and supporting the progress already being made through physical therapy.
We met less often over time, but each visit revealed meaningful growth.
Then something unexpected happened.
Eventually, Riley decided to use the same phonics-based reading program she had previously used with Ellie to begin teaching Giana to read. I’ll admit—I was skeptical. Given Giana’s unique challenges, I wasn’t convinced the program would be a good fit.
But I was wrong.
One day, seemingly out of nowhere, Giana picked up a marker and wrote a word on a dry erase board.
Perfectly spelled.
Then another.
And another.
Before long, she was answering questions using single written words spread across pages of dry erase boards and paper. No one had explicitly taught many of these words in isolation. Somehow, she simply knew them.
About fifteen core written words became her bridge for communicating with the people she loved most.
I can only say:
All glory to God on that one.
But during my time with the Roberts family, I noticed something else too.
Riley and her husband were loving, thoughtful, deeply devoted parents. They handled extraordinary challenges with grace and consistency. Yet like many families caring for a child with significant needs, much of the household energy naturally flowed toward the child in crisis.
Hospital visits, therapies, uncertainty, and exhaustion take priority because they have to.
And often, the quieter needs within a family become harder to see.
Ellie’s needs were not ignored intentionally. This is simply one of the realities many families face when one child requires intensive care or support.
That experience reinforced something important for me as a consultant.
Whenever possible, I try to spend a few intentional moments with siblings, too. A little focused attention—eye contact, curiosity about their interests, genuine affirmation—can matter more than we realize.
Small moments often plant important seeds.
If your family is walking a similar road, you are not alone. There is hope, and there is help.
If this story resonates with you and your family needs support navigating learning differences, communication challenges, or homeschooling concerns, I would be honored to come alongside you.
You can reach me at:
- 971-515-9760
- homeschoolspecialed.pm@gmail.com