How our Language Developed

“Will my child ever really talk to me?”

It’s the question that haunted me most.

My son had words—but they weren’t his. They were borrowed scripts from TV shows and video games. Endless loops like:
“It’s-a me, Mario!”
…the entire Thomas the Tank Engine theme song…
…and a British-accented, “By the way, that’s a toad, not a frog,” from his favorite, Kipper the Dog.

But not once did he say “Mom.”
Not once did he ask for water.
Not once did he use language to connect.

If you’re living in that world right now, please hear me: you’re not alone, and it doesn’t have to stay this way.

A Head Full of Words, Not One for Connection

By age four, my son echoed everything but real communication. He repeated PBS shows, mimicked commercials, and recited scripts on a loop from sunup to sundown.

When he wanted something? He screamed until we guessed right. Or dragged me by the hand—using my body as a tool to open doors or grab what he couldn’t reach.

Every day was a cycle of heartbreak, frustration, and exhaustion.

I remember lying awake, wondering:
Will he ever call me Mom?
Will he ever tell me what he’s feeling?
Will I ever really know him?

When We Started Detoxing

Everything changed when we began detoxing heavy metals using the Andy Cutler Chelation (ACC) protocol.

It wasn’t overnight. But every round brought a new layer of progress—like watching words come to life:

1. Playful twists. His scripts turned funny. When his brother made a mess, he grinned:
   “Take chances, make mistakes, get messy!”—not just quoting Ms. Frizzle, but using it with intent.

2. Functional language. He started scripting with purpose. Getting in the car?
   “Seatbelts, everyone—bus, do your stuff!”

3. Practicing connection. He rehearsed conversation:
   “Hi, my name is ____. What’s your name?”—20 times a day, even to strangers in the grocery store.

4. Flexible thinking. Instead of announcing, “Look at that car,” he’d say,
   “By the way, that’s a car, not a truck.” Imperfect, but meaningful. His brain was reaching for nuance.

5. True conversation. The “W” words showed up—What, Where, Why. Scripts faded. He told jokes. Even fibbed (claiming he was eating a sandwich when it was actually sugar 🍬). His voice flattened—the autism “sing-song” tone was gone.

A Voice All His Own

By age seven, he could carry on real, two-way conversations. He told stories. Shared dreams. Explained why he was crying while crying.

By first grade, I met with his teacher to talk about social development. I braced for bad news.

Instead, she said:
“He plays well. Has friends. The only thing I notice? When he’s really happy, he squeals—and it makes the class laugh. It’s contagious.”

(Reader, I cried in that chair.)

By sixteen, he was thriving in drama and debate—using language for humor, storytelling, even persuasion.

And today? He’s 20, in college, building friendships, dreaming about the future.
He wants to be a writer. Or maybe a digital media specialist. (We’re letting him figure it out.)

From Scripts to Self-Expression

Here’s the truth:
Progress like this is possible. I’ve lived it.

ACC chelation didn’t just bring words. It gave my son his voice—his humor, his creativity, his confidence.

If you’re stuck in a loop of meaningless scripts, waiting for real language to break through?

There is hope.

👉 In my Detoxing Kids LIVE coaching program, I walk you step-by-step through the same protocol that gave my son his voice back. You don’t have to figure this out alone.

Because your child doesn’t just need words.
They need a voice.