May 15, 2025 • 13 mins
In this episode, we shift the focus to the siblings—Riley and Maya—who grew up in the shadow of their brothers’ autism diagnoses. Through quiet sacrifices, hidden resentment, and fierce love, we explore how being “the other child” shaped their identities, their dreams, and their place in a home where crisis often took center stage.
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:03):
Welcome back to Take Care ofTime.
The Tales and Exhales ofcaregivers.
They were the quiet ones, thepatient ones, the ones who
learned to self-regulate,self-soothe, and step back.
Riley and Maya were just twoyears old when their younger
brothers, Sean and Greg wereborn.
(00:24):
Diagnoses Came a few yearslater.
But the shift in attention, inenergy, in household dynamics,
it started long before anyonesaid the word autism.
Today we turn our attention tothe sisters.
The siblings often asked to beunderstanding before they were
old enough to spell it.
(00:45):
This is episode two of theSpectrum.
(01:20):
The photo albums tell a story.
Before the words ever did, RileyMartin age four smiling wide
beside her baby brother Sean,matching red sweaters.
The kind of picture you see in aholiday card.
But if you look closely, you seeRiley holding his hand, not the
other way around.
(01:43):
Maya Sadler also four Peekinginto her brother Greg's baby bed
with a mix of curiosity andconfusion.
There's a second photo sixmonths later where Maya stands
by the living room window whileGreg rocks in place on the
floor, she's staring out herbody turned away.
(02:04):
These are the forgotten moments.
The silent shifts.
The years where the sisters werestill children, but already
learning what it meant to comesecond.
Michelle Martin often said,Riley's always been so good, so
calm.
She just gets it.
(02:24):
And Riley did get it, sort of.
She got that.
Sudden noises bothered, Sean,that her parents were tired.
That the rules were different.
Now she got that if she stayedquiet, she was helpful.
Karen.
Satler remembers when Mayastarted pre-K.
The teacher called home to askif everything was okay.
(02:45):
She doesn't talk much.
She stares out the window,doesn't join.
Circle time at home.
Maya learned to wait.
Wait to speak, wait for ameltdown to pass.
Wait for the next appointment,the next evaluation, the next,
I'm sorry, not today.
These weren't taught as rules,but they became the rhythm of
their lives.
(03:06):
By age nine, Riley couldredirect one of Sean's meltdowns
better than some aids she'd seenit.
All the pacing, the escalatingbreath, the flapping hands, the
suddent silence before thescream, she kept chewy fidgets
in her backpack.
She reminded her parents, whenit was picture day because Sean
(03:27):
couldn't handle the flash andneeded, the alternative session.
Riley was the family's secondline of support, and sometimes
it's first Maya meanwhile becameher household's emotional
thermostat.
If Greg had a bad day, sheplayed quietly.
If Greg was calm, she dared toturn the TV volume up one notch.
Karen didn't realize it at thetime, but Maya had learned to
(03:50):
disappear when things got bad.
I find her sitting in the closetjust waiting like she was giving
us space We didn't ask for, butsomehow needed at school.
Both girls were part of normal,but home was anything but.
Riley once bought a friend home.
In third grade, Sean had ameltdown over the friend moving
(04:13):
his Lego mini figures.
He screamed through the box andcurled into a ball.
The friend never came back.
Maya never bought anyone home.
By sixth grade, she stoppedasking at birthday parties.
They played the role, grateful,adaptable.
But every balloon pop, everyloud laugh was a reminder of
what couldn't happen at home.
(04:35):
Riley began saying no tosleepovers.
Maya began lying.
My brother is sick.
My mom said, I can't.
I have homework.
In reality, they just didn'twant to explain again.
Riley had one close friend inmiddle school named Ava.
She never judged.
Sean never stared, but one nightduring a sleepover, Ava quietly
(04:59):
asked, do you wish your brotherwas normal?
Riley didn't answer.
She said he is normal, butinside she felt sick because
sometimes yes, she did.
Not forever, not really, butjust for one weekend, one school
play, one family trip withoutsensory maps and backup plans.
(05:20):
She kept those thoughts lockedup.
I felt like a monster for eventhinking it.
But I also just wanted to be akid and sometimes I wasn't.
Maya wasn't as close with herfriends, but in eighth grade,
her classmate Lacey asked whyshe never came to pool parties.
Maya gave the usual answer, busyweekend, but Lacey pushed.
(05:43):
You always say that.
What are you really doing?
Maya shrugged and said,babysitting my brother.
But what she wanted to say was.
I'm watching my parents losethemselves.
I'm watching the world forgetme.
In their own ways.
Both girls began performing.
Riley became the strong one.
Maya became the distant one, butunder both mass was the same
(06:05):
truth.
They resented the attention.
They resented the cancellations.
They resented the expectation tounderstand even when no one
explained it to them.
Riley Journaled obsessively.
Maya drew pictures and threwthem away.
Neither wanted to say the words.
I'm angry because in theirhomes, anger felt like betrayal.
(06:29):
As the girls got older, astrange kind of guilt took root.
Riley excelled in school.
She joined student council, gotstraight A's and made the
National Honors Society.
It felt like that's what I wassupposed to do.
Make it easier for them.
Be the kid they didn't have toworry about, but it came at a
cost.
Riley never talked about herstress, her sadness, or her
(06:52):
jealousy.
Maya struggled more.
Her grades slipped.
She got into fights.
At school, one teacher labeledher.
Difficult at home.
She never acted out.
But in private, she wrote, noone sees me unless I disappear.
Riley chose psychology as hercollege major.
(07:13):
She now works in behaviortherapy.
When asked why, she says, I wasraised in a data-driven home.
Every day was a behavior plan,but beneath that is another
truth.
Her career became an extensionof her childhood role.
The helper, the interpreter, theexplainer.
Maya went in a differentdirection.
(07:34):
She moved far away.
She works in retail lives aloneand rarely talks about Greg
unless someone prys.
But when she visits him, shebrings a photo album and
narrates each picture like he'slistening.
Maybe he is.
Both sisters became adults, butneither had a typical childhood.
They lived.
(07:55):
In homes where their needs wereshelved, and often so were their
emotions.
Even now, Riley Flinches atcertain sounds, doorbells
alarms, they remind her of herbrother's triggers.
Maya panics when plans change.
Not because she's rigid, butbecause she was trained to
(08:17):
expect chaos.
They don't blame their brothers.
They love them fiercely fully,but they know that love doesn't
erase the toll.
People think having a siblingwith autism makes you more
patient.
I think it makes you lonely in away, no one prepares you for
said Riley.
It's not that I wasn't Loved, Ijust wasn't prioritized.
(08:38):
Ever.
said Maya.
When we talk about autism, weoften talk about parents.
Sometimes we talk about theperson with the diagnosis, but
we rarely talk about siblings.
The ones who feel responsible,the ones who learn to speak
calmly, think ahead and grievequietly.
(09:01):
Riley and Maya aren't unique.
Their stories echo acrossmillions of households.
And while their parents didn'tmean to neglect their daughters,
none of it was intentional.
Michelle and James, Karen andDaniel, they were just trying to
survive.
They were managing meltdowns,coordinating therapies,
navigating IEP meetings andresponding to crisis after
(09:24):
crisis after crisis that seemedto come out of nowhere where
we're usually always building.
It became instinct.
When Sean Flinched or Gregscreamed, the world shifted
around them.
Conversations stopped, planswere canceled.
The focus, immediate, intense,went to the child in distress,
(09:46):
and somewhere in the background,Riley and Maya learned to dim,
not because their parents didn'tlove them, but because there was
no space left.
The Saddlers and the Martinstold themselves it was
temporary, that they'd make itup to the girls later.
That they plan a special outing,carve out one-on-one time, but
later never came years past in ablur of doctor visits and
(10:10):
behavior plans.
And what they didn't realizewhat they couldn't realize at
the time was that theirdaughters were quietly needing
them.
Not in a loud, chaotic way, butin smaller, more fragile ones.
A glance, a question, aconversation that wasn't about
autism, but those things wererare and by the time the parents
(10:31):
looked up, the girls had alreadylearned how to stop asking.
That's sometimes life in thehousehold with autism.
If you're listening to this andnodding along, I want to remind
you caregivers deserve care too.
The take care time Respite boxis a bimonthly self-care box
(10:53):
created, especially forcaregivers.
Each box includes soothing itemslike calming teas, feel good
snacks, wellness tools, andlittle reminders that you matter
too, whether you're parenting achild with autism.
Caring for a sibling orsupporting an aging parent.
This is your permission topause, subscribe, or send
(11:14):
someone who needs it toTakecaretime.com and order your
box today.
Please note that this episodefeatures reenactments and
dramatized details.
While in most cases the exactverbatim dialogue may not be
known, all dramatizations aregrounded in thorough research
and crafted to honor the storiesshared to respect the privacy
(11:35):
and confidentiality of theindividuals involved names, and
some identifying details havebeen changed do you have a story
that you would like to havetold?
Please contact us atpodcast@takecaretime.com.
We'd love to hear from you.
Next time on the podcast, weturn our lens towards the media.
(11:59):
Why some autism stories arecelebrated while others are
ignored.
From viral videos to brillianttalents and inspirational
soundbites to the completeerasure of family struggling
with severe autism.
We explore how the media oftenchooses feel good over full
truth, because when only certainstories are told, entire lives
(12:19):
are left out of the narrative.
Until next week, take care.
Welcome back to Take Care ofTime.
The Tales and Exhales ofcaregivers.
They were the quiet ones, thepatient ones, the ones who
learned to self-regulate,self-soothe, and step back.
Riley and Maya were just twoyears old when their younger
brothers, Sean and Greg wereborn.
(00:24):
Diagnoses Came a few yearslater.
But the shift in attention, inenergy, in household dynamics,
it started long before anyonesaid the word autism.
Today we turn our attention tothe sisters.
The siblings often asked to beunderstanding before they were
old enough to spell it.
(00:45):
This is episode two of theSpectrum.
(01:20):
The photo albums tell a story.
Before the words ever did, RileyMartin age four smiling wide
beside her baby brother Sean,matching red sweaters.
The kind of picture you see in aholiday card.
But if you look closely, you seeRiley holding his hand, not the
other way around.
(01:43):
Maya Sadler also four Peekinginto her brother Greg's baby bed
with a mix of curiosity andconfusion.
There's a second photo sixmonths later where Maya stands
by the living room window whileGreg rocks in place on the
floor, she's staring out herbody turned away.
(02:04):
These are the forgotten moments.
The silent shifts.
The years where the sisters werestill children, but already
learning what it meant to comesecond.
Michelle Martin often said,Riley's always been so good, so
calm.
She just gets it.
(02:24):
And Riley did get it, sort of.
She got that.
Sudden noises bothered, Sean,that her parents were tired.
That the rules were different.
Now she got that if she stayedquiet, she was helpful.
Karen.
Satler remembers when Mayastarted pre-K.
The teacher called home to askif everything was okay.
(02:45):
She doesn't talk much.
She stares out the window,doesn't join.
Circle time at home.
Maya learned to wait.
Wait to speak, wait for ameltdown to pass.
Wait for the next appointment,the next evaluation, the next,
I'm sorry, not today.
These weren't taught as rules,but they became the rhythm of
their lives.
(03:06):
By age nine, Riley couldredirect one of Sean's meltdowns
better than some aids she'd seenit.
All the pacing, the escalatingbreath, the flapping hands, the
suddent silence before thescream, she kept chewy fidgets
in her backpack.
She reminded her parents, whenit was picture day because Sean
(03:27):
couldn't handle the flash andneeded, the alternative session.
Riley was the family's secondline of support, and sometimes
it's first Maya meanwhile becameher household's emotional
thermostat.
If Greg had a bad day, sheplayed quietly.
If Greg was calm, she dared toturn the TV volume up one notch.
Karen didn't realize it at thetime, but Maya had learned to
(03:50):
disappear when things got bad.
I find her sitting in the closetjust waiting like she was giving
us space We didn't ask for, butsomehow needed at school.
Both girls were part of normal,but home was anything but.
Riley once bought a friend home.
In third grade, Sean had ameltdown over the friend moving
(04:13):
his Lego mini figures.
He screamed through the box andcurled into a ball.
The friend never came back.
Maya never bought anyone home.
By sixth grade, she stoppedasking at birthday parties.
They played the role, grateful,adaptable.
But every balloon pop, everyloud laugh was a reminder of
what couldn't happen at home.
(04:35):
Riley began saying no tosleepovers.
Maya began lying.
My brother is sick.
My mom said, I can't.
I have homework.
In reality, they just didn'twant to explain again.
Riley had one close friend inmiddle school named Ava.
She never judged.
Sean never stared, but one nightduring a sleepover, Ava quietly
(04:59):
asked, do you wish your brotherwas normal?
Riley didn't answer.
She said he is normal, butinside she felt sick because
sometimes yes, she did.
Not forever, not really, butjust for one weekend, one school
play, one family trip withoutsensory maps and backup plans.
(05:20):
She kept those thoughts lockedup.
I felt like a monster for eventhinking it.
But I also just wanted to be akid and sometimes I wasn't.
Maya wasn't as close with herfriends, but in eighth grade,
her classmate Lacey asked whyshe never came to pool parties.
Maya gave the usual answer, busyweekend, but Lacey pushed.
(05:43):
You always say that.
What are you really doing?
Maya shrugged and said,babysitting my brother.
But what she wanted to say was.
I'm watching my parents losethemselves.
I'm watching the world forgetme.
In their own ways.
Both girls began performing.
Riley became the strong one.
Maya became the distant one, butunder both mass was the same
(06:05):
truth.
They resented the attention.
They resented the cancellations.
They resented the expectation tounderstand even when no one
explained it to them.
Riley Journaled obsessively.
Maya drew pictures and threwthem away.
Neither wanted to say the words.
I'm angry because in theirhomes, anger felt like betrayal.
(06:29):
As the girls got older, astrange kind of guilt took root.
Riley excelled in school.
She joined student council, gotstraight A's and made the
National Honors Society.
It felt like that's what I wassupposed to do.
Make it easier for them.
Be the kid they didn't have toworry about, but it came at a
cost.
Riley never talked about herstress, her sadness, or her
(06:52):
jealousy.
Maya struggled more.
Her grades slipped.
She got into fights.
At school, one teacher labeledher.
Difficult at home.
She never acted out.
But in private, she wrote, noone sees me unless I disappear.
Riley chose psychology as hercollege major.
(07:13):
She now works in behaviortherapy.
When asked why, she says, I wasraised in a data-driven home.
Every day was a behavior plan,but beneath that is another
truth.
Her career became an extensionof her childhood role.
The helper, the interpreter, theexplainer.
Maya went in a differentdirection.
(07:34):
She moved far away.
She works in retail lives aloneand rarely talks about Greg
unless someone prys.
But when she visits him, shebrings a photo album and
narrates each picture like he'slistening.
Maybe he is.
Both sisters became adults, butneither had a typical childhood.
They lived.
(07:55):
In homes where their needs wereshelved, and often so were their
emotions.
Even now, Riley Flinches atcertain sounds, doorbells
alarms, they remind her of herbrother's triggers.
Maya panics when plans change.
Not because she's rigid, butbecause she was trained to
(08:17):
expect chaos.
They don't blame their brothers.
They love them fiercely fully,but they know that love doesn't
erase the toll.
People think having a siblingwith autism makes you more
patient.
I think it makes you lonely in away, no one prepares you for
said Riley.
It's not that I wasn't Loved, Ijust wasn't prioritized.
(08:38):
Ever.
said Maya.
When we talk about autism, weoften talk about parents.
Sometimes we talk about theperson with the diagnosis, but
we rarely talk about siblings.
The ones who feel responsible,the ones who learn to speak
calmly, think ahead and grievequietly.
(09:01):
Riley and Maya aren't unique.
Their stories echo acrossmillions of households.
And while their parents didn'tmean to neglect their daughters,
none of it was intentional.
Michelle and James, Karen andDaniel, they were just trying to
survive.
They were managing meltdowns,coordinating therapies,
navigating IEP meetings andresponding to crisis after
(09:24):
crisis after crisis that seemedto come out of nowhere where
we're usually always building.
It became instinct.
When Sean Flinched or Gregscreamed, the world shifted
around them.
Conversations stopped, planswere canceled.
The focus, immediate, intense,went to the child in distress,
(09:46):
and somewhere in the background,Riley and Maya learned to dim,
not because their parents didn'tlove them, but because there was
no space left.
The Saddlers and the Martinstold themselves it was
temporary, that they'd make itup to the girls later.
That they plan a special outing,carve out one-on-one time, but
later never came years past in ablur of doctor visits and
(10:10):
behavior plans.
And what they didn't realizewhat they couldn't realize at
the time was that theirdaughters were quietly needing
them.
Not in a loud, chaotic way, butin smaller, more fragile ones.
A glance, a question, aconversation that wasn't about
autism, but those things wererare and by the time the parents
(10:31):
looked up, the girls had alreadylearned how to stop asking.
That's sometimes life in thehousehold with autism.
If you're listening to this andnodding along, I want to remind
you caregivers deserve care too.
The take care time Respite boxis a bimonthly self-care box
(10:53):
created, especially forcaregivers.
Each box includes soothing itemslike calming teas, feel good
snacks, wellness tools, andlittle reminders that you matter
too, whether you're parenting achild with autism.
Caring for a sibling orsupporting an aging parent.
This is your permission topause, subscribe, or send
(11:14):
someone who needs it toTakecaretime.com and order your
box today.
Please note that this episodefeatures reenactments and
dramatized details.
While in most cases the exactverbatim dialogue may not be
known, all dramatizations aregrounded in thorough research
and crafted to honor the storiesshared to respect the privacy
(11:35):
and confidentiality of theindividuals involved names, and
some identifying details havebeen changed do you have a story
that you would like to havetold?
Please contact us atpodcast@takecaretime.com.
We'd love to hear from you.
Next time on the podcast, weturn our lens towards the media.
(11:59):
Why some autism stories arecelebrated while others are
ignored.
From viral videos to brillianttalents and inspirational
soundbites to the completeerasure of family struggling
with severe autism.
We explore how the media oftenchooses feel good over full
truth, because when only certainstories are told, entire lives
(12:19):
are left out of the narrative.
Until next week, take care.
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