Mario was my why

The photo at the top of this page is one of my favorites. That is me and my brother Mario, blowing out candles together. If you look close, you can see his arm around me. That pretty much sums up our whole childhood.

Mario has autism. Growing up with him meant I learned early what it means to care for someone who experiences the world differently than you do. While other kids were only thinking about themselves, I was learning patience. I was learning to pay attention. I was learning that love sometimes looks like slowing down and meeting someone exactly where they are.

I matured fast. That is just the truth. When your brother needs you to be steady, you learn to be steady. When he needs you to explain the world in a way that makes sense to him, you learn to listen first and talk second. Those lessons did not feel like lessons at the time. They just felt like being his brother.

What I did not know then was that Mario was shaping my future. Every time I advocated for him, every time I watched someone misunderstand him and wished I could translate, something was being built in me. An interest in how minds work. A pull toward people who are overlooked or misunderstood. A need to help.

Mario was my why. He is the reason I studied mental health. He is the reason I became a PA and chose psychiatry. When I sit with a patient who feels like no one quite gets them, I think of Mario. I learned from the best teacher I could have asked for.

People sometimes ask me why I care so much about this work. The answer is simple. I was raised by it. Caring for others was not a career choice I made one day. It was my childhood. Mario is the one who developed me into the person I am, and everything I do in this practice traces back to him.

So this one is for you, Mario. Thank you for making me who I am.

Anthony