The “Yes Day” Rule: How Giving My Non-Speaking Child One Full Day of Control Saved My Sanity

I used to dread Saturdays.

By Friday night my stomach would knot up, because I knew the next morning would bring the same exhausting loop:

“No, we can’t eat pancakes for breakfast again.”

“No, we can’t watch the same Bluey episode seventeen times.”

“No, you have to wear pants to the park.”

Every “no” felt like dropping a pebble into an already overflowing bucket of tension. By noon my eight-year-old son, Jonah—who is autistic and mostly non-speaking—would be in meltdown mode, and I would be counting the hours until bedtime. I loved him fiercely, but I was burning out, fast.

Then, on the verge of tears one Thursday night, I remembered the movie Yes Day. I thought, That’s ridiculous… but what if?

So, I made a new rule.

Once a month, Jonah gets a full Yes Day.

From the moment he wakes up until the moment he falls asleep; the answer is yes. Whatever he asks for (within basic reason and safety), he gets. No negotiations. No “maybe later.” Just yes.

The first Yes Day felt like walking a tightrope without a net.

He woke up, pointed to the iPad, and signed “movie.”

Yes.

Twenty minutes later he signed “pancakes” and pointed to the freezer.

Yes.

He ate four pancakes, asked for more, dripped syrup on the couch, asked to watch the same episode of Octonauts again.

Yes, yes, yes.

By 10 a.m. I was sweating. This is chaos, I thought. We’re going to regress. He’s going to think every day is like this.

But something astonishing happened instead.

Around lunchtime he brought me his shoes and his AAC device and carefully selected the words: “Outside. Swing. Please.”

I said yes, of course, and we went to the park. He swung for forty-five minutes (his record), laughing that huge open-mouthed laugh that most people never get to hear. Then he walked over to the slide, looked at me, and signed “help.” He wanted me to catch him at the bottom. We’ve been working on slides for long and he’s always refused. On Yes Day he went down many times.

When we got home, he didn’t ask for the iPad. He brought me a book instead.

That night he fell asleep at 7:30 p.m. without a single meltdown. I sat on the couch stunned, eating cold pancakes for dinner, wondering what on earth had just happened.

Three years and thirty-six Yes Days later, here’s what I know for sure:

1.  Control is oxygen for many autistic kids. Jonah spends most of his life being told no—for excellent reasons, but still no. Yes Day is the one day his nervous system gets to exhale completely.

2.  When the pressure of “no” is removed, the real child shows up. On Yes Days Jonah initiates more, tries new foods, uses new signs or AAC words, and seeks connection instead of retreat. The data I keep (because of course I keep data) shows an average of 40 % more communication attempts on Yes Days.

3.  My sanity is directly tied to his regulation. When he’s calm and happy, I’m calm and happy. One regulated nervous system in the house is good; two is a miracle.

4.  Boundaries didn’t disappear—they got clearer. The magic of Yes Day is that the other twenty-nine days have structure because this one day is pure freedom. “Not today, sweetie, but Yes Day is in twelve sleeps” is now a phrase that actually works.

We do have a few non-negotiable rules, mostly for safety:

•  No hurting yourself or anyone else

•  No running into the street

•  No climbing the bookshelf (again)Everything else is fair game.

Some of the best Yes Day moments that live rent-free in my head:

•  The day he ate nothing but frosting for breakfast and then asked to go grocery shopping (he never asks to leave the house)

•  The day he chose to spend two hours in the bathtub with every mixing bowl we own

•  The day he pointed to the car and then to his sister’s car seat and signed “drive,” so we went on a two-hour aimless drive listening to his playlist on repeat while he grinned in the rear-view mirror

Yes Day hasn’t fixed everything. We still have hard weeks. Meltdowns still happen. But once a month I get to remember that underneath all the exhaustion and worry is a little boy who just wants to steer the ship sometimes.

And once a month I get to say yes, over and over, until my heart feels like it might burst.

If you’re an autism parent reading this, teetering on the edge of burnout, I dare you: pick one day. Write “YES DAY” on the calendar in big letters. Tell your child in whatever way they understand. And then hold on.

It might just save your sanity too.

And if your kid chooses chicken nuggets for three meals and watches Paw Patrol until their eyes cross, that’s okay. Tomorrow is another day, and you’ve already given them the best gift a parent can give: the freedom to be exactly who they are, for one whole glorious day!