The Part You Don’t See: Laci Swann Has Written Bestsellers for Other People — Her Most Powerful Story Is the One at Home

The professional ghostwriter opens up about raising her son Justice, presuming competence, and why going public changed the trajectory of her life.

Laci Swann has spent her career disappearing into other people’s voices. As a professional ghostwriter, her words have landed on bestseller lists, but always under someone else’s name. So when I asked her what the opening line would be if she were hired to write her own story as a mother, she answered right away:

“There’s a profound irony in landing on bestseller lists, writing other people’s stories, while my son expresses himself so powerfully, sometimes without saying a word.”

That son is Justice, Laci’s little boy, who is autistic. And this, at last, is the story with her name on it.

The Ceiling Fan

Long before there was a diagnosis, there was a moment. Justice was two months old, being rocked in his bassinet by his grandmother, when Laci walked into the guest room and noticed the way her son was looking at the ceiling fan.

“In that brief moment, I knew, deep in my soul, that my son processed the world differently,” she told me. Her intuition urged her to call her husband, Isaiah, who was playing basketball abroad at the time. “As many times as I’ve shared that moment with others, there’s not much more I can say about it other than my intuition was undeniable.”

Isaiah was receptive but gently encouraged patience, since Justice was only a few months old. Laci shares the story now for one reason: “Be observant, trust yourself, and do not be led by fear.”

It’s a message she returns to again and again, and it’s well earned. Because here’s the first thing the public gets wrong about her family, the assumption she says is furthest from the truth: that she and Isaiah have it all figured out.

“As much as we try to read and research and stay abreast, we’re truly just learning as we go. As soon as it seems like we have our footing, we’re thrust into a new stage. We’re doing the best we can with what we have.”

If you’ve ever felt like every other autism parent got a manual that you didn’t, Laci Swann, with all her research and resources and reach, certainly didn’t get one either.

What a Good Day Actually Looks Like

Ask most public figures about their routine and you’ll get something polished. Ask Laci and you’ll get olives, rotisserie chicken, and shredded parmesan cheese, which are Justice’s three go-to dinner foods.

A good day in the Swann house starts the night before, with a full eight hours of sleep. Justice is up around 7:00 a.m., wandering the house to see who else is awake. A smile on his face tells his parents the day is starting on the right foot. Isaiah handles the shower and teeth-brushing—“Justice is super receptive to his dad’s efforts”—and rather than forcing breakfast, which can upset him, they’ve learned to trust that he eats intuitively.

At school, they skip the carpool line and walk him to his classroom door for added comfort. “We’re confident, though, that he will eventually walk solo,” Laci says, and you can hear the presumption of competence in it, a phrase that has become her fierce, non-negotiable motto: “Whether a child is high-functioning or working toward gaining basic life skills, always presume competence. Always.”

After school comes a snack and “Mickey Mouse Clubhouse,” then two hours with his behavioral therapist. Bedtime is 8:00 p.m., where Justice—still co-sleeping while his parents gently work on transitioning him to his own room—cuddles up, puts his head on his mother’s shoulder, and falls asleep to an instrumental rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle.”

And when the family travels? The carry-on tells you everything: an iPad charger for his Mickey mash-ups, his favorite chips and crackers, wooden puzzles, Mickey figurines, a pack of red Skittles, and a can opener for the olives, just in case his preferred foods aren’t available wherever they land.

There’s one more accommodation Laci laughs about but holds firm on. At home, Justice likes to wear as few clothes as possible. “Underoos, mostly,” she says. “Though that will change as he gets older, it’s currently a non-negotiable.”

The Humble Hero

The Swanns’ life once ran on basketball’s rhythm—seasons, cities, disruption. That changed in 2023, when Isaiah paused his coaching career and stepped into a role as an NBA/WNBA skills trainer, a move that keeps him home with the family far more often.

“Isaiah is our humble hero, and many people have no idea how much he has sacrificed to make sure our family has a wonderful life,” Laci says. “Now, we’re able to provide our kids with routine, which has been a blessing.”

It’s a quiet reframe of what sacrifice looks like in a sports family, not the grind of chasing the career, but the grace of stepping back from it.

What Sloan Taught Them

Justice isn’t the only child in the Swann home. His sister, Sloan, has been one of his greatest teachers—and her parents’, too.

“Through their brother-sister relationship, we’ve learned the depths of Justice’s intuitiveness and sensitivity,” Laci says. Like most siblings, the two fuss over toys and snacks. But if Justice senses that Sloan is genuinely upset with him, “he won’t leave her side until he receives some sort of cue that she is no longer frustrated with him. The way he loves his sister and responds to different interactions is something we could never learn through a specialist.”

And Laci is deeply intentional about making sure Sloan never becomes “the easy one” who quietly gets less. There are scheduled and spontaneous mother-daughter days. There’s their current favorite at-home date: face masks from Mom’s bathroom, a Netflix documentary of Sloan’s choosing, and dessert from Fresh Market on the couch. Once a week, Sloan—who loves to bake—picks a new recipe for the two of them to try.

But the intentionality goes deeper than quality time. It’s in the words. “We tell her she’s special, kind, and creative, making sure that none of what we say has to do with how she treats her brother or how she helps around the house. We don’t want her to feel as though her best qualities are a result of doing, but because of who she is as a person.”

Read that one twice. It might be the single best piece of sibling advice in this series.

Gathering His Words, One by One

For a woman who works in language, Laci is exacting about the words used around her son—and it’s where she draws her firmest public line.

“I don’t use definitives with him. For instance, I won’t say ‘can’t.’ There is power in words,” she explains. “Instead of saying, ‘Justice can’t speak,’ we say, ‘Justice is gathering his words, one by one.’ Whether he shares one word or a three-word sentence, he is doing his best and deserves to be treated with dignity.”

Gathering his words, one by one. Only a writer could give the world that sentence. And only a mother could mean it the way she does.

The Friend Who Said Speak Up

For the first year or so after Justice’s diagnosis, Laci kept it private. “I thought people would judge our family, tease Justice, assign blame,” she admits.

Then a girlfriend—“hi, Morgan”—encouraged her to speak up, even if not in depth. “She believed in my ability to help others feel seen and supported. I certainly didn’t believe that about myself at the time, but she did.”

Months later, Laci couldn’t ignore the internal nudge anymore. She went public. And the ripple effects have been bigger than she could have imagined: today, she and Isaiah serve as nonprofit directors for the Little Boy Blue Foundation, which provides financial assistance for individuals with autism and their families, hosts camps and events for the neurodiverse community, and leads advocacy initiatives.

None of it—the foundation, the families helped, the community built—exists if she stays quiet.

To the mothers still holding their child’s diagnosis close, still afraid of the judgment, Laci offers this, rooted in her faith: “Jesus was judged, so we can’t possibly expect anything different. Choosing to be vocal opens yourself up to an increased support system…We hold the power to decide who has access to our time and space. Remove, ignore, block, and disengage accordingly. More often than not, people are kind and supportive, and they will meet you with love.”

The Story She’s Still Writing

Laci Swann will tell you she’s fallen short time and time again—and been “forgiven and saved by His grace, time and time again.” She’ll tell you she’s a deeply sensitive, introspective woman who “refuses to be boxed into one title or expected to walk only one path.”

Ghostwriter. Founder. Advocate. Wife. Mother. She’s declining to check just one box.

But when I asked what she hopes for most, her answer wasn’t about her at all.

“One of my greatest hopes is that the world sees and treats my son, and people like my son, the way I do—not through the lens of his diagnosis, but with an appreciation for who he is and the person he is becoming.”

Justice is gathering his words, one by one. His mother, meanwhile, has finally put her name on some of hers. And if you ask me, this story deserves a spot on the bestseller list, too.

To learn more about the Little Boy Blue Foundation and its work supporting individuals with autism and their families, visit https://www.littleboybluefoundation.org.