Paul Voss

My name is Paul Voss, and I’m the dad of eight kids, ranging in age from 17 down to 5½.
Three and a half years ago, our world changed when our youngest child was diagnosed with autism. Like many parents, we thought we were prepared for challenges—we already had a big family, busy schedules, and experience navigating different personalities and needs. What we weren’t prepared for was the level of exhaustion, confusion, and isolation that came with autism.
For years, sleep was almost nonexistent. Nights blurred together. Days felt like survival mode. Doctors had answers, but they were often clinical, disconnected, or didn’t work for our real life. Advice was plentiful, but results were rare. And while everyone tells you to “take care of yourself,” that advice feels hollow when you’re running on fumes and responsible for seven other kids who still need you to show up.
I’m not a clinician. I’m not selling a miracle cure. I’m a dad who lived through the hardest seasons of parenting and refused to accept that constant chaos was the best it would ever get.
That journey led me to write my first book, Autism Sucks: Finding Hope in the Chaos. I chose that title deliberately—because autism does suck sometimes, and pretending otherwise doesn’t help struggling parents. What helps is honesty, practical changes, and knowing you’re not alone.
One of my core goals with the book—and with every podcast conversation—is simple:
If something we did can help even one parent get six hours of uninterrupted sleep, then everything we went through was worth it.
But the story doesn’t stop at sleep.
As we adjusted our routines, environment, expectations, and parenting approach for our autistic child, something unexpected happened: our entire family improved. Our household became calmer. Communication got better. And our other kids benefited—especially our oldest son, who was diagnosed with ADHD. The same intentional changes that helped our autistic child created structure, regulation, and emotional safety for everyone else.
Autism forced us to slow down and actually parent—not react, not autopilot, not outsource everything to systems that weren’t built for families like ours. And in that process, it changed me.
I became more patient. More present. Less reactive. I learned how much of parenting isn’t about fixing kids, but about fixing the environment we place them in—and the expectations we place on ourselves. Autism stripped away shortcuts and forced me to confront my own limits, habits, and blind spots.
That’s why my story resonates beyond autism.
Podcasters don’t just book me to talk about autism—they book me because I speak to:
Parents who are exhausted and overwhelmed
Fathers who feel pressure to be strong but are silently breaking
Families navigating ADHD, neurodivergence, or behavioral challenges
Parents who feel guilt, anger, grief, or fear and don’t feel safe admitting it
People who want real-life lessons, not polished theory
I’m honest about the dark moments—the frustration, the resentment, the nights where hope felt far away. But I’m equally honest about what worked, what didn’t, and what actually moved the needle. I don’t sugarcoat the journey, but I don’t leave people stuck in despair either.
I also bring a rare perspective as a father of eight. Parenting one or two kids is hard. Parenting eight—across teenagers, school-age kids, and a child with autism—forces you to think in systems, not just emotions. I’ve lived the reality of balancing individual needs while holding a family together, and that gives me insight many parenting conversations miss.
When I come on a podcast, hosts get:
A compelling, real-life story with depth and tension
Practical takeaways listeners can apply immediately
A father’s voice in a space that often lacks it
An honest conversation that doesn’t feel rehearsed or performative
Most importantly, listeners walk away feeling less alone.
Parents dealing with autism often feel like their life has been permanently derailed. My message is not that autism is easy—but that growth, hope, and even unexpected gifts can exist alongside the struggle.
Autism didn’t just change my child.
It changed my family.
And it made me a better parent.