'I believe in you': Autism advocate Marcus Boyd shares his story in hope he'll reach the kid he once was

Music producer Marcus Boyd didn’t plan on using his voice to become an advocate for families with autistic children, but one late night grocery run six years ago changed his life.

He didn’t really want to tell anyone about the temper tantrums, furniture throwing, or the difficulties in school he faced as a non-speaking autistic child. Much less share a testimony he wasn’t even sure he had at a church he wasn’t a member of. (But more on that later.)

Boyd is among the roughly 75 million people in the world with autism. In America, 1 in 36 children are receiving autism diagnoses, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC).

The strain autistic families face, both emotionally and monetarily is a cause especially important to Boyd, who grew up in as many as 17 foster homes and 16 group homes until the age of 21.

He entered the “animal” he calls the U.S. foster care system when he was just four years old, about six years before he was diagnosed with autism at Clifton Springs Mental Health Center in Georgia.

“You have to enter that animal being non-verbal. You have to enter that animal having emotional behaviors. You have to enter that animal having sensory issues. It's just a lot," Boyd shared with USA TODAY.

The upbringing he endured at the hands of a strict disciplinarian father wasn’t any kinder. Boyd spent those early years in survival mode, trying to gauge how his father might react, move, or operate if he got angry.

“He didn’t accept the fact that, ‘Okay, this is my son, and I am going to love him regardless. It was so many times where he was like, ‘This can’t be my son’ ... He just never claimed me because he just felt like what I was experiencing or what I was showcasing wasn't something that he was going to accept,” Boyd shared.

It's hard to find a forever home when you're staying with a new family every 60, 90, or 120 days. But there was one family who came pretty close, the Barnes.

They taught Boyd what stability looks like, he said.

“You might get a Sunday whooping, but you are not getting abused … They used to have family meetings and I couldn’t speak up verbally, but I guess they knew how I was feeling and always took my feelings into consideration,” Boyd shared.

Music became his outlet going into adolescence

Music was a way to escape the abuse he suffered on and off through childhood. By putting on a pair of headphones and letting the melodies and lyrics soak into his skin, he saved himself.

“It gave me a high that I couldn’t resist … This was the only outlet I had. I became addicted to the outlet because I didn’t know another way to escape. If it weren’t for music, me and you wouldn’t be sitting here,” Boyd shared.

Thanks to his grandma, Mary, who made him attend church growing up, he learned how to play a variety of musical instruments. Boyd even learned how to mix music digitally using live instrumentations on an Acer laptop a member of Organized Noise gave him when they were first starting out.

All of those experiences carved the path for his 25-year career as a music producer and composer who has worked with over 18 different genres over the course of his career.

“Having an outlet, a talent or a gift is the most important piece of your life... Whether it's you playing video games, building cars, singing, painting, acting. No matter what your talent is, do not allow a disability to hinder you in that process because you won’t be able to touch the greatness that you have,” Boyd shared.

Music may have catapulted Boyd out of despair, but what kept him out of it was something entirely different.

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Learning how to speak

“I have to be able to open my mouth and say, ‘Listen, I need help.’ When I started talking, it was like a breath of fresh air because I didn't have to be quiet no more. People can actually hear my voice. I did not have to be the boy without a voice.”

Defying the odds didn’t come easy, Boyd spent about 12 years in speech therapy until he could express himself.

Eleven doctors across two different states told his caregivers time and time again that he wouldn’t amount to much. He'd be a walking vegetable, they said.

Despite all of those obstacles, he managed to persevere. It may have taken 14 years to be able to speak at a 2-year-old’s level and a couple more to communicate like he does now, but that just makes his message so much louder.

“I'm 40 and I still have issues reading contracts. I still have issues reading. I don't know a lot of those big words... Every verse I write, the words are misspelled, every single one of them,” Boyd shared.

Boyd feels God set him up to be an advocate

One rainy night six years ago, Boyd was confronted by a childhood friend who recognized his story could help others and was upset he wasn't doing anything with it.

“First of all, I don't have a testimony. I don't even know what you're talking about. I'm just trying to go to Walmart and get these lemonade and stuff like that and probably get some sugar cookies,” Boyd told her as they drove down I-285 in Atlanta.

She was sharing with Boyd how much he'd helped her connect with her autistic son, and wanted Boyd to see all that God was doing for him.

If God gave him a voice and he refused to use it to share his testimony to help others, then he needed to get out of her car, she said.

It was raining so hard that evening, Boyd couldn’t make out what direction his apartment was in, so he agreed to visit her church that coming Sunday.

When the day came, Boyd was asked to go up front and share his story. He agreed, and directly after, members of the congregation peppered him with questions and words of encouragement.

“I didn’t really understand that there were single mothers and fathers, grandmothers, grandfathers that had children or family members with autism. After that, I realized it wasn’t about me. It’s about the millions of people who have autism who don’t get their stories told or have their voices heard. They fight, sacrifice, struggle with nothing to show for themselves or their families,” Boyd shared.

After church, Boyd joined his friend at Piccadilly, a restaurant known for its southern comfort food. He was going to become an autism advocate, he shared with her.

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What Boyd's advocacy looks like now

What Boyd wants is for legislators to not only include autistic families in their thought process when thinking about making new laws, but to continue keeping them in mind in the execution of those laws.

Covering the cost of transportation services, therapy, specialized educational programs or experiences out of pocket, can take a toll on a family raising a child with a disability, an expense he hopes the government might one day be able to offset. Boyd wants autism families to be able to hold on to more money.

“Why do these families have to suffer? Because they have to deal with everything alone... There is nothing in place that can help a mother and a father with their autistic child. They have to come out of their pocket and do every single thing,” Boyd said.

The creation of low-barrier programs funded by the federal government that aim to teach and train young autistic people on the skills they need to be independent is what Boyd has publicly advocated for since 2017.

“If we don’t give them the tools to do these things or show them that they can do these things, how would they ever do these things? My thing is to keep pushing the narrative of all you can do with a disability, all you can do with having autism...You don’t have to just settle for defeat. You don’t have to just settle for a name or a diagnosis," Boyd shared.

After living without a voice for the first 14 years of his life, Boyd plans on continuing to his use it to uplift others.

“To show people that if God can do it for me, he can definitely do it for you.”

He wants parents out there to know not to limit their kids even if there seem to be obvious limitations. Don’t cripple your kids because they have diagnosis, love them and push them to believe in themselves, Boyd shared.

And Boyd wants young people with disabilities to know that he will always be their biggest fan, supporter and advocate.

“I believe in you. I stand with you. I love you and there ain't nothing you can do about it.”

Boyd's aim in sharing his story is that hope will be stirred in some families and autistic youth themselves.

As for other projects in the works, Boyd is working on a comic book called the Autism Squad set to release next year, a coloring book, an animated series and a full-length feature film about his life.

“We defying odds. That’s what we doing, okay. Disability don't got me. I got disability, you feel me?”

This article originally appeared on USA TODAY: 'Defying odds': Autism advocate Marcus Boyd shares story to free others