Founded by Carletta A. Wilson, The Paper Car is not just a beautifully minimal stationery brand; it’s a supportive planning platform designed for mothers of children with special needs. These mothers often bear the daily challenges of managing schedules, advocating for their children, and handling emotional labor. Through practical and calming tools, along with her debut book, *Here Am I*, Wilson provides something essential: structure without shame, and permission to take a breath. We spoke with her to discuss the book and her commitment to supporting those in need.
You were born and raised in Pennsylvania. What parts of your early environment shaped how you understand responsibility, love, and survival?
I think growing up in the ‘80s in Philadelphia was a time when kids had fun but were still incredibly responsible. There was a good balance. We played outside without supervision and were trusted to come straight home from school. As a teen, I was going downtown to pay bills for my mom. In our household, my parents didn’t allow us to physically fight each other. My mom always told us we would need each other one day. That created an environment of love and respect for each other. Of course, we had arguments, but it ended there. And her words came true over and over. Survival was second nature. We didn’t complain about a lot, and we learned that if we wanted something, we had to work for it. And I don’t mean doing chores at home. I mean getting up early to run paper routes, going out in the cold, and shovelling pavements until your fingers froze. It’s hard to find kids like us these days.
Before motherhood, you were an English honors student at Peirce College who loved short stories and poetry. What did writing give you back then—and did you ever imagine it would one day become a lifeline?
Writing gave me a voice. I was not an outspoken person. I was always more of an observer, reserved. But writing gave me a way to express myself. Early on, it was an outlet without the worry of anyone reading it because I was in college, a nobody. No one would read it other than the teacher. I would get my grade and move on. Shortly after college, it was for me. A way to release what I was feeling, things that had been bottled up. As life began to unfold for me, writing was beyond the back burner. It wasn’t until my experiences had shown me that they could be helpful to someone else. I never imagined that writing would become not only a lifeline for myself but for others who may be going through what I had experienced.
Looking back, what beliefs about “good parenting” did you inherit from your upbringing—and which of those beliefs later helped you, or harmed you, once you began raising children with unique needs?
The belief of raising your children to have a good moral and religious upbringing, not paying children to do housework, and having children contribute to the household once they start working. All three of these beliefs have continued with me in motherhood in general. I try to instil in my children the power of prayer and having a relationship with God. I teach them that housework is a part of life. It’s not optional. Once you’re an adult with your own space, no one will be paying you to keep your place clean. Contribution is a major part of family dynamics. We all eat, not just mom and dad. We all shower, not just mom and dad. We all should contribute in some form if we’re of working age.
If I’m being honest, nothing from my childhood prepared me for raising children with different needs. We just didn’t have that experience in our household or with any close family members. Everyone’s journey is different, but I think the biggest difference for me between typical parenting and special needs parenting is research. I’ve spent countless hours trying to figure my kids out, what they lacked, what they responded to, and what would work best for them. You can’t help them if you don’t understand them.
When you first became a mother, what did you expect your family life would look like? When did you realize your journey would require a different kind of strength than you’d planned for?
I’ll answer this with prior to becoming a mom because my first was born differently. In my head, it was the typical family fairytale. Which is pretty funny looking back, because my own childhood was no fairytale, so why I expected it is beyond me. But I always wanted a decent-sized family with three to four healthy kids. Of course, they would be super smart and perfectly mannered. That’s every mom’s dream. But it was around month four to five of my first pregnancy that I learned something was wrong. I was given multiple scenarios. At one point, I was even told to consider terminating the pregnancy. I knew pretty early on this would be no walk in the park.
Was there a specific moment when the reality of raising children with unique needs became undeniable— a day, a diagnosis, an experience that changed your inner world?
I would say once my baby was born. She was immediately taken to the NICU and hooked up to multiple devices. Her list of differences was extensive and seemed to grow with each appointment.
Over the last fourteen years, what has been the most invisible part of your load— the thing you carry that even supportive people rarely see or fully understand?
The worrying. Worrying about the future mostly. What would happen to them if something happened to me? It’s my worst nightmare. That weight comes and goes, but never forever.
In the middle of the chaos, where did your faith fit? Did it always feel like an anchor, or were there seasons when it felt complicated, distant, or even painful?
My faith was all I had at times. Of course, I had my mom and my sister. They played a major role. And I had peers who were already mothers. But none of them had my perspective. They didn’t get it; it wasn’t possible for them to get it. While it was a constant anchor, it didn’t stop the “why me” moments, the “what did I do to deserve this” moments. Not one child but two? There were a lot of questions.
At what point did you realize you needed more than encouragement—you needed tools? What was missing from the planners, journals, or “productivity” systems that already existed?
After finding myself in the same predicament with my second child. One was a lot, two was just unbearable. There were days when I mentally checked out. I just didn’t think I could do it. There was nothing in place. No system, no plan. And at first, I was carrying it all. I kept dates in my head, appointments, symptoms, progress. Until slowly it began to fade. I couldn’t hold it all. I was a wife, a mom, and a full-time employee. Winging it was no longer working.
The name “The Paper Car” is memorable and symbolic. What’s the origin story behind it, and what do “paper” and “car” each represent in your personal journey?
I thought back to my NICU days. After I was discharged, I would go to the hospital every day to see my baby. The nurses would fill me in on how they did overnight. I wanted to track their progress, but in the moment, I just listened. Then, as they got a little older, there were a lot of appointments and procedures. I found it helpful to write questions down before I got there, as they came to me, and to also write down the responses when given. That way I wouldn’t forget. It’s stationery that travels with you.
Your brand promise is “modern planning meets timeless design.” What do you think modern planning gets wrong for special needs parents, and what does “timeless design” make possible emotionally—not just practically?
Again, if you take the Mini Keeper, which is the NICU tracker, nothing like that existed 14 years ago. Being able to track progress, hold questions, monitor levels, etc., in one location may seem small. But when you’re carrying the weight of having a sick or different child, the small things can help carry some of that weight.
Do you see The Paper Car as a stationery brand or as a form of advocacy? In what ways are you trying to make special needs moms feel seen, supported, and strong beyond what’s on the page?
That’s a good question. I guess it can be seen as a form of advocacy. A lot of our tasks and responsibilities as special needs moms are advocating for our child. But who’s advocating for us? Who’s aiming to make sure we have what we need? I believe The Paper Car hits a lot of the marks, but beyond that just having a community where stories can be shared. So much of this journey is isolating and emotionally heavy, especially in the beginning. Sometimes you just want someone to get you.
Now to the book: “Here Am I — A Guide for Parents Who Carry More Than the World Sees.” What should readers expect when they open it—what truths, coping strategies, and emotional shifts are you hoping to deliver, and who is the parent you wrote it for most?
Here Am I – A Faith-Fueled Guide to Complete the Assignment of a Special Needs Parent. I hope they find relief first, the kind that comes from realizing someone finally understands. Guilt and grief are two of the truths that are rarely talked about. I think it should be normalized. In terms of coping strategies, releasing unrealistic expectations and finding small wins are big takeaways. I’m hoping to change perspectives. The parent I wrote it for most is probably the one just starting out, the one who just received a diagnosis, the one who feels lost. I want them to know it’s not the end. It won’t be an easy journey, but it will be meaningful if you can see it.
To explore The Paper Car and discover Here Am I, visit www.thepapercar.com. You can also connect with Carletta on Instagram and TikTok at @thepapercar.
About Author
