We asked Anya.
Here’s what she told us.

Start with the basics, upload the documents that matter, and write down what only you know about your child. Log key events and record moments as they happen so Anya can preserve that knowledge as living continuity infrastructure, not just a static file.

A binder stores information. Anya searches across your entries and documents, connects related details, cites its sources, and helps preserve continuity across caregivers, providers, and transitions. It reduces what you have to carry in your head.

Anya holds documents, entries, moments, thoughts, and key events, then searches and cites that information when you ask. It does not guess, prescribe, or give medical advice. It helps externalize what you carry so your child’s continuity does not depend on memory alone.

No. You upload documents, write entries in plain language, and ask questions. The technology is meant to stay out of the way so you can focus on being the expert on your child.

Anya is continuity infrastructure for parents of children with profound autism, IDD, and complex care needs. It helps with today’s care demands, preserves what matters over time, and carries forward what you know so your child’s continuity does not break during transitions.

Legally, a Special Needs Trust can protect your child’s financial future. A guardian or successor trustee can step into their designated roles. The system has mechanisms for this.

What the system cannot do is transfer what you know. Your child’s history, their daily rhythms, what calms them, what frightens them, what they love, how they communicate when they’re in pain — none of that is in any document. None of that transfers automatically.

What happens to your child when you die depends on two things: whether the legal plan is in place, and whether the people who are there after you actually know your child. The first is handled by an attorney. The second has never had a reliable answer — until now.

Anya was built for the second problem. Not as a record system or a planning tool, but as continuity infrastructure: a way to preserve what you know about your child and make it accessible to the people who will need it from day one.

The honest answer is: they won’t. Not the way you do. You have spent years — decades — learning your child. That knowledge is not transferable through a binder, a care plan, or a meeting with a social worker.

But there is a difference between someone who knows nothing and someone who has been given everything you know. That difference is the difference between a stranger walking into your child’s life and someone who arrives already knowing what matters.

Parents often ask: “How do I prepare the people who will be there after me?” This question is not about paperwork. It is about whether someone will know your child as a person — their history, their preferences, their fears, their joys — from the first day you are gone.

That knowledge lives with you right now. Anya preserves it. Not as a file to be stored, but as something alive — built from your words, held in your voice, accessible to the people your child will depend on.

A Special Needs Trust is a legal structure that holds assets for a person with a disability without disqualifying them from government benefits like SSI and Medi-Cal. It is one of the most important tools in a special needs plan — and one of the most misunderstood.

What it covers: financial assets, benefit protection, designated trustees, and instructions for how funds may be used.

What it does not cover: who your child is. A Special Needs Trust cannot tell a trustee that your child needs twenty minutes to transition between activities, that they are terrified of certain sounds, that their face changes before a seizure, or that they have a sense of humor that surprises everyone who takes the time to see it.

The Trust protects your child’s financial future. It does not protect the knowledge that makes your child’s life worth living — the knowledge only you carry.

That is the problem Anya was built to solve.

Most documents ask for diagnoses, medications, emergency contacts, and legal designations. That information matters. It is also the smallest part of what the people who are there after you will need to know.

What no document asks for: what your child’s face looks like when they’re in pain and can’t say so. What time of day they’re most themselves. What they’ve been working toward for the last two years. What they lost that they’ve never stopped grieving. What makes them laugh. What they’re proud of.

This is not supplementary information. For a child who cannot fully speak for themselves, this knowledge is the difference between someone who is present in their life and someone who is just managing it.

You already know all of it. You have been paying attention for years. The question is whether that attention survives you — and whether it reaches the people who will need it.

Anya is built for exactly this.

This is the fear underneath every other fear. Not just “who will be there” — but whether that person will understand what your child cannot tell them directly.

A diagnosis tells someone what your child has. It does not tell them who your child is. A behavior support plan tells someone what to do in certain situations. It does not tell them what your child was like the first time they heard music they loved, or how they show trust, or what their silence means.

For a child who cannot fully advocate for themselves, the people who are there after you are not just providers. They are interpreters. And they can only interpret what they have been taught.

You are the only teacher. Anya holds what you teach — not as a document, but as something the people who come after you can actually use.

It is the systems and knowledge that ensure a person’s life continues — with dignity, with consistency, and with the understanding of who they are — when the primary person who has held that knowledge is no longer able to do so.

For a child with intellectual and developmental disabilities, life continuity is not automatic. It requires that someone carry forward what a parent knows: the history, the relationships, the preferences, the communication patterns, the hard-won understanding that took years to build.

A Special Needs Trust is financial continuity infrastructure. A guardianship is legal continuity infrastructure. Neither addresses the knowledge continuity problem — the gap between what a parent knows about their child and what the people who are there after them will need to know.

Anya is knowledge continuity infrastructure. It was built by Michael Pearce — 30 years as a special needs attorney in Sacramento County — because he watched that gap swallow family after family, and because the legal tools he had were never designed to close it.