Tag Archives: Neurodivergent

Flailing Not Failing

26 Monday Jan 2026

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I spoke with someone today who encouraged me to remove words about “failing” from my vocabulary. This was in direct response to how I feel about taking care of my special needs child. I went to her expressing the fact that I feel like I’m failing and have failed him. We had hoped that his school attendance would have improved by now, but it hasn’t. I had hoped that he would be more independent by now, but he’s not. We used to manage hygiene issues, but not so much lately. We just seem to be failing on every front.

My friend helped me to see some perspective. She has a (now) adult child with special needs, and she told me that outsiders can’t see the hamster wheel that I am constantly running around. Unless you are in it, or have experienced it, you have no idea what parents like me face daily.

I thought this was a great analogy for my life and my brain. It’s like a real-life “Groundhog Day,” except it’s not a movie, and I have never robbed a bank, nor do I have any plans to do so. This hamster wheel, or “groundhog day” that is my life is about a million small things, all day, every day: Brush your teeth, take your pills, clean up your mess, change your clothes, wash your hands . . . add onto these small things larger concerns such as school attendance (or non-attendance), anxiety, suicidal ideations, PDA (Pathological Demand Avoidance), and the almost always present need for one-on-one attention and support, and it’s no wonder that I’m just running and running and running around this wheel, seemingly getting nowhere.

But, as she pointed out, I’m learning. She explained to me that to have “failed” at something, there must be a “right way” of doing it, and knowledge of what that is. Otherwise, I am not “failing,” I am still learning and doing my best. There is no script or playbook for raising neurotypical children, but at least the systems of the world are setup to support you and them. When it comes to brain function, every brain is different. Which means that, when it comes to raising a neurodivergent person in a world that isn’t designed for them, there is even less of a script or playbook by which to go.

I don’t write these things to complain, or seek pity, but to help myself process, continue to learn, to grow, to take care of myself. Life is rough, complicated, exhausting, and beautiful. It’s okay to be flailing, not failing. Maybe you have a similar situation and you just needed to hear that you are not failing,

The Diagnosis

31 Wednesday Jul 2024

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Sometimes, most of the time, I feel at a total loss with my kid. He breaks my heart. He was such an adorable baby and little kid.

Then, we discovered that there was something a little “different” about him.

We had always known that he was very intelligent – beyond his age.

We would have people speak to us in streetcars, in parks, asking his age because he was so well-spoken with a large vocabulary by the age of two.

What I didn’t realize is that he was behind in other areas: emotional regulation, fine motor skills, and his social growth.

He is such a beautiful human and it constantly makes me sad when people fail to see this side of him because they are put off by his abruptness or aloofness.

Having said that, these days he makes me sad as it feels like I am totally losing my ability to take care of him. I struggle more every day to get him to do anything other than play with his “friends” online. I do not have any problems with video games, in fact, I also like to play and will play with him and his “bros” sometimes.

But, when his real-life best friend comes over and wants him to go outside and play with them and he refuses to put the screen down and go outside, I cry.

I cry because it will be a fight.

I cry because I know that it is not simple for him either. He has anxiety, depression, autism, and physical discomfort that makes everything more difficult and challenging than it should be for him.

Do I want to fight him to try and get him out of his “comfort zones”? Should I try to fight him to get him out of his “comfort zones”?

I used to cry because he would try to connect with the world and the world didn’t seem to know how to make room for him.

Now I cry because he doesn’t want to try to connect with the world anymore and I don’t know how to help him make room for the world.

I am exhausted and stressed every single day. I don’t know what to do with it all anymore, except to write about it.

So, that’s what I’m going to do. Maybe it will help me process this journey for myself. Maybe it will help someone else with their journey. Being a parent is tough – being a parent to a neurodivergent child is that and then some.

We cry.

We cry a lot.

There are days, many many days, when we think ‘I can’t do this anymore…’

And yet, we still have to get up and do all the things.

When we first received the diagnosis, the doctor was very kind and compassionate. He warned us to take our time digesting the information and to be kind to ourselves. He commented on the feelings of loss, or anger we might experience. I didn’t really get it at the time, because all I felt was relief. I was relieved that we finally had some answers and could really start approaching things from a place of information.

Now I get it.

Being the parent of a neurodiverse child is tough. It is especially tough if you are also neurodivergent and have specific needs and requirements.

I feel like I am still at the beginning of this journey and that there is still so much to learn and discover.

I am trying to acknowledge the small victories and give myself credit for them. But, it is very challenging when you feel like you are far from where you should be, and things do not seem to be moving forward or improving.

In other words, it is tough to see the light when you are burnout.

That will be my next post. Burnout. Watch this space.