If babies were born with a setting, then my daughter’s was set at ‘intense’. Because she was my first baby, I assumed this was how it always was. As I slowly emerged from my postpartum haze and looked around at the other mothers in my friendship circle and their calm children, I wondered why my experience was so different, and so difficult.
Apparently, there were babies, unlike mine, who would sleep through the night. Who didn’t need constant nursing, patting and bouncing to help soothe to sleep. Soon enough, unsolicited advice started creeping through, as well as comments on how tired I looked. Have you tried sleep training her? Surely you are spoiling her by keeping her in the carrier instead of the stroller? I tried a few half-hearted attempts, but both sleep training and not carrying her felt so intuitively wrong. Her closeness to me soothed both of us.
When I did manage to reach out to friends about why my daughter was so colicky, I began to wonder if I was doing things wrong. The parenting books I read certainly made it seem that way. I realised in hindsight how they were all written by neurotypical parents, for neurotypical children. I didn’t know then that my daughter and I are disabled and always will be.
When I listened to my intuition, I could meet her needs
Back then, all of my close parent-friends were neurotypical, with neurotypical children. I made the mistake of comparing myself and my daughter with them and their kids, which was a huge blow to my self-esteem.
While I was thinking out loud and trying to figure out why my daughter would struggle with transitioning from one activity to another or get very rigid around rules, one well-meaning neurotypical friend said that her neurotypical child was “a breeze from age zero to five”. This was the death knell of our friendship.
All children get into scrapes. But certain things only happen to neurodivergent children. Autistic children get into scrapes, and then some. Having a child with an invisible disability is so lonely when nobody around you understands.
Neurodivergence can be intergenerational, so autistic parents like me are also working through our own trauma from being unsupported in our childhood and adolescent years, while supporting our growing children. Every day, I’m making it up as I go along and hope that if my daughter has a child of her own one day, it’ll be easier for her because of the groundwork I set with her today. “We’re on the same team,” I tell her. “Let’s work it out together.” Her solutions continue to astound me.
My daughter’s autism diagnosis was a blessing for both of us – it helped me realise that I’m autistic too, and explained so much about the struggles around her first few years of life, and my own struggles. Even if I didn’t recognise her neurotype from birth, when I listened to my intuition, I could help her meet her needs. When I doubted myself, then she would let me know – loud and clear – that she needed help, and that I would always be enough for her, even when I messed up.
I know better now, and am close friends with fellow disabled mothers who have at least one disabled child. We just get each other – without apology or guilt. Phone calls are hard for us, so we exchange voice notes almost daily when we get downtime at night or early mornings. Our kids play so well together and have similar challenges with food allergies and sleeping, and we share the challenge of finding the right therapeutic match for our kids.
I cherish my friendships with other autistic mothers
It helps so much to feel seen. With fellow autistic mothers, I can let my guard down and know that my autistic daughter is safe with them. She is safe from judgement, and not only is she accepted, exactly as she is – she is celebrated.
My daughter is now no longer a fussy newborn. She is a hilarious, brilliant and creative seven-year-old. I am no longer a worried new mother constantly second-guessing herself. I am still tired and suspect I always will be, but the friends I can lean on help me believe in myself and my daughter.
Even the online friendships I have formed with autistic friends have been so healing for me. It helps just knowing that there’s a whole global community of people like me and my daughter who are only a click away, even if we have never met. There’s still a lot of miscommunication (classic autistic brutal honesty!), but the safety of online communities is that I can step away until I’m ready to re-engage. I cherish my friendships with other autistic mothers, and keep in touch via email.
If I could step back in time and reassure my exhausted, postpartum self, I would say: “One day, the right friends will support you and your daughter through the ups and downs of early childhood and parenting life. These friends will see that you and your brilliant autistic little girl are enough, just as you are. And most importantly, as my neurodivergent friends will now tell me – you’ve got this.”
*Author’s real name is not used
