I don’t usually call myself strong. I don’t wake up feeling brave or inspirational. Most days, I just feel tired. But if there’s one word that fits my life as an autism mum, it’s this: Survivor.
Not because something tragic happened .Every single day asks more of me than I ever knew I had to give – surviving isn’t dramatic. It’s quiet, relentless, showing up repeatedly when I am already empty. It’s fighting battles no one else can see
This isn’t just parenting. This is: chasing referrals, sitting on waiting lists, learning therapies I never trained for, explaining my child to teachers, strangers, family, doctors, advocating when I’m shaking inside ,researching at midnight filling out forms that ask me to list my child’s “deficits” over and over ,It’s loving my child fiercely while navigating a world that wasn’t built for them., And some days, that breaks my heart. Because the world sees “behaviour,” I see “overwhelming”. The world sees “difficult” ,I see “brave”. The world sees “different”, I see “extraordinary”. # The kind of tiredness no one talks about #
No one prepares parents for the mental load. The constant scanning: Are they coping ? Is it too loud? Will this trigger them? Do they have snacks, headphones, safe exits, backup plans?. Parents don’t relax, don’t switch off and are always on duty. Even when they sleep, they are half-awake. Even when they rest, their brain doesn’t. It’s survival mode disguised as motherhood and fatherhood. #The invisible weight#
There’s love — so much love it hurts. But there’s also grief for the ease other families seem to have, for invitations declined, for being misunderstood, for the version of parenting they thought they had. Because autism isn’t the problem — the world’s lack of understanding is. Still… some days are heavy. And that’s okay to admit. # The grief we don’t admit out loud #
Our wins look different. They’re small to the outside world, but huge to us. A new food tried, a meltdown avoided, a sentence spoke, a day at school that didn’t end in tears, eye contact, a smile, a moment of calm. These are a parents gold medals and celebrations. These are the moments that keep them going. # The victories no one claps for #
Because I didn’t quit. Because I kept advocating when I was intimidated. Because I kept loving when I was exhausted. Because I kept learning when I was overwhelmed. Because I stood between my child and a world that didn’t understand them. Not perfectly. Not gracefully. But consistently. And sometimes, survival is the bravest thing someone can do. # Why I call myself a survivor#
To every autism mum and dad reading this
If you feel worn down…If you feel unseen… If you feel like you’re barely holding it together… You’re not failing. You’re surviving something incredibly hard. And surviving is strength. Even on the days you cry in the bathroom. Even on the days you lose your patience. Even on the days you think you can’t do this anymore. You already are doing it. Every single day. And that makes you extraordinary.