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I Spent Years Moving Through Life Exhausted. I Never Knew The Reason – Until I Saw The Same Struggles In My Kids

I Spent Years Moving Through Life Exhausted. I Never Knew The Reason – Until I Saw The Same Struggles In My Kids
The author's two sons enjoying a day at the aquarium.After my eldest son was diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder, everything in my life shifted to revolve around him. His needs, his future, and his environment were all I could think about. To show up for him, I had to learn a new language: how to correct with empathy, how to show more than tell, how to make sure he understood without talking down to him, and how to listen. It’s one thing to fight for your children to be understood and heard, but it’s quite another to recognise that you spent years being misunderstood yourself.  In my 20s, I spent a lot of time “fixing” myself. I found it challenging to stick with a plan, organise, and balance work and life expectations. I had a hard time paying attention to details or prioritising tasks, often getting sidetracked by another task that took up less brain space. I had trouble with social performance, finding myself utterly exhausted after networking and following a social script. All these challenges made it seem like I was careless or flighty. It felt like everyone was excelling in areas that I found emotionally exhausting and it was nearly impossible to keep up. I thought I needed to push harder, do more.I sped through books about organisation and focus. I even paid a hypnotist to help train my brain. I worked harder, stayed up later, and chastised myself for not getting it right. Overwhelm and exhaustion became my normal.And despite my commitment, everyday tasks drained me in ways that I couldn’t fully explain. Noise made me anxious; sudden changes agitated me. But I had no framework for what I was experiencing. The word “neurodivergent”, describing the various ways people processed information, hadn’t yet gained traction during my college years. And although I was familiar with terms like ADD (attention-deficit disorder), I didn’t see it in myself. I assumed it only applied to children, and back then, I wasn’t around people who talked about what happened when those children grew up. Those feelings bled into my 30s. Fortunately, freelancing as a writer and editor gave me some relief. I was good with hard deadlines – even if task paralysis kicked in until the countdown was on. Nonetheless, I finally felt like I found my rhythm.But as my kids grew older, they demanded more from me. Each one had very different needs. There was no one-size-fits-all way of parenting, let alone parenting kids with diverse ways of learning. Additionally, life demanded more from me. I was trying to build a business and maintain a full-time job. Organising, planning and managing my own emotions were crucial parts of helping the household run smoother, but it was challenging to keep all of it going continuously. It seemed like, at each step, all of my shortcomings threw a wrench in creating family structure. I had to figure out how to balance their needs and my own. By the time my youngest son received an autism diagnosis, I thought I knew what to expect. I knew what autism looked like, had learned more about executive function, sensory differences, special interests and masking. This time, I noticed similarities not just between my boys, but between them and me.I remember reading an article about stimming and having an “Aha!” moment. Stimming can be a repetitive verbal or physical cue that helps neurodivergent people self-soothe. While my eldest son would rock, I’d break out into song. He obsessed over numbers; I watched the same movie, same scene, over and over. He covered his ears at loud sounds; I’d get easily annoyed by the “too buzzy” hum of electricity. When I picked through childhood memories, I found many other traits that signalled neurodivergence. I grew out of some of them, but others – like my sensitivity to some textures – are things I avoid today.While I was prepared with a list of specialists and programs we’d exhausted with the first son, this time autism looked different. The eldest was hyperlexic while the youngest struggles with communication and reading. Each shared little parts of me – stimming, special interests – but had their own unique challenges. As I carved out a way to show up for each of them in different ways, I also made a conscious decision to create space for myself. I couldn’t be a good parent if I was constantly overwhelmed. I had to purposefully create little moments of joy for myself, celebrating and protecting little wins. I learned that I wasn’t just my kids’ advocate, but my own. When I was finally diagnosed with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), I felt settled. Naming my challenges felt powerful and purposeful.I learned that many mothers find out they are neurodivergent after their kids are diagnosed. According to the National Library of Medicine, in almost half of households where one child has ADHD, at least one parent also has it. Not only is ADHD, in particular, hereditary, but it’s also common for girls and women to go undiagnosed until motherhood. The responsibilities of parenthood can push those undiagnosed symptoms to the front.Parenting neurodivergent children forced me to hold up a mirror to myself. It showed me when I was wearing a mask and that, in certain situations, I expected my kids to wear that same ill-fitting mask, too. When one of my boys would avoid eye contact, I’d correct them, even when it was clearly uncomfortable for them. I also redirected any stimming, spending each moment trying to stifle the ways they sought to self-soothe. I learned that I was doing more harm than good. Instead of raising boys that were confident, I was creating little people who were self-critical and uncomfortable in their own skin. It was important for us to unmask. Instead of forcing them to do things that were clearly uncomfortable, I let them breathe. Sometimes they rock, tip-toe or elope, and that’s part of who they are. When they look in the mirror, I want them to accept themselves fully.For the past five years, I’ve been unlearning patterns and moving past survival. I mask less and have built healthier, slower routines with purpose. I realised I can’t teach my boys not to be hard on themselves if I’m still hard on myself. When my oldest son mentioned that he wasn’t sure what career would be right for someone with autism, I thought about the importance of mentorship and representation. What does success look like for people like him? What does happiness look like for kids like mine? I began researching neurodivergent people who had created their own paths to happiness, and found that on those journeys, many of them also carved out a path to success. The research became a special interest and, eventually, a book. Writing became one of my favourite tools for managing executive function. I learned to pair mundane tasks with something rewarding. This interest-based motivation is something I’m baking into the very fabric of our family. For example, folding laundry is boring, so we pair it with a reward like extra screen time or a favourite show playing in the background. We try to make things meaningful, which helps our boys get the task done.The truth is, I’m still learning. There are hard days and with a house filled with neurodivergent kids and adults, challenges pop up all the time. Advocacy can be draining, but it’s worth it. My kids gave me a new language that I try to use in all situations. They also gave me the courage and permission to claim it as my own. The mirror is still a little dirty sometimes, and maybe the reflection isn’t always what I want to see, but I’m able to see myself clearly now. And I hope that one day each of my boys learn to see themselves clearly, too. Margeaux Weston is a neurodivergent mom to three busy boys, an editor, and an author. She’s written several nonfiction books for young readers, including “The Story of Fannie Lou Hamer,” “African American History for Kids,” and “Everything But Typical” (Bloomsbury), a middle grade book celebrating neurodivergent changemakers. When she’s not writing, she’s at a festival, with family, or reading. Find her on Instagram @AuthorMargeaux or at margeauxweston.com.Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch at [email protected] Run An Assessment Clinic – Here Are 7 Signs Of Autism To Spot In ChildrenA Parent Told Me 'Everyone Seems To Have Autism These Days' – Here's What I Want Them To KnowMeltdowns In Kids With AuDHD Are Never 'A Choice'. This 1 Response Can Help

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