(A survival guide no one hands you, but everyone needs)
There’s a version of parenting that exists only in theory. Balanced. Calm. Instagrammable. The kind where adults have hobbies and drink coffee while it’s still hot.
Then there’s the real version. The one where you love your child so fiercely it scares you, while quietly wondering where you went in the process.
If you’re raising an autistic child, this tension can feel constant. You’re not just parenting. You’re advocating, translating, buffering, explaining, regulating, anticipating. You are the nervous system backup generator. And no one really checks how you are doing, because all eyes are understandably on the child.
So let’s check in. Honestly. No inspirational nonsense.
The Part No One Warns You About: Identity Drift
Before kids, you were a person. You had preferences, limits, dreams, tolerance for noise. Then you became a parent. Then you became this parent.
Suddenly, your life revolves around schedules, therapies, school meetings, sensory needs, emotional regulation strategies, and explaining the same thing to different adults using increasingly polite language.
Somewhere along the way, you stop asking what you need because the answer feels irrelevant. Or selfish. Or exhausting.
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: losing yourself doesn’t happen all at once. It happens in tiny, reasonable sacrifices. Each one justified. Each one understandable. Until one day you realize you don’t recognize your own exhaustion anymore because it’s become your baseline.
Loving Deeply While Running on Empty
You can adore your child and still feel depleted. You can be patient and still snap. You can be informed and still overwhelmed. These are not moral failures. They are signs of chronic emotional labor.
Raising an autistic child often means you are “on” all the time. Watching for triggers. Planning transitions. Buffering sensory overload. Advocating in systems that weren’t built with your child in mind. And when you finally stop moving, the adrenaline drops and everything hits at once.
This is where burnout sneaks in quietly. Not with drama, but with numbness. Irritability. Forgetfulness. A sense that you’re doing everything right and still failing somehow.
You’re not failing. You’re tired.
Guilt: The Background Noise of Parenthood
Guilt comes in many flavors. Guilt for being impatient. Guilt for wanting time alone. Guilt for not doing enough. Guilt for doing too much. Guilt for wondering how life might have been different.
Let’s say this clearly. Wanting rest does not mean you resent your child. Wanting space does not mean you love them less. It means you are human.
Parents of autistic children often carry an extra layer of guilt because the stakes feel higher. You worry that if you drop the ball, even briefly, it will affect your child long-term. That pressure is heavy. No one thrives under it.
And yet, children do not need perfect parents. They need regulated ones.
Regulation Isn’t Just for Kids
You’ve probably heard about emotional regulation for children. Breathing techniques. Calm corners. Predictable routines. All good things.
But here’s the part that rarely gets said out loud. You cannot co-regulate from a state of constant dysregulation. If your nervous system is always overwhelmed, your child feels it. Not because you’re doing something wrong, but because nervous systems talk to each other.
Supporting yourself is not indulgent. It’s functional.
This doesn’t mean spa days and unrealistic self-care checklists. It means small, boring, life-saving adjustments. Lowering expectations. Reducing unnecessary battles. Letting some things be “good enough” instead of perfect.
Sometimes regulation looks like stepping into the bathroom and breathing for thirty seconds. Sometimes it looks like asking for help. Sometimes it looks like saying no and not explaining yourself.
The Myth of the Tireless Parent
There’s a quiet pressure to be endlessly patient, endlessly informed, endlessly strong. Especially when your child has additional needs. You become the “capable one.” The one who handles it.
But capability without support turns into isolation.
You are allowed to need breaks. You are allowed to feel angry at systems, not at your child. You are allowed to mourn the ease you didn’t get while still celebrating the child you have.
Strength is not silence. Strength is knowing when to stop pushing yourself past the edge.
Relationships, Loneliness, and the Invisible Divide
Parenting an autistic child can be isolating in ways people don’t anticipate. Friends don’t always get it. Family may minimize or overstep. Social plans feel risky because you’re never sure how things will go.
Over time, your world can shrink. Not because you don’t want connection, but because connection feels complicated.
If you’ve ever felt lonely in a room full of people, or exhausted by well-meaning advice, or unseen even by those who love you, you’re not imagining it. This path can be lonely.
And that loneliness deserves attention too.
Humor as a Coping Mechanism (Yes, It Counts)
Sometimes the only way through is to laugh. At the socks. At the negotiations. At the fact that you can recite sensory preferences like a sommelier. Humor doesn’t mean you’re not taking things seriously. It means you’re surviving.
Dark humor, gentle sarcasm, shared eye-rolls with other parents who get it. These are not signs of bitterness. They are pressure valves.
You’re allowed to find the absurdity in this life. It doesn’t cancel out the love.
What It Actually Means to Take Care of Yourself
Taking care of yourself doesn’t mean abandoning your responsibilities. It means recognizing that you are one of them.
It might mean therapy. It might mean carving out fifteen minutes of quiet. It might mean lowering the bar on things that don’t matter. It might mean saying, “This is too much right now,” and believing yourself.
Your child benefits most from a parent who feels supported, not from a parent who disappears under the weight of being everything.
A Truth Worth Holding Onto
You are not replaceable in your child’s life. But you are also not invincible.
Losing yourself is not a requirement of good parenting. Staying connected to who you are makes you a safer place for your child to land.
You are allowed to exist beyond caregiving. You are allowed to grow alongside your child instead of shrinking around their needs.
If you’re reading this and feeling seen, let that matter. Pause. Breathe. Ask yourself one honest question: What do I need right now that I’ve been postponing?
Support is not a luxury. It’s part of the work.
If you want more grounded, compassionate conversations about parenting, neurodiversity, and mental health that don’t sugarcoat reality or shame exhaustion, stay connected. This space is built for parents like you.
You’re not weak for feeling tired.
You’re strong for staying.
Sonia M. Rompoti, MSc, Bsc 
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