Being a mother is learning about strengths you didn’t know you had…and dealing with fears you didn’t know existed.

Linda Wooten

It’s no secret that working moms have exceptionally high standards placed on them.

Society judges us if we give anything less to our children than a stay-at-home in the 1950s. We must justify our ability to raise children, keep house, and be great employees to ‘earn’ the privilege of having a job – and avoid shame.

It’s an impossible juggle of expectations. We’re expected to do it all.

I remember when I became a first-time mother – I didn’t want anyone to know how much I struggled. I thought it was supposed to ‘come naturally.’ With every meltdown, I felt like a failure.

Good mothers did everything. And LOVED it!

That’s what all the doll commercials told us growing up. It’s easy! You’re a natural because you are a girl.

I hated playing with dolls. But I digress.

The shadow of grey clouds marks my memories of my son’s first few years. I never had time to recover from all the new day-to-day demands and felt guilty for even thinking of taking time for myself.

It’s crazy how much a diagnosis can change your life. Once I understood why I couldn’t keep up with work, children, playdates, birthday parties, and other demands of life, I could be forgiving of myself.

The autism diagnosis started my journey to self-awareness. Instead of looking at everything I was as “wrong,” I began to look at myself with acceptance. The more I learned about myself, the more I crafted my life around my needs to be a better mother.

This self-awareness has allowed my strengths as an autistic mother to float to the surface. And my children have benefited from it too.

I need a set routine and schedule.

Sometimes my husband calls me at work and asks if I can run by the store on the way home. And he waits quietly for my answer. He knows my weekly schedule is set in stone. Any changes to it will disrupt my focus and, depending on my state, push me into the overwhelmed zone.

I process this and do an inventory of how I feel. Can I handle it? How do I feel about it?

Sometimes the answer is, reluctantly, yes, but sometimes it’s no.

When I start a week, I need to know the schedule. When too many variables are at play, I am overwhelmed. It’s also essential that every day of the week follows the same routine. So, every Monday looks the same – the same schedule, routine, and set of demands.

This is how I avoid cognitive overload. Because I stick to a routine and set schedules, I have more energy to deal with things that pop up “out of the blue.”

I’ve also learned how much my children rely on our routines too. Because of my need for routines and schedules, my children know what to expect daily. They know what days they have after-school activities. They know Saturday mornings are for leisure and recovery.

They know what is expected of them every day.

The assurance is especially important for my autistic son, who is still learning to be aware of his needs.

Routines bring a sense of stability and security for autistic moms and children.

Everyone has limits – including me.

This one is difficult for the nonautistic women I know. They push their boundaries by overloading their children’s schedules. But they can push further than I can. This is something I’ve had to accept. It takes work. There’s so much pressure to be involved in school activities, birthday parties, playdates, etc.

I’m pulling the brake when other women are still running their engines.

And that’s okay. Because I know I will suffer cognitive paralysis if I push too far. When I’m overwhelmed with commitments and demands, I shut down. I can’t move, think, or speak. I go into zombie mode, which isn’t a good place to be.

So, I avoid overloading our schedules, which prevents me from overloading my brain. Most importantly, I purposely build in time for recovery based on the energy I’m using. (Spoon theory, anyone?)

While schedules are good for children, overscheduling them isn’t. I know a few nonautistic moms like this, and they are burned out. Shuttling their children from one place to the next and running through fast food drive-thrus occupy the bulk of their week outside work.

All moms need a breather. And children need self-directed free time. Boredom breeds creativity. As with all things, balance is vital. By knowing my limits, I can give my best without the increased anxiety of unending life demands.

I self-advocate for my needs.

At home, this means pushing back when others ask for more. It means being honest about and speaking up for your limits. The plus side? Your children will learn to speak up for their limits too.

If my husband had it his ADHD way, we’d be active 100% of the week. He. Doesn’t. Stop.

Sometimes I tell him, no; I’m out of steam. Other times I speak up and voice my need to “not be needed” for a while.

Quality time alone in a silent environment with a hobby is necessary for me to recover from overwhelm and avoid a sensory meltdown. I’ll leave the kids with him, head upstairs, and lock myself in my craft room for a few hours.

It’s also important for my children to witness boundary-setting and self-advocacy.

I prioritize what needs to be done based on my available energy.

Every day has a routine and schedule. Top priorities like feeding my kids are included, of course. But some days, I get home and have little energy left, so I tackle something else on the priority list. A load of laundry gets folded, or I sweep the floor.

To be direct – the house is never spotless. I do things when I can. And so does my husband.

We are not perfect parents, but we are the best parents we can be.

I’ve let go of guilt – mostly.   

Autistic women don’t fit into a societal mold, not in the workplace, social settings, families, friends, and not as mothers.

So, why try?

Accepting myself means accepting all of me, including the way I parent.

Sometimes I feel guilty that I can’t be more like nonautistic moms. The playdates, volunteering at school, and letting my children join any activity they wanted, no matter the time commitment.

But I’ve grown secure enough in my strengths to be okay with my limits. Brushing off the guilt gets easier.  

My children are happy and well taken care of. They are loved – and know it.

No one has all the answers, especially about parenting. But we could do with a little less judgment and more support.

Just because parenting looks different with an autistic mom doesn’t mean it isn’t quality parenting. All moms, autistic or not, must extend each other more grace. It’s impossible to believe that anyone can do it “all.” And there is a lot we can learn from each other if we only take a moment to listen.

What are your greatest parenting strengths? What helps you? Please share it in the comments below!

The natural communication style for autistics tends to take a straightforward approach. We know what we want to say, and we say it. But there’s more to communicating than words for non-autistics. Words are just one piece of the puzzle, and the non-verbal communication accompanying a verbal message can significantly influence how others interpret the message.

Autistics’ limited ability to grasp non-verbal communication skills can cause misunderstandings. We cause conflict and lose friendships and jobs, often not realizing why. There are many types of non-verbal communication, but the three types that have been more problematic for me growing up are paralanguage, facial expressions, and eye contact.

My earliest memories specifically address paralanguage, so I’ll start there. I’ll discuss my experience with facial expressions and eye contact in upcoming posts.

Paralanguage, a new term for me despite a long history of being confused by the concept, is the nonverbal qualities such as the natural rise and fall of the voice and tone when speaking. These things can help convey emotions and nuanced meaning behind our verbal message. However, autistics often don’t hear what our voices are doing. Many of us have a flat or monotone delivery or an unusual vocal pattern, often emphasizing sounds unexpectedly.

How many times did people tell you, “It isn’t what you say but how you say it,” as a child?

My parents often said this – or some variation – in my childhood.

I distinctly remember my mother leaning over and whispering in my ear at my birthday party. As I unwrapped my gifts, I’d thank each gift giver. But she’d say, “You don’t have to like the gift, but you do have to convince them that you like it when you say, ‘thank you.’”

I was confused. I liked my gifts. How was it possible that saying thank you meant that I didn’t? But apparently, my “thank you” wasn’t delivered with enough emotion to show my excitement.

Even in my young adult years, as I entered the workplace, coworkers told me several times that I was being rude. I had no idea why because my intention wasn’t to be rude.

I’ve tried my whole life to figure out this “tone of voice” thing, and while I can somewhat figure out other people’s tone of voice and what they mean, I do not know what my tone of voice is doing at any moment in time.

Autistic Science Person

Like many adult autistic women raised not knowing about our autism, I spent a lot of time studying other girls and women around me. I’d practice their sentences and attempt to sound like them. Society expects women to be friendly and have a pleasant voice. To compensate and avoid misunderstandings, I consciously overdo the emotion in my voice. But it feels weird and unnatural. And cheesy. It’s sooooo awkward to me.

Now, I have a checklist in my head as I open gifts. I tell myself to smile and then say, “I LOVE my GIFT!” And follow it with one reason I love the gift – just to emphasize that I love it. As I hear myself say it, it sounds so cheesy and over-the-top. I worry that over-exaggerating the emotion in my voice can be taken as sarcasm or a backhanded insult.

It takes effort and concentration. And I still don’t always get it right. My voice can rise and fall in unusual ways, emphasizing syllables that can confuse others. Autistics can identify tone in other people’s voices but not in our voices as we are speaking. (Sometimes I have to record meetings at work so I can refer back to information presented during the call. I hate listening to myself in recordings because I can pick up the unusual and over-exaggerated sounds in my voice.)

Although facial expressions don’t come naturally to me, I find they are a little more predictable and use them to help emphasize my verbal message and cover up my paralanguage mistakes. (But that’s an article for another day.)

As an autistic, I specialize in hyper-focusing. Once I’m deep into my project, I cannot quickly switch focus. It takes a good minute to do that. If someone interrupts me while I’m hyper-focused and asks a question and I don’t take to reorient my mind, I’ll respond without effort to exaggerate my tone. It’s direct and flat – and apparently, sounding rude or argumentative.

My tone of voice is the most challenging skill to mask. And, quite possibly, the biggest reason I can’t seem to keep most of my friends.

Looking back on my suddenly lost friendships, I wish they’d asked about my intention. There is nothing wrong with asking for clarity. “Hey. I was a little upset by what you just said. Did you mean it to come across as rudely as it sounded to me?”

If you have a coworker or friend who is autistic, please keep this in mind: we don’t know what our voices are doing or not doing. Please give us the benefit of the doubt and listen to our words. We usually say what we mean.

Seeking to understand goes both ways. Too often, autistics are expected to pick up the total weight of adapting to a non-autistic communication style. But it’s a two-way street.