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........

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