A Valentine's to Remember

The year my newborn son entered our world, my life unraveled. As a mother grappling with undiagnosed autism and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) and caring for a three-year-old with her own unrecognized neurodivergence, the demands quickly outpaced my capacity. Sleep became a wistful memory, and the relentless demand for my attention and touch left me overstimulated and deeply exhausted.

To complicate matters further, parenting became my new special interest—my mission. In true autistic fashion, I sought to parent in "the right way” and follow all the rules. I poured over every parenting book within reach, only to be met with a kaleidoscope of "good parent" rules, each one contradicting the next. The mother's guilt was overwhelming. I felt it in the uncertainty clouding my parenting choices and in the way I could no longer lavish my eldest with the undivided attention. At the same time, I was acutely aware of my patience wearing thin.

An Ambitious Valentine's Attempt

Acknowledging the diminished attention my eldest was feeling with the arrival of her new brother, I decided to make that Valentine's Day especially memorable. Fueled by good intentions, a yearning to make up for the lost time, and a touch of guilt, I planned to go all out and make the day memorable. A trip to the dollar store later, our home was fashioned with what I hoped would be the trappings of a wonderful memory: Rose petals scattered on the stairs—a romantic nuance my autistic mind didn’t register—vinyl stickers adorning the windows, and heart-shaped pancakes awaiting at the breakfast table.

A little girl hiding her face behind a red paper heart—photo.

Source: Syda Productions / Deposit Photos

Despite the exhaustion that clung to me, I was determined to craft a Valentine’s Day that my three-year-old would remember fondly. Summoning every ounce of energy I had, I aimed to embody the quintessential Pinterest mom, all to sprinkle my daughter’s childhood with joyful memories and positive associations.

The Reality of Expectations vs. Sensory Needs

The morning, however, veered off course from my thoughtfully laid plans. As my daughter descended the stairs—now a cascade of rose petals—she was immediately overwhelmed, spiraling into a meltdown. The novelty of the decorations and the disruption to her usual breakfast routine were too much for her, a fact that I would only come to understand years later.

My thoughts turned critical and impatient. I had risen an hour early to craft a special day for her; couldn’t she, in turn, offer me the solace of feeling like an adept mother? The psychological dynamics at play were intricate and complex. I was an undiagnosed, fatigued autistic mother wrestling with a pervasive sense of inadequacy and the constant fear of falling short.

My daughter's distress only aggravated and confirmed my self-doubt. On the one hand, the societal expectations of maternal perfection were suffocating. On the other, my daughter’s natural reaction to my well-meaning efforts left me feeling even more inadequate. I was enveloped in guilt, shame, and a profound sense of failure, struggling to understand why motherhood was fraught with so much struggle.

A New Understanding Through a Sensory Lens

Now, as a clinical psychologist who specializes in neurodivergent-affirming care, I am able to revisit Valentine's Day with a more gentle and informed perspective. I understand why my attempts to create "special memories" for my children often misfired, not out of lack of love but from a misunderstanding of our needs.

I understand that my daughter and I were processing our world differently. The sensory overload from the decorations and the disruption of routine all contributed to her dysregulated state—and to mine. We were entwined in a loop of mutual dysregulation, and I struggled to effectively support my daughter's or my own needs, as I didn’t yet have a lens to understand them.

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The acknowledgment of our sensory misalignment serves as a critical juncture to understanding the broader context of our interactions. It was not only the immediate sensory experiences that were challenging but also the weight of societal expectations on motherhood. My frustrations, which were often directed towards myself, were inadvertently placed upon my daughter when she responded in the only way she was able to at the time. This misdirected frustration only served to magnify my feelings of inadequacy. With the clarity of retrospection, I now understand the role that projection played during those difficult periods—how my own insecurities and challenges were mirrored onto her. It's a dynamic that, I suspect, is quite common in the connections formed within neurodiverse families.

The Power of Hindsight

Looking back, I feel a deep sense of loss for the missed chances to truly attune to my daughter in those early years, to embrace her with the empathy and understanding she deserved. Early recognition of our neurodivergence and adopting a sensory lens could have allowed for greater attunement, one not constricted by the traditional expectations of motherhood—an ideal that we were never destined to embody. I now realize that the mainstream parenting strategies that frequently missed their target did so because they were not tailored to our unique needs.

Attempts to conform to a neurotypical framework strained our relationship, making it challenging to support co-regulation. We were often adrift, unable to synchronize with our own or each other's rhythms.[1] Trusting my instincts over the exhaustive list of parenting dos and don'ts would have fostered an environment that celebrated our neurodiversity and attended to our sensory needs right from the start.

Our delayed diagnoses, influenced by the societal tendency to overlook autism in girls, obstructed our path to self-recognition and the cultivation of a sensory-nurturing environment. This lack of early identification made it difficult to understand and respond to the sensory needs of both myself and my child.[2]

Embracing a Neurodivergent Future

Our family's journey from the fraught beginnings to the present has been transformative. We've developed a sensory lens, allowing us to recognize, articulate, and plan for each of our unique sensory needs and potential sensory clashes. We've realized that the conventional paths of family life are not our paths, and we have instead etched out our own customs and cadences for connecting, finding meaning, and celebrating life in a manner that truly works for us (no rose petals involved).

Our awakening to this understanding may have come 11 years later than I had hoped, yet I recognize that for many, such realizations may come even later, or perhaps not at all. With growing awareness of the diverse presentations of autism, I remain optimistic about a future where parents can embrace a sensory and neurodivergent perspective earlier in their parenting journey. For my family, this shift has been more than mere adaptation; it has been a joyful affirmation of our neurodiversity, allowing us to understand ourselves truly and, from there, cultivate attunement and harmonize our rhythms.