Can I be honest about something? And as a psychologist-in-training, someone who is dedicated to helping families build strong foundations and break toxic generational cycles,

This is really embarrassing for me.

When my mom sends me a letter or a text... I freak out.

When I realize I might be building a new friendship... I start to ghost them.

I know that anything my mom sends me will be nothing but lovely and supportive.

I have a group of professional peers with similar interests who are trying to get me to go to dinner and a play, and I start to freeze up even though I love dinner. I love plays. And I haven't been to dinner and a play for probably about fifteen years.

So I started wondering... is this a post-diagnosis thing? Or is this an anxiety thing?

But then I realized that's the wrong question.

The better question is... how has my need for connection changed?

Then I realized it's rooted in something deeper... How have I changed? As a woman, mom, wife, daughter... HUMAN?

I drew on my depth psychology training... we're complex. You're complex. Maybe some of this rings true for you:

Sometimes your body is preparing for something that isn't happening

As an autism mom, you're constantly bracing: the school calling, the elopements, meltdowns, and staring from strangers. Your mind goes into overdrive and then forgets to downshift. So instead of slowing down to recognize sweet, gentle moments, take a leisurely drive on a scenic route as it were, your mind and body are mentally preparing to get on the Autobahn Speedway at 110 miles per hour.

So when your days are filled with professionals listing off your child's "deficits", "problem behaviors", and "missed milestones," while your personal life may have turned into nonstop conversations about appointments, insurance, and bills, your brain may not register an invite to a play as a time to relax and have fun.

Diagnosis can put you in a weird in-between

There's a word that captures this chapter for us autism mommas perfectly: liminality.

Basically, it means being in-between. The old version of your life ended abruptly, but your new one isn't very clear. Or always changing. If you're like me, you feel like your child's autism diagnosis threw you into that state of liminality, even if you had an idea that your child was autistic.

It's almost like you have to learn how to leave the house again. A birthday party is a high-threat event. A flickering light in the grocery store could easily derail into a meltdown. So, of course you're not the same. You have to change. The world you've lived in this whole time has now shifted into an unfamiliar landscape. Everything looks as it always did, but absolutely nothing is the same.

So you're growing into something. Or someone. Who is she?

Maybe coming back to yourself doesn't mean going backward

Okay, so we're forced to grow into someone new. And it's scary and it sucks and it's uncomfortable.

But this is where Jung's concept of individuation comes in, which simply means a process by which you become more fully yourself. Because, babe, there is no going back.

I've been thinking about this, especially as I put together workshops and resources. I'm trying to gently hold the tension that we, as autism mothers, so badly need to come back to ourselves.

Our dreams.
Our passions.

But what's so disorienting is that, since we've changed, we don't know who we're coming back to. So we get lost. And in the meantime, we're so buried in our daily lives, that there's rarely space to recognize the tiny clues along the path...

The desire to ride horses.

An invitation to a play.

Kindness from a loving family member....

Conclusion

Be gentle as you figure out who you're coming home to. Try to notice when there's an opportunity to downshift. And even if you can't do it yet, just noticing opens the door to discovering new things about yourself on this journey.

I'd love to know what you think in the comments.