There’s a version of parenting that most people recognise. The age old TV family. It’s busy, loud, sometimes chaotic—but familiar. 18 summer…all that jazz!
Then there’s the version that happens maybe more quietly, behind closed doors, where the real work isn’t just what you do, but what you are constantly holding in your overwhelmed mind.
This is MY parenting journey and has been for the last 18 years.
Caring for my two autistic children (with another two beautiful kids too) isn’t just a physical role. It’s a relentless, invisible mental load that NEVER switches off. It’s there when you wake up, when you try to rest, and even when things look “fine” from the outside.
The mental load starts before the day even begins. You’re already mapping it out:
What will they eat? What can they eat today? Will there be traffic? Will the WIFI drop out?
Are their clothes going to feel okay, or will that trigger distress?
What’s happening at school / specialist sixth form—are there changes, supply staff, unexpected events?
How do you prepare them without overwhelming them?
Every small decision carries weight because every small thing matters massively.
Getting ready for school isn’t just getting ready. It’s negotiation without demand placement, emotional regulation, sensory management, and contingency planning all at once. It’s knowing that a simple request—“put your shoes on”—might not be simple at all. It might be the moment that everything tips into total chaos.
You learn to read signals that others don’t see. A tone shift. A hesitation. The way they move through a room. You’re constantly scanning, adjusting, preventing. Not because you want to control everything—but because you’re trying to hold things together because you know the result if things go wrong.
And you carry it all in your head, alone, relentlessly and with no one else feeling what you feel and when.
Then there’s the hospital appointments. Forms. Waiting lists. Referrals. Meetings where you have to explain your child from scratch, over and over again. Dealing with inconsiderate people and avoiding lashing out at someone who has insulted your child for just being them!
Translating their needs into words professionals and family members will understand. Fighting to be heard, but doing it calmly, constructively, persistently—because that’s what gets results.
At the same time, you’re managing the emotional world of two children who experience things VERY differently. Supporting them through overwhelm, anxiety, sensory discomfort, and moments they can’t yet make sense of themselves.
There’s no clocking out for me and I’m neurodivergent too! I AM ALWAYS EXHAUSTED!
Even in the quieter moments, your brain doesn’t rest. You’re replaying the day. What worked? What didn’t? What could I do differently tomorrow? You’re planning three steps ahead because you’ve learned that being unprepared has a cost.
And then there’s the guilt. The constant questioning. Did I push too much? Did I not push enough? Am I meeting ALL of my childrens needs equally? Am I missing something?
It’s heavy—because you LOVE your children. Deeply, fiercely, relentlessly.
Now for me, what makes it harder is how invisible it all is. From the outside, people might see a parent managing, coping, even doing well. They don’t see the mental tabs open all day long. They don’t feel the weight of holding two entirely different sets of needs, triggers, and supports in your mind at all times.
They don’t see how tired you are. How much you cry. How scared for the future you are.
But within that weight, there is also something else.
A depth of understanding. An ability to adapt. A level of advocacy most people never have to develop.
You become fluent in your children—their cues, their needs, their ways of experiencing the world. You learn to celebrate things others might overlook. A smoother morning. A moment of calm. A small win that took enormous effort to achieve.
The invisible weight doesn’t go away. But you carry it because they matter. And while the world may not always see it, that doesn’t make it any less real.
However, being a parent to all of our children has taught me a kind of strength I didn’t know I had. I choose every day to stay positive, not because it’s easy, but because my children deserve a parent who sees their potential before their challenges.
I prioritise my wellbeing and theirs above everything else, even when others don’t understand or agree, because I know that showing up fully for them matters more than meeting outside expectations.
There are days I feel completely exhausted, stretched thin in ways few people see, yet that exhaustion sits alongside a deep resilience. I keep going, advocating, learning, and pushing forward—not perfectly, but relentlessly—because my children deserve a voice, support, and a world that makes space for who they are.
If you’re living this too—you’re not alone. I SEE YOUR INVISIBLE LOAD!
