Lifestyle
At 35, I was diagnosed with autism. Here are the 7 ways it’s changed how I parent.
The founders of the popular parenting platform Big Little Feelings — moms and real-life best friends Deena Margolin, a child therapist specializing in interpersonal neurobiology, and Kristin Gallant, a parenting coach with a background in maternal and child education — are known for having “ridiculously honest” conversations. And now they’re bringing their wisdom to Yahoo in a new column called After After Bedtime, a companion to their podcast, After Bedtime With Big Little Feelings. In the first episode of their show, Margolin reveals that she was diagnosed with autism level 1 at age 35, calling it “one of the most healing experiences in my whole life.” Here, Margolin shares the accommodations she uses to navigate parenting while on the spectrum without becoming overwhelmed or burned out — and the lessons all parents can learn from putting their needs first.
Before having kids, my life was extremely structured. I’d have the same breakfast every single day, take a 30-minute beach walk and meditate, prioritizing wellness and sticking to a checklist. I put routines in place to stave off burnout, meltdowns, shutdowns and fight extreme fatigue. But then I had kids and it all crumbled.
For years, I consulted doctor after doctor for help and their responses would always be like, “You’re so young, you’re so healthy, you work out, you shouldn’t be so tired.” So why does my body hurt? Why am I having such a hard time just existing? And then just recently, as a 35-year-old pregnant mom to two toddler boys, I was diagnosed with autism. Bright lights, loud noises and restricting clothing — all of this was overwhelming my system.
Getting this diagnosis has helped me become more aware of what overstimulates me and what I need to avoid. My nervous system burns out being around crowds and lots of background noise, so I’ve found ways to adjust. For example, we go to fun kid places — like pumpkin patches, children’s museums, play gyms, the zoo, etc. — right when they open or at times I know are low-traffic. That way, the environment works better for me. I can stay more present, less overwhelmed and genuinely have more fun with my kids. Then we leave once it starts to get crowded or overwhelming. I’m still learning, but here are some other ways I’m navigating neurodivergent parenting.
I set boundaries unapologetically around social interactions. My husband takes our kids to most birthday parties, as I know that will burn my nervous system out completely due to noise and constant small talk. I schedule playdates only at specific days, times and locations that I know will work better for my needs. I will also reschedule if I’m completely out of energy, and am so grateful to have mom friends (I really only have Kristin and two other mom friends!) who completely understand and aren’t offended — just like I’m not offended if they need to reschedule because they don’t have the energy. I’m actually honored that they feel so safe and comfortable with me to be honest and say, “Hey, today I just don’t have it in me; let’s find another day soon.”
I build in downtime to reset. While I absolutely love going on adventures with my kids, I build in time right after to reset. Sometimes that’s by having a plan for my husband to take over at a certain time. Sometimes it’s using my boys’ downtime to nap. Other times we’ll just snuggle up on the couch and watch a little TV together; I love those moments with them.
I don’t expect my house to be perfect. I’ve always had trouble putting dirty clothes in a hamper, folding laundry and putting clean laundry back on shelves. I know no one likes doing these tasks, but to me they feel painful and nearly impossible. A few systems that work for me are: (A) putting all our dirty clothes directly into the washing machine each day, (B) having my husband be in charge of folding and putting clean clothes in drawers (this task doesn’t feel like torture to him!) and (C) “body doubling” with my kids or husband, which means having another person there with you to clean the floors, load the dishes, deal with laundry and vacuum. Having an accountability partner can make it feel easier than trying to do it alone when you have difficulties with executive functioning.
I carve out time for special interests. My special interests are farm animals, watching Formula 1 racing, researching well-being and child development, and working out. I now prioritize these more and intentionally carve out times to get into these activities. Doing these things makes me feel whole and alive and inspired and prevents autistic burnout. For a neurotypical person, doing less often fills their cup. But for a neurodivergent person, sometimes doing more — and doing their special interests specifically — is what fills their cup!
I wear sunglasses inside. I struggle when there are big overhead lights and fluorescent lights, like the ones used in supermarkets, malls and department stores. So now I wear sunglasses to keep my nervous system more regulated and prevent burnout. It makes such a difference for my energy and bandwidth. Sometimes people make comments about it, but I am learning to be OK with that and put my needs ahead of the discomfort of it seeming “odd” by social standards.
I wear earplugs. I wear Loop Earplugs on outings, like at a sports event, a kids’ play space, during loud car moments or times at home when my kids are crying or excited and being loud. I pop them in and I can still hear; they just dampen the volume level, which feels like a warm, cozy hug for my nervous system. I can help my kids through their big feelings better when I stay regulated. I can join in on their excitement more when I don’t feel completely overwhelmed by the volume level.
I wear a uniform. I wear the same few clothes that are comfortable, usually all black, really soft with no tags or seams, and it helps me stay regulated. I love my uniform and just rock it now without any shame!
How accommodations make me a better parent
There was a lot of yelling in my childhood home. This is not a pattern I want to repeat with my own kids. All parents have hard moments, hit their breaking point, yell and lose their s*** sometimes — that’s just part of being human, and in those moments we pause, reset and then repair with our kids.
My goal is for yelling not to be a go-to punishment, discipline strategy or daily occurrence. I’m learning to have more self-awareness around my sensory sensitivities and when overwhelmed, taking a moment to pause and name what I’m feeling. In practice, that conversation may be like: “Hey boys, my body is getting overloaded with the noise and this type of play, so I’m putting my earplugs in and am taking a moment to reset. I’ll be right over here if you need me.” It’s usually not said in a super calm, angelic way — it’s real, I sound a little tense because I’m starting to feel a little tense and overwhelmed. But learning to embrace my sensitivities and work with them, rather than try to just white-knuckle through it, helps me yell less, and I am grateful for this journey.
We’re sold the idea that healing means grinding through a never-ending self-improvement checklist: Do more; feel less; be better. But what if the most radical healing isn’t becoming someone new, it’s remembering who you were before the world told you to shrink?
What all parents can learn about self-acceptance
I think the core lesson is total self-acceptance and a reframe on healing. What if healing isn’t about fixing yourself? What if the wound was never that you were broken, but that you were made to believe you had to become someone else to be loved? We’re sold the idea that healing means grinding through a never-ending self-improvement checklist: Do more; feel less; be better. But what if the most radical healing isn’t becoming someone new, it’s remembering who you were before the world told you to shrink?
Maybe healing looks like … listening to the overwhelm instead of trying to just power through. Embracing the parts that are different, that feel most at peace when not following certain social norms and letting that just be OK. Creating a life that fits your nervous system, not one that pleases everyone else. This isn’t about becoming your highest self, it’s about finally coming home to yourself. Just maybe, that’s the real revolution: not becoming more, but finally believing you were always enough.