When Two Storms Collide

My boys are about to head back to school for the new year and I couldn’t be more excited for them and relieved for me.

Working from home with two special needs children, especially a pubescent teenager with Level 3 autism can be particularly challenging.

I tried diligently this summer to keep Nico occupied, give him the space he clearly needed, keep his younger brother away from him as much as possible when he wanted to be alone, and pack in as much summer adventure as I could through weekend trips and a week-long coastal vacation.

But…

He just seemed so restless.

Nothing seemed to be enough.

Nothing seemed to bring him closer to us.

He’d have moments of happiness and connection but not nearly as much as I had hoped for—or honestly, needed—for my own peace of mind.

It probably doesn’t help that Nico has always been incredibly in tune with me. And I am in the full throes of menopause, so my moods have definitley been…shifty.

As a quick side note, being a woman really blows sometimes.

I find it unbelievably unfair considering we literally give this world human life. How does that not count for something? Why are we put through so much physically, mentally and emotionally…and for years? This I will never understand.

Ok, I’m off my soapbox…

I feel like Nico and I are both going through some really gnarly hormonal changes at the exact same time. As much as I would like to be there for him the way I have always been, I sometimes feel like I am flailing in my own storm.

Because Nico doesn’t have any concept of menopause, I imagine all he sees is that his mama is unhappy, impatient, moody, or tired every. single. day.

And he doesn’t like it.

That realization has been heartbreaking.

Lately, it feels like there’s a distance between us that has never existed before. He’s more resistant to me, less willing to listen, and more irritable than I’ve ever known him to be. I don’t know how much of that is puberty, how much is autism, and how much is simply this season we’re both navigating. But I do know it hurts.

Nico has always been my sweet, affectionate, joyful kiddo. Now it feels like his body has been taken hostage by hormones and irritability…just like mine has.

Then, on the other hand, I have my little guy, Maximo who is trying to do his very six-year-old best to manage his brother’s and his mother’s moods so everything can stay as copacetic as possible.

All while trying to manage his own constant anxiety and dysregulation.

He knows when his brother starts sounding off, my patience begins to wear thin and my stress quietly climbs even though I’m doing everything I can to keep it from spilling over.

So he walks around the house all day long telling me how much he loves me. Telling me to “take a nap” because he knows I’m “so tired.”

He tells his brother how much he loves him. He works hard to change his mood, when he sees it shifting, by playing chase and hide and seek because he knows Nico loves both.

Maximo works so hard to keep himself regulated, even though that can be incredibly difficult for him on the daily. He has sophisticated language to communicate his distress and when he’s feeling overwhelmed, but it doesn’t stop him from having his own meltdowns too.

And that breaks my heart just as much.

I love that he is deeply empathetic. I truly do.

But he shouldn’t feel responsible for keeping his mother’s and brother’s emotions in check. His job should not be to regulate anyone else’s emotions but his own.

That’s my job.

I’m the mom.

Yet here I am, realizing this is just another hurdle our family has been asked to clear.

The dirty underbelly of raising children with special needs is that life doesn’t pause simply because you need it to.

Parenting doesn’t stop because your hormones are in chaos.

Advocacy doesn’t take a vacation because you’re emotionally exhausted.

Therapy appointments and IEP meetings don’t disappear because your marriage needs attention.

Meltdowns don’t wait until you’ve had a good night’s sleep or figured out why you’ve been crying over a commercial one minute and snapping at your husband the next.

Our children still need us.

And when your child is autistic—especially one who has always felt everything about you so deeply—they often notice when you’re off, and way before you even admit it to yourself.

I don’t recognize this version of myself some days.

I miss the patience that used to come to me so naturally.

I miss feeling like I could absorb everyone else’s big emotions without drowning in my own.

Most of all, I miss feeling like I’m giving my boys the version of their mama they deserve.

But maybe…

Maybe this is where I need to offer myself a little grace.

Because perhaps what they need most right now isn’t a perfect mother.

Maybe they need a mother who keeps showing up.

A mother who apologizes when she gets it wrong.

A mother who keeps learning.

A mother who continues loving them fiercely even on the days she barely recognizes herself.

Menopause is a season.

Puberty is a season.

Autism isn’t.

While I can’t wish away either hormonal storm that Nico and I seem to be weathering together, I can remind myself that storms eventually dissipate and the sun shines again.

Because… I know my boy is still in there just like I know within this ever-growing menopausal shell, I am too.

Some seasons aren’t so much about thriving. They’re about surviving with love intact.

And sometimes…

That is more than enough.

To the moms raising children with special needs while navigating menopause: I see you. You’re carrying two invisible battles at once. If today all you managed to do was love your children through your own exhaustion, you did enough. Tomorrow, we’ll try again.