Parenting While Autistic: A User Manual I Was Never Given

Before becoming a parent, I thought being autistic meant I was exceptionally prepared for the chaos of child-rearing. I had systems. I had routines. I had color-coded calendars and contingency plans for my contingency plans. I had first aid kits, with back up first aid kits. Surely this would translate beautifully to parenting.

Reader, it did not.

Parenting while autistic is like running a high-stakes improv show where the rules change every five minutes, the audience is sticky and coughing, and the lead actor keeps screaming because their sock “feels wrong.” I crave predictability - sameness. My child’s thrives on surprises. I like quiet. My child is LITERALLY NEVER QUIET. My child communicates exclusively in sudden loud noises that sound like emergency alerts for feelings.

Take sensory overload. On a normal day, the world is too loud, lights are too bright or just not quite right (and also too loud). I manage the sensory ambush with noise-canceling headphones, strategic lighting, carefully curated fabrics, and avoiding grocery stores all together. On a parenting day, I am handed a child who is simultaneously humming, chewing something crunchy, tapping my arm, asking “why” on repeat, and playing a an electronic headache machine that emits a sound best described as “demonic farm animal.” I am overstimulated, but I must remain calm because apparently I am the adult.

Then there’s social navigation. Parenting comes with playdates, school emails, theme week (seriously- WTF?) birthday parties, and conversations with other parents that start with “So, what do you do?” and end with me replaying the interaction for three days, wondering if I overshared, undershared, or accidentally committed a social felony (most likely all three). My child, meanwhile, is on the verge of a level three meltdown, and I can’t find my keys.

But there are perks. Being autistic means I take my child’s feelings seriously. When they say something is too loud, too bright, too itchy, or too much, I believe them immediately because same. We troubleshoot together. We talk about our noisy brains, feeling crooked, and we make plans. We normalize accommodations. We turn “You’re too sensitive” into “Let’s figure out what your nervous system needs. How many tokens will it take?”

I may not be the effortlessly chill parent. I am the parent with labeled bins, visual schedules, and a deep respect for transitions. I am the parent who explains emotions like they’re fascinating science experiments (did you know there are three kinds of tears - more on that another time). I am the parent who sometimes hides in the bathroom to regulate and comes back with a calmer brain and a snack (protein).

Parenting while autistic isn’t about perfection. It’s about honesty, creativity, and learning together. My child is growing up knowing that adults have limits, systems help, and it’s okay to ask for what you need.

Also, they know exactly why we don’t own toys that make noise. And honestly, that alone feels like a win.

So that’s that. Warmly, Pearl J.