I always wondered why I found motherhood particularly hard. Specifically the early stages.
The pregnancy, the birth, postpartum, lack of sleep, lack of support and so on.
A big part of why I started these blogs was to make sense of my thoughts and feelings. To openly explore and shed light on the complexities of motherhood. To highlight to other women that every part of their motherhood journey and experiences are valid.
Since my autism diagnosis, I’ve come to realise why a large part of my motherhood journey felt so difficult.
And one of the biggest reasons was the unfairness of it all.
Unfair that it was my body that had to change.
Unfair that I had to go through the pain.
Unfair that my birth didn’t go the way I expected it to.
Unfair that I didn’t have a village.
My brain just couldn’t make sense of all the injustices that women experience through becoming a mother.
At the time, I didn’t know I was autistic.
I just thought I was struggling with motherhood. Motherhood is hard. But now I understand that my autism was another piece of the puzzle. My son’s first year of life felt particularly challenging. I was battling my own mental health issues alongside ongoing health anxieties about him. I remember asking other mums, “Is it normal for a baby to have so many coughs and colds?” I used to dread it every time he was unwell. I still do. Everything felt so much more heightened to me.
My mind would often jump to the worst case scenarios. Which understandably, most mothers feel when it comes to their children. But for me, it felt like someone had turned the dial up to maximum.
My spidey sense was constantly on and I couldn’t switch it off.
Then came the lack of sleep.
People tell you to prepare for your sleep to be taken away from you when you have a baby but I definitely didn’t expect it to last so long. The regressions really kicked my butt and the lack of sleep sent me into a dark despair. I still stand by the fact that a massive part of my postnatal depression was due to the lack of sleep and not being able to rest my nervous system.
There’s something extremely scary about not being able to control your own thoughts. I remember vividly the moment I knew I needed help.
One night, I sat down to watch the show that usually made me laugh, 8 Out of 10 Cats Does Countdown, but instead, I cried through the entire show. That’s when I knew something was wrong. So I picked up the phone and called my sister and told her I couldn’t do this anymore.
She was at my door ten minutes later.
She listened.
She reminded me I was a good mum.
And together, we discussed the first step towards getting some help.
At the time, it felt like I was the only one feeling this way. But in reality I wasn’t.
Postnatal depression affects many new mothers, yet it is still often misunderstood and stigmatised. And I think that’s part of the problem.
We expect mothers to cope.
We expect them to be grateful.
We expect them to somehow function despite the sleep deprivation, physical changes, emotional changes, responsibility and pressure that comes with having a baby. But motherhood was hard for me, with or without the PND. Trying to navigate the feelings of immense love alongside the desperate struggles was something I found incredibly difficult.
I recently spoke to a few mum friends and asked them:
During those first few months after having your baby, what was the one thing you desperately needed but didn’t have?
The general consensus was support.
Someone to take the load off.
Someone to speak to who understood.
And I think this is something we need to talk about more. It isn’t simply about whether a mother has a partner. It’s whether she has reliable practical, emotional and informational support. Because you can be partnered and still feel completely alone and you can be a single mum and have a strong support network.
So what has actually changed since my diagnosis?
This is where things have shifted for me.
My autism diagnosis hasn’t changed the fact that motherhood is hard. It has changed the way I understand myself within it. Before my diagnosis, I often wondered:
“Why can’t I cope with this?”
“Why does everyone else seem to manage?”
“Why am I so overwhelmed?”
“Why do I need so much time alone?”
Now I ask a different question.
What do I need in order to cope?
And this shift has been huge for me. I’ve come to recognise how easily I can become overwhelmed and overstimulated.
The noise.
The constant demands.
The unpredictability.
The responsibility of always being needed.
Sometimes I just need quiet and solitude, where nobody needs anything from me. And for a long time, I felt guilty about that. I would compare myself to other mums and wonder why I didn’t seem to have the same capacity.
But I’m learning that my capacity is my capacity.
For me personally, it’s taken me a long time to recognise and accept that although my situation isn’t ideal, I am a mum who needs and appreciates my downtime in order for me to be the best mum that I can be to my son.
This may not be the case for everyone.
But this is what works for me.
And I’m finally learning that needing time away from motherhood doesn’t mean I love my son any less. It actually helps me come back to him feeling more regulated, more present and more like myself. I’ve also started to understand the importance of recognising my limits before I reach breaking point.
I don’t always get it right.
But I’m learning to notice when I’m becoming overwhelmed rather than pushing through it and wondering why I eventually fall apart. I’m still learning that asking for help isn’t a failure and that needing routine doesn’t make me difficult.
My autism diagnosis has also made me much more compassionate towards the mum I was. I can look back at those early years and understand that I wasn’t weak or failing. I was just a mum navigating an incredibly intense period of my life without understanding my own neurodivergence. And that makes me look back at myself with much more kindness now. I think motherhood can make us incredibly good at putting ourselves last. But I’m starting to question that. Maybe being a good mum doesn’t mean constantly sacrificing yourself. I think a huge part of being a good mum means understanding yourself well enough to know what you need. For me, a huge part of healing has been letting go of the guilt around that. Not because I never feel guilty anymore, but because I’m learning to question it.
Is this guilt telling me I’ve done something wrong?
Or is it telling me I’m doing something that society has taught me I shouldn’t?
I’ve stopped asking myself why I can’t cope like everyone else and started to ask myself what I need to cope in a way that works for me.
And I think letting go of the guilt, understanding our individual needs and normalising the difficulties of motherhood is a strong place to start.
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