For as long as it took me to finally get through Low-Demand Parenting, I have been reading and re-reading, highlighting and working through it this month.

And wow!

Out of the ridiculous dozen or so parenting classes we’d taken, few have had the insight to consider what’s going on with me as the messy human parent that’s impacting the situation and my child’s behavior.

And of the ones that have, none has given such a thorough approach to break down and analyze exactly what’s going on before jumping to solutions.

In a way, it reminds me a lot of what I learned in my training as a behavior tech for ABA therapy (I’m spending a lot of time observing my child’s behavior and trying to understand the antecedents while being mindful of the consequences), only this is looking not just at the child but at all of the players and how we’re impacting each other and getting our needs met — in appropriate, and not so appropriate ways.

This is so powerful!

I keep flipping between my hot pink highlights in Chapters 4 and 5 as I work through the process as each new situation arises in our home.

But to make it easier for all of us to work through this, (and thus be more likely that we’ll stick with it, I decided to turn it into a step-by-step checklist.

Even if you, ya know, “didn’t read the book.”

I’ll include that for all the monthly and annual NeuroMom Nest Members at the end of this post for you to download and print.

But first, I wanted to share what the process has looked like for one set of demands and expectations I looked at.

Real Life Low-Demand Parenting Example

The situation was this: I was going to read aloud to my two children the book that we’ve been reading together for a while. They were both on the small sofa in my office, and one child was overtaking most of the space, making it hard for their sibling to sit or be comfortable. I felt frustrated and tried to force them to share equally and (not surprisingly) got resistance and anger from my PDAer instead.

Once everyone was calm and safe, I was able to take a second look at the scenario and see how I might’ve responded differently, and more successfully to help us all get our needs met, using the Low-Demand approach.

I’m still a total newbie at this, but here’s what that looked like…

Step 1: Put words to the demand(s)

Turns out, there were many micro-demands nested within that one request to share the couch:

• Stop reading your own book – right now

• Share the couch equally with your sibling

• (Right now)

• Then I’ll read Journey to the Center of the Earth aloud (children will listen to spoken words)

• It had a scary part with monsters fighting last night

• Sit quietly without interrupting

• Then, you will go potty and go to bed (by yourself)

This alone helped me realize that the resistance I was getting might’ve been due to fear of the scary part of the story and/or the fact that bedtime was coming up next.

Step 2: Find out why this matters to you

Discerning your why, why, why…?!

The trick is to look for the one that gives you a visceral, emotional reaction. (I starred that one below.) You can do this for all the micro-demands listed, but I’ll just include one example here:

• I want them to share evenly with their sibling because I worry that their sibling is being short-changed by how much more time and attention the other child demands

• Because that child is easygoing and doesn’t demand to get needs met, but they still have needs

• Because they’re my child and I love them.

• *** Because that child has been depressed before, and I didn’t understand why, it was so scary, and I never want them to go back to that place again

So, what I’m really upset about doesn’t have anything to do with the first child sharing the couch and listening to me read a story — it’s about my worries about an entirely different child! And these are things to process in therapy – not to put on my child to carry.

What is it about this demand that gives me the desired result?

• I want my children to share the sofa (quietly) so that I can enjoy reading to them and connect with them.

• What is it about reading aloud that brings me joy?

  • I get to sit down and they (mostly) hold still

  • I love a good story and reading it aloud helps me experience it even deeper

  • It helps me feel connected to my kids and gives us a shared experience to reference

By dropping this demand, I hope that my child will learn that…

• They are not alone in the world

• While most other people don’t understand how hard it is for them to process auditory language – I actually do. And I have true empathy for their experience, and I honor that challenge rather than try to force them into some “good child” mold

• I love this child right where they’re at right now, with all their strengths and challenges.

• I recognize that they had a long day of school and homework and sitting quietly and following instructions

• They don’t ever need to perform for me or be a certain way to earn my love.

Step 3: Listen to your child

I wonder if…

• You want to stop listening to me read Journey, and I can just read it to your sibling another time

I didn’t get an answer at that time, and I didn’t push. Making space for this child’s needs to be heard and recognized was enough.

Step 4: Work proactively to drop as many demands from Step 1

• Maybe this child doesn’t have to join in the read-aloud at all

• Maybe we could read in a different room with more room for everyone to get the personal space they need

• Or they could be in two different rooms and I can sit in the hallway and read to them

Step 5: Get creative in taking care of your own needs– without asking your child to do anything differently

• I can read a book anytime – even a kids’ book if I want.

• My other child really does like me to read aloud, there’s no reason both kids have to join in

• I can also connect with my other child in ways other than just reading aloud

Is making kids share what “good moms” do? Sure, but is it realistic in my real family? Not at that particular moment. I love that this process helped me find a way for us all to have our needs addressed the next time this comes up, without overly stressing our nervous systems.

The next day, this child looked through the remaining chapters of the book and asked me to help them calculate how many pages were left. Satisfied, they settled down on the couch (both kids sprawled all the way out, cuddled up like sardines in a can) not sharing “equally,” but happy as I read and let them negotiate their own boundaries and comfort. It was a much more peaceful evening than the roaring shouts of the night before, and I was so grateful!

Low-Demand Parenting Checklist

Members of the NeuroMom Nest will find the checklist PDF, incuding the example at the link below. If you’re not a member yet, join now with the monthly or annual (or founding) membership now to get instant access.

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As a neurodivergent family, it can feel frustrating how easily we get derailed by even the smallest deviation from routine. 

I’m typing with my shoulders hunched up and the edge of my desk digging into my forearms. Each time I sit at my desk, I try to pull out a phantom keyboard that is decidedly no longer there.

Because this morning, somehow, one of my kids broke my entire keyboard drawer off my desk. 

I walked out of the room to stir the eggs, and then…CRASH! 

And that cry when you know something is really wrong. I raced back in expecting to see my desk chair toppled over on someone and was already wondering how they managed to tip it over as heavy as it is. 

Instead, I was surprised to see the keyboard, keyboard tray, and the child sobbing in a heap on the floor because it’d all fallen on our little 17 ½-year-old pup who, if I’m honest, is only hanging on for dear life these days. 

Thankfully, our furry friend was just fine and seemed happy enough to be scooped up and showered with love. 

But I think the morning really went sideways because of a mistake I made. 

Or maybe it was just another mistake in a long succession of missteps. (Besides passing my crazy genes onto my poor children.) 😅

There’s a writing community I’m a part of that’s based in the UK, and I rarely get to watch the workshops live. 

But this morning, one was scheduled at 6 am in our time zone, and it was just too tempting not to watch it. 

So I popped my headphones on while distributing meds and prepping breakfast to listen in. 

And when my little one came in and demanded I take them off, I should have heeded the warning. 

I know that multitasking puts my brain into stress mode. And that isn’t the place I will ever do my best parenting from. 

Add to that the fact that my husband is traveling for work, which makes our little one feel even that much less secure in the world. Plus, he’s ever so helpful, so when he’s gone, we have a few extra chores to contend with before pulling out of the driveway for school which none of us handle well. 

Then, there’s the decision I made to take our oldest to youth group last night, which made us all late to bed after picking him up. 

I skipped going to our church small group, knowing I’d need all the extra energy I could get to make it through, but it wasn’t enough. 

Less sleep. 

A change in routine. 

Split attention.

We all slipped into a ridiculous scene of stress, snippiness, and hurt feelings from there. 

All the while, it felt like slow motion.

I could see it happening. 

I could hear the irritation in my voice as I urged my kids through the morning routine. The way they snapped and shouted at one another, slamming doors and taking everything in the worst light.

Each figurative blow looked like a shock of lightning in my brain, and I could feel my breath quicken and my heart space ratchet down a size or two as fight-or-flight took hold. 

I wanted to explain to my dear children that I felt frazzled because Daddy was gone and I’m tired and I was trying to do too many things at once and I love them. That I know they’re just sleep deprived and this is hard. 

And if I could’ve got hold of the words, I would have. 

Instead, I hid in the car while I finished my breakfast. 

I gave them quiet on the way to school until their stormy faces turned sunshiny again and we started naming all the fluffy things they love. (Dogs, cats, guinea pigs, clouds, marshmallows.) 

When I dropped them off, I stopped each of them in their rush out the door as I always do, looked at them in their gorgeous green eyeballs, and said, “I love you.” 

They are ok; I am ok. 

But sometimes it feels so frustrating that…

No matter how much I submit to our need to simplify, our fragile nervous systems demand more, more, more. 

More rest. 

More downtime. 

More quiet. 

Or maybe less? 

Less missed sleep.

Fewer outings and gatherings. 

Fewer changes in routine. 

Less – fun?

The truth is that as a family with at least three of four neurodivergent members, our capacity is smaller than what the typical family could handle. 

The tiniest of extra demands that would be imperceptible to most people can throw our sensitive brains into a tizzy. Meanwhile, doing just the basic tasks of daily living can take longer and be more exhausting for us. 

And it’s all too easy for us to get caught in a feedback loop of stress as we successively trigger one another’s stress response. 

In addition, I have to remind myself that even neurotypical families today are overstretched, too busy, and exhausted. 

It seems even they are not immune to trying to do too much. 

But still, sometimes I hate to have to say no to so many things. 

I can so easily squash myself under the mountain of “shoulds” that I’m forgoing.

And it’s even worse when even good things that you want to say yes to, like nurturing your own relationships or involving your children in a positive spiritual community – are too much. 

To have to say no in the name of keeping ourselves and our children well-regulated. 

I would like to go on the record as sniveling like a petulant child and stomping:

It’s not fair!

But really, what is even the best community and teaching worth if it leaves us all dissolving into tears and anger and breaks apart (if only for a time) our own family’s relationships? 

I was once told by someone who knows the details of our life well, “Your life is harder than most people’s.” 

It wasn’t meant to be discouraging but to give me perspective and help me set healthy expectations. 

And while it’s probably not helpful to dwell too much on the hardness of it all, it is important to keep this honest perspective. 

As a neurodivergent family, you do need to live at a different pace than everybody else. 

One that makes you scrutinize every ‘yes’ before committing. (Right down to where you buy dog food and whether you subscribe to Netflix.)

One that refuses to let you live in default mode.

Because of your family’s unique cocktail of mental, physical, and educational challenges, you might have significantly less capacity than the other families you see doing life around you. 

And that can be incredibly hard to accept. 

But maybe…

What if, instead of a life of less…

With each difficult choice, we end up creating the beautiful life that we really always wanted? 

One that’s slow and thoughtfully curated, loving and connected. 

Even though this was a rough morning, I’ve made great strides toward building a life I love most days, and I believe you can get there, too! 

As for me…

After I got the kids safely to school, I bought myself chocolate (yet another decision I’ll probably be regretting for the rest of the day 🤷‍♀️) and listened to worship music on the way home to get my soul settled back down and headed in the right direction again.

When did a cascade of routine changes last stir up stress for your family? How do you navigate finding the right balance of activity to help your people feel healthy, safe, and joyful?

Share your experience in the comments (and let me know I’m not alone in the chaos)! 

By the time I made it to page 15 of Low-Demand Parenting by Amanda Diekman, I wanted to jab the page with my index finger and shout, “This, this is exactly what we’ve been dealing with!”

But of course, this was before I started The NeuroMom Nest, so there was no one to hear and no one to care but the blank white ceiling above my bed where I lay reading.

I’d already been nodding along as this mama shared her children’s difficulties with meltdowns, aggression, property destruction, and more as she tried one failed parenting experiment after another to address their struggles. (All while uncovering her own history of masking and over-functioning as an undiagnosed autistic person.) 

If you’re seeing a lot of: 

>> Screaming
>> Meltdowns
>> Rage
>> Aggression
>> Self-Injury
>> Property Destruction
>> And meals, bedtimes, and transitions that are especially difficult

If you feel like you’re always walking on eggshells, trying to avoid their next ‘episode,’ yet there are so many triggers you can’t seem to figure out what is at the root of these challenges. No amount of parenting books or therapists seem to have the answers. 

And yet, deep down, if you know your child is trying their best and simply can’t control their behaviors, then this is what you need to know…  

It’s called Pathological Demand Avoidance (PDA), and it’s a subset of autism that’s “an anxiety-driven need to remain in control.” 

The problem comes when a person with PDA senses that their deep need for control is being threatened, and it triggers a fight or flight response. Their nervous systems believe their lives are in danger (hence the huge behaviors). 

This is not willful disobedience.

You are NOT a parenting failure, and your sweet child is NOT a bad kid.

As I read, I could relate to SO much of what Diekman was talking about. 

In fact, many of the strategies she began using to help her family finally find peace and connection were similar to the ones I’d developed intuitively over the years to support my child. 

But then I stopped reading, because…well, that’s NeuroMom life sometimes. 🤷

In October’s live workshop, as we were diving into strategies for calming meltdowns, this book came up again, and we decided a book club was definitely in order. Throughout Q4, we’ll be hanging out on this topic of challenging behaviors.

Now, in my third attempt to finish the book, I finally have the time and emotional energy to digest all the great resources for parenting kiddos with this special flavor of autism.

While I don’t agree with some of the ideas in the book (Unlimited screen-time? No way!) But, many of them I have used with, especially when things in our home were at their worst, and they were so helpful. 

Now, I can tell you this…

You can learn to parent your child’s unique needs and reduce challenging behaviors using strategies you can feel good about. 

Let me help get you there — faster. 

Introducing…

The first installment of The “Didn’t Read-the-Book” Book Club inside The NeuroMom Nest. 

Here’s how it works.

I know how hard it is to sit down and plod through a whole parenting book, especially when your own nervous system is feeling frayed and flustered from trying to support your child through their most challenging moments. 

So, I’m hosting a 45-minute workshop on Friday, November 8 at 12:30 pm Pacific (3:30 pm Eastern) to help you learn (and implement) the most effective resources from the book.

Every one of our live calls leads you through not what worked for someone else — but instead through uncovering what will work for your family (realistically in your real life). 

We’ll also have weekly discussions about the key concepts inside the private community chat where you can share:

>> What you’re struggling with
>> What you’ve learned
>> And what new strategies you’d like to try next

All inside a safe and cozy group of other mamas who truly understand what you’re going through. ☕

Join The NeuroMom Nest before Friday, November 8th, so you don’t miss out. 

So you can take away new tools that will transform your family — even if you never make it through Chapter 1.

Workshop Zoom Link & Replay

Members of The NeuroMom Nest can access the workshop video and audio replay below.

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Unclench that pen from your fist and set down that pile of paperwork. Here, take this warm mug of tea instead, and cozy up beside me on the sofa. 

Don’t mind the pup snoring under my desk or the kids alternately chattering, giggling, screaming, and stimming in the background. 

I’ll pick up my knitting needles, and let's chat… 

You’ve come to the right place if you’re a mom who wants to break free from the overwhelm of parenting through the challenges of autism, ADHD, anxiety (and more) — all in about 2 minutes a day.

Because, let’s face it, that’s all you’ve got anyway, right?

Mama, I’ve got great news for you…

You can:  

• Stop feeling inadequate and unsuccessful as a parent as you learn to meet your child’s special needs 🌈 with confidence.

• Discover effective parenting strategies to support your unique kiddo (and yourself) through meltdowns and anxiety as you cultivate a safe, nurturing 🌱 home.

• Set up systems to manage your time ⏰ and all the responsibilities of your child’s diagnosis (while still tending to your own well-being and that of your other children).

• Get therapies and support in place for your NeuroKid faster and easier…and with your very own cheer squad behind you. 🙌

• Escape caregiver burnout and be there for your littles for as long as they need you as you discover the true meaning of self-care (no, it isn’t just a magical unicorn ✨ often dreamed of but never seen). 

…even if you’re racing to appointments 15 nights a week and can’t go to the bathroom without someone knocking on the door.

Mama, I’ve been there!

And I can tell you this…

“Not only is The NeuroMama packed with insightful, practical advice, but it also comes from the heart of an experienced mother who’s walked the sometimes challenging, yet often blessed, path of raising two wonderful neurodiverse children. Every post is filled with wisdom, grace, patience, and golden nuggets of information that are easy to apply. I highly recommend this blog for anyone looking to learn more about neurodiversity or seeking encouragement and practical tools along the way!”

— Alyssa Pukkila, MS Psych., Educational Therapist, Treatment Center Director, and NeuroMama

Hi there! I’m Shannon, aka The NeuroMama. 

I live in beautiful North Idaho, and I'm a mama of two amazing kiddos on the spectrum with various other ‘alphabet soup’ diagnoses thrown in for fun. 🌈 I’m a paperwork hater. Jesus lover. Professional chauffeur. 

And champion of NeuroMamas everywhere who need to hear: This is hard AND you will get through it. ✨

Motherhood hasn’t been the serene dream I imagined. It’s been more like a whirlwind of chaos, with years of exhaustion whipping around a handful of catch-your-breath, angels-singing breakthrough moments at the center. 

I know the feeling of being on the brink, seriously questioning whether you and your family are going to survive this. 

For me, the storm of parenting neurodivergent kids hit hard, long before we had a label (or 10) for what we faced. 

I struggled to cope with the endless stacks of paperwork, therapy appointments, and meltdowns (theirs and mine 😂). My physical health gave way first, and then my mental health eroded over the years, too, until I was in deep burnout. 

But everything changed when I realized this: I needed care, too. 

When I started tending to my own needs and embracing my God-given purpose as the mom of these incredible kids, I began to recover and find joy in motherhood again. 

I’m still very much on the journey, but I can say I’ve learned to build a life I love even with all its challenges.

And that’s exactly what we’ll do at The NeuroMama.

This messy, joy-filled journey isn’t just mine. You’re invited to walk with me and a community full of other moms who get it. 

Together, we can positively impact our family’s situation when we chip away at the challenges of neurodivergent parenting — without burning ourselves out. 

What it takes is relentless advocacy for our NeuroKids paired with mindful care for ourselves.

After 13+ years of neurodivergent parenting, here’s what I believe every NeuroMama needs to know: 

• Tending to your own needs doesn’t take away from the care you give your children. Instead, it gives them the one thing they need most to thrive: a compassionate, loving mama and a secure home life.

• You must go at a sustainable pace now — so that you can be there for your kids as long as they need you.

• Running your kids to all the therapy appointments and getting them into all the right services isn’t what will help them overcome their biggest challenges. It’s often the small interventions you make consistently at home that make the biggest impact (with the least added stress). 

• Your own neurodivergent tendencies are way more than what give your child their “genetic uniqueness.” They’re also your superpower that give you extra insight into how your children experience the world, so you can better connect with and advocate for them.

• Though you may feel isolated on this journey, you don’t have to do it alone. We all need to have our story validated in the presence of a shame-free community who understands our challenges. 

And that’s why I created The NeuroMama.

What to Expect When You Subscribe…

For Free Subscribers to The NeuroMama

Here on my Substack, I share my journey (messy), lessons (hard-fought), and encouragement (for when you need to be reminded: You are not alone). 💜

Subscribe for baby steps & encouragement to help your kids shine with autism, ADHD, & anxiety (without losing your spark).

You’ll get:

• Weekly encouragement that lands in your inbox at just the moment when you need to hear it most

• A fresh perspective on our unique NeuroMama challenges that will inspire you when the days are hardest

• Mom-tested tips and motivation to make life easier for you and your kiddo

Subscribe now

“I continue to find inspiration and connection with Shannon through her words as if we were sitting in a café somewhere chatting away about life. The NeuroMom Nest has been a comforting space to share not only our challenges but also our hopes and dreams, bringing together community and a calm space for motherhood.”

— Monica, NeuroMom Nest Member

For Paid Subscribers to The NeuroMom Nest

The NeuroMom Nest is my Substack membership, offering monthly live workshops and a supportive community to help moms of neurodivergent children create a balanced, joyful life in small, manageable steps — together!

It’s the calm, nurturing gathering place you wish you had in real life, with all the convenience of a log-on-anytime online village. 

And it’s affordable (because I know you’re already busy buying all the special things your child needs and paying for therapies that aren’t covered by insurance.)

Inside the NeuroMom Nest, you get: 

🌟 Monthly workshops & tools to inspire manageable changes that slash your stress and overwhelm (while supporting your child’s needs)

🎉 Strategies to increase your moments of joy and balance in your mom-life

Members can access all the previous months’ resources right now inside The NeuroMom Nest that help you take baby steps toward massive changes like: 

• Drastically reduce your child’s challenging behaviors this month (without languishing on a waitlist in some receptionist’s dusty bottom drawer)

• Support your child to calm their nervous system (and your own at the same time) even in the midst of a meltdown

• Set up a super-fast, plug-and-play system to handle your NeuroKid’s paperwork, so you can get it done — and get back to the really important work of loving your littles.

And jump in on our next one to start and go through it with the community.

🤗 Private access to our supportive community chat where we’re navigating this unique parenting journey together. 

It’s the one place in your life where you can be seen, loved, and understood (even when your caregiving responsibilities make it tough to reach out and connect to others IRL).

Top 3 Free Posts from The NeuroMama

“Imagine opening your email to a bright smile and a cup of something warm to drink. This is what Shannon has created with her whimsical charm, compassion from a road well walked, and an "I'm here with you too", demeanor. Her shared insight is a balm to a weary, social media saturated world in which families are trying to raise up the next generation with less comparison and more slow and steady.”

— Skylar, NeuroMama Subscriber

If you’re anything like I was…

You feel like you’re always walking on eggshells around your child — which is as messy, painful, and prone to failure as it sounds.

You’ve quit talking to most family and friends about your child’s (ahem) “challenging behavior” because you’re getting tired of the “helpful” suggestions that worked for their friend’s cousin’s daughter (sure signing them up for Tiny Tumblers is going to solve everything).

And the raised eyebrow that says “You must be doing something wrong to allow this kind of behavior in your home.”

They may not say it out loud, but you know they’re thinking it — because it’s the same whirlwind that loops in your brain every day, right before and after:

“I am such a horrible mother.” 🤦🏼‍♀️

But what really keeps you up at night is wondering how much longer you’ll be able to keep this angry little person at home without compromising the safety of the rest of your family.

It’s not like you’re not trying. You must’ve taken 79.2 different parenting classes by now.

But the problem is — they weren’t designed for kids like YOURS!

Here’s the thing...

I don’t have all the answers, and you don’t have all the answers — not yet anyway.

But what I’m willing to bet is you’re doing your best (and so is your NeuroKid).

They just need some extra support to calm and communicate, and you need the right resources to help them do that.

You are the world’s leading expert on your child.

And when you’re presented with a smorgasbord board of simple tools (that actually work for kids like ours) and then tap into your Mama Intuition, I believe you will find the answers.

So that’s exactly what I have for you inside the NeuroMom Nest this month.

In this month’s live workshop, we discussed effective strategies to help calm your child during a meltdown and reduce household stress ASAP.

Not yet a member of The NeuroMom Nest? Click here to subscribe.

When you choose the monthly or annual (or founding) option, the workshop will unlock, along with all the exclusive member resources and community.

If you got the messy version of motherhood, you’ll be very welcome inside our little refuge from the chaos.

Members of the NeuroMom Nest can hit play below to learn:

• What meltdowns really are, and what they tell you about your child 😵

• Why supporting your NeuroKid through a shutdown is just as important as with a meltdown

• The H(HALT)T method to help you identify the source of your kiddo’s turmoil ✋🛑

• …and strategies to help them simmer down even when you can’t figure it out

• 3 Ways to increase your connection to your kiddo & help them communicate their tough emotions and needs appropriately — even in the midst of a meltdown

• And 6 Tips to calm your nervous system, right along with your child’s (especially if you’re feeling challenged by your own neurodivergence or overwhelm, too.) 🕊️

With journaling exercises throughout to help you tap into your mama knowledge and make a plan that will work for your unique child and family.

And I’ll be right there alongside you — cheering you on all the way.

After you watch the replay, hop into the member chat and let us know how it went. What questions do you still have? What can you share that’s worked well for your family?

Let’s do this — together!

Workshop Replay & Resources

Below you’ll find:

• A video replay of the workshop, along with audio

• Access to the slide presentation

• Links, how-to videos, and examples for all the resources mentioned in the training

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Is $11 worth of happiness — enough? 

I’m standing, feet planted in front of my kitchen sink. Hands, following the rhythms of washing: soap, scrub, rinse, dry, repeat. All while gazing at the still life sitting on the well-worn dinner table before me.

On my annual pilgrimage to Target the other day, after spending nearly two hours gathering all the have-to-haves, I dashed over to the home goods section before my little one’s patience completely expired.1 

I had my eye out for a tray for the dining table to corral all the little miscellany that, though needed, clutters the table and my brain as my eye grates across it 103 times a day. I came across a simple wooden disc for $11 and popped it into my cart. 

The rest was gathered from home. 

>> Flowers from my husband’s garden.2

>> A mason jar from the cupboard. 

>> The stack of napkins. 

>> The salt shaker. 

>> A petite pumpkin my daughter brought home from the garden at school.3

All united together on my one little tray instead of in disarray at random points, arms crossed and standoffish, strewn across the table. 

I’ve now spent an inordinate amount of time, or maybe just the right amount, examining the hundreds of curling petals of the dusty pink dahlias all nested perfectly together as I eat dinner.

At the wonder of this little bit of nature and beauty suddenly sharing my space while I do dishes.

And then the next logical sweep of my eyes is to glance up, out at the breathtaking view from the living room windows beyond. 

I used to hate it when visitors would walk in and inevitably exclaim, “You have such a beautiful view!” 

I’d stand there shrugging awkwardly, never sure what to say. 

“Thank you,” didn’t seem right. 

I obviously didn’t have anything to do with creating the perfect pasture, stunning in every season, or the clear blue sky, or the lush hillside pine forest. 

Nor with the grace of my sister and brother-in-law letting us break off this chunk of heaven from their property and plunk our house down.

And little to do with even the blessing of my husband and I being able to earn and save the funds to build the house or of being able to move in a breath before Christmas in 2019 before…everything. 

So I’ve always felt like I should be grateful. 

And I am. 

But then the prison camp voice would bleat at me in the tinny loudspeaker in my head, “But are you thankful, ENOUGH?!”

“Do you enjoy it enough, Shannon?!” 

Did I enjoy the summer that just passed enough, I’d wonder? After all, I barely get outside.

Instead spending my time making words skitter across the screen for my marketing clients in ways AI as yet doesn’t have the finesse to do. Or calling in prescription refills, filling in forms, and sorting out insurance issues.

And I’d often admit to those guests who exclaimed at the view, though hopefully, they didn’t hear that shrill voice, too, that I hardly ever had time to sit down and enjoy it. 

And that is one of the most dramatic shifts I’ve noticed since starting to take antidepressants in July. 

The volume of the constant criticism and self-interrogation has turned way down. 

Now I can stand here washing the meat thermometer and then the cutting board and later the air fryer basket, admiring the view. 

Smile as I hear my youngest giggle as she makes faces at the dog. And enjoy the clockwork dance of our morning routine as I lay out everyone’s meds before breakfast.

And it is enough. 

I don’t have to throw off all the needs of my people and luxuriate on the stoop for hours in the sunshine like our lab does. 

It’s enough to take a breath and soak in the golden autumn rays as I ferry the little ball of fluff I call Baci out onto the grass, her spindly old legs far past being able to make her way up and down the steps.

Or listen to the rustle of the wind in the corn stalks as I gather kale, chard, and collards for the day, picking off the fat green caterpillars.

I don’t feel the crush to hurry up and absorb every drop of this fleeting moment before it disappears because I know that I can love this moment and the next and the next. 

And I don’t have to try to do it more or better or perfect. 

It’s a whole lot quieter in here nowadays. 

Now I can feel in every cell the truth of the quote that sits on my computer backdrop, rather than only knowing it to be true in my brain: 

Because $11 worth is just the right amount of happiness for me. 

Have you ever felt the pressure to enjoy something enough? What small moments of peace and joy are you experiencing in your busy life this season? 

Share your experience in the comments of this post. I can’t wait to hear from you!

Now, here’s what’s coming up inside The NeuroMom Nest.

The NeuroMom Nest is my paid membership here on Substack offering monthly workshops and a supportive community to help moms of neurodivergent children create a balanced, joyful life in small, manageable steps.

Wednesday, September 25, 2024, at 2:30 pm Pacific: Paperwork Power-up Party! 🎉

In tomorrow’s workshop and co-working session, I’ll walk you through exactly how to set up your own master document 📝 with your child’s health, education, and personal info all in one place. 

I’ll give you my plug-n-play template with everything you need to set up your own, and then we’ll work side-by-side to get it all done. 

So you never have to dig out that insurance card, look up the pediatrician’s phone number, or try to calculate what year your kid had their tonsils out – ever again. 💥

Tuesday, October 1, 2024, at 1:00 pm Pacific: Co-Regulation Strategies Workshop + Q&A

Do you have a child (or several) who are struggling with meltdowns and shutdowns? 😵‍💫 Next week, I’ll be sharing my favorite mom-tested ways to support your kiddo AND yourself during the most difficult moments. 

Most of these strategies probably aren’t in any therapy handbook. But they are what I’ve found has helped my little ones while also being realistic for me to implement as a finite human mama who also gets tired and frustrated sometimes. 

We’ll spend the first half hour discussing the strategies, then we’ll take the last 15 minutes where you can ask any questions you have and we’ll use our collective wisdom as a community of NeuroMamas to support one another. 

I hope you’ll be there!

Here’s what you need to know to join us…

If you’re already a member, keep reading to find the Zoom links below along with a link to the Google calendar with all of our upcoming live workshops. 

I’ll post a replay of all of our monthly meetups in case you can’t attend live. Though please know, we’re not afraid of noisy children or messy kitchens.

Come as you are!

And if you haven’t joined yet, you can unlock all of this goodness by subscribing below. 

Once you’re on the subscribe page, select either the Monthly or Annual (or Founding Member) option. It looks like this…

I can’t wait to see you there!

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The one where we were supposed to consider bringing screens back into our family culture after three full months mostly without them.

And, my friends, let me tell you straight away that we most certainly will not be doing any such thing. (And the kids’ reaction was surprisingly chill.)

Here’s why…

Because when we began our screen-fast, the biggest challenge in our family life (the behavior, not the child, of course 😉) immediately began to plummet. 

And then, very nearly disappear. 

As a result, we’ve been able to slash our therapy hours for both kids this summer.

My little one graduated from OT. I think I should have gotten us balloons and party horns and confetti. 🥳🎈

Can you imagine the one thing you’ve been working toward with all your heart to manage, and soothe, and heal — with every treatment and parenting strategy and crinkly fidget toy imaginable — for most of the last decade is suddenly an afterthought? 

It’s a bit strange to tell the truth. 

Almost eerie.

Right along with wonderful.

Yes, with a new school year AND a new school on the horizon, I’m anticipating a bit of a boomerang in symptoms in the coming weeks.

But at the moment, the tantrums, aggression, and stimming are a rarity. 

The only unfortunate thing is that when the difficult moments do arise, they catch me by surprise. I feel myself flailing, panicky, trying to get my head back above water because I'm so out of practice dealing with it.

My nervous system is having quite a time relearning what it’s like to feel calm and safe and not on guard every moment of the day and night. My own therapy and (probably long overdue) medication are helping me through the process.

A positive side effect of the screen-fast has been that the time I spend on my phone is down 38 percent, and I’m sure that will help my healing, right along with my children’s.

::

But what I want you to know — what I NEED you to know — is that doing a screen-fast doesn’t just help with tantrum behaviors related to autism, but also with your child’s other concerning behavior, academic, social skills, or mental health problems. 

The ones that engulf you with worry as your eyes pop open in the morning with lists of doctors to call, therapies to research, and potential solutions to fling into your Amazon cart — all racing through your mind, right up until you shuffle the last load of laundry down the hall at night and flop back onto your pillow.  

13 Signs Your Neurodivergent Child Needs a Screen-Fast

According to Dr. Dunckley, author of Reset Your Child’s Brain, if your child has three or more of the following risk factors, you need to be extra conservative with screen-time. And the more of these characteristics your child has, the more likely they are to become dysregulated with electronics use. 

1. Male gender

2. 12 years old or younger

3. Any psychiatric disorder (mood, attention, behavior, anxiety, or addiction)

4. Any neurological disorder (tics, seizures, migraines)

5. Any developmental disorder (autism, intellectual disability)

6. Chronic medical conditions (metabolic issues, diabetes, high blood pressure, pain, allergies, food sensitivities)

7. Any learning disorder

8. Any sensory-motor issues (sensory processing disorder, gross or fine motor issues)

9. Attention deficit

10. Performing academically below potential

11. Poor social skills

12. Family history of addiction or major psychiatric illness (schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, severe depression, suicide)

13. Pregnancy or birth trauma (infections, any complications, difficult labor)

In fact, Dr. Dunckley writes, “If your child has any of the conditions listed below, I strongly recommend permanently eliminating interactive screen-time altogether,” due to the potentially life-altering negative consequence of electronic screen-time on these children — including our NeuroKids:

• Psychosis

• Autism spectrum disorders

• Intellectual disability

• Internet or technology addiction

• Reactive attachment disorder

• Alcohol or substance abuse

• Serious academic failure

• Antisocial behavior and conduct

• Social skills deficits

• Explosive aggression

• Severe ADHD

• Severe sensory dysfunction

• Depression with suicidality

• Serious medical condition

Between my two kids, they have every one of those 13 risk factors, so it’s not surprising that we saw such a dramatic improvement as soon as screens were removed. 

But we aren’t alone in our struggles. 

Ever-increasing rates of children and teens are facing their own particular cocktail of these disabling conditions that affect the whole family.

And if something as simple as avoiding screen-time can help so much, why is this the first that we’re hearing about it? 

Why isn’t a screen-fast the first-line intervention?

The one that every pediatrician, therapist, and psychologist prescribes as soon as they hear parents voice concerns about behavior, attention, learning, and mental health.  

Perhaps while they start the potentially months or years-long process of mobilizing for assessment and treatment. 

Before ever considering medication.1

The easy answer is that there’s no definitive evidence to support a singular screen-time limit. That the effects of screen-time vary depending on the type of media, the way it’s used, and the characteristics of the individual interacting with it, so creating a Family Media Plan is more comprehensive and appropriate.2 

It all sounds pretty reasonable until you notice that top corporate contributors of the American Academy of Pediatrics (the body that effectively sets the standard of care for all children in the United States) include the likes of AT&T and Google.3

And now the deleterious health effects of too much screen-use by young people have the U.S. Surgeon General calling for a warning label on social media like that on cigarettes, saying, “the balance of risk versus harm does not justify the use of social media for adolescents.”4

Interestingly, in 2016 the AAP removed the 2-hour recommended screen-time limit for children 6 and over and reaffirmed its position in 2022.5 

While it may be true that some children can handle more screen-time than others, in practice, the AAP’s newest guideline is obviously not effective in limiting anything, with children spending a shocking average of seven hours on screens each day for entertainment, according to their own site (and that doesn’t include time spent on education-related media).6 

So, instead of a cautious, do-no-harm introduction to interactive screen-time for children, a full charge toward adoption is in motion, with a screened device glued to nearly every child’s hands, both at home and at school, without any long-term data to show that the benefits outweigh the serious risks.

We are the first generation of parents who are raising kids with smartphones in our hands. 

Our babies: the first ones to understand how to operate a touchscreen before they turned a year old.  

My husband and I got our first smart-ish phones in 2011 when I was pregnant with our oldest. We walked out of our 18-week ultrasound and sent pictures of the sonogram photos to the excited grandparents-to-be. 

From that moment, our children and the ubiquitous touchscreen grew up together. There is NO rule book for how to safely raise children with screens (except maybe Dr. Dunckley’s), which means we have to be super vigilant about what we allow into our homes and our children’s lives. 

We may have unwittingly enrolled our kids as the guinea pigs for the largest social experiment in history. 

But the good news is now, we also get to be the ones to write better standards for what we want the new normal to look like. To put our families back on the right course with intention. 

And even better? 

You can start right now.

You don’t have to wait for corporations to behave more ethically, or for institutions to change their recommendations, or for an act of Congress to add warning labels to your child’s login before you dislodge from the status quo and choose a healthier, happier life for your family.

And you don’t have to wait in line for a prescription or referral from a doctor. 

No one has to give you permission. 

And, what grief you may save yourself, Mama! 

More hours and dollars and anxiety than you might yet even be able to appreciate. 

⚠️ What if you could watch in awe as your child’s challenges decrease exponentially?

🚀 Making it about 1.3 million times easier to tease out the actual issues that need to be addressed

🚗 Scale back the dozens of hours you’re schlepping them across town to therapy every week

😎 And stop sheet wrestling your worries about your kiddo’s development and mental health and actually, you know — sleep, knowing your baby is going to be ok

If you could make this your reality in a matter of weeks, and start enjoying more confident, happy smiles from your child again, it’s certainly worth a try. 

Especially when all it takes is such a low-cost, low-risk intervention as taking a simple break from screens. 

Try it; see what happens. 

And if you’d feel better doing it in the context of a supportive community of other moms who understand, let me help. 

Hop on the bus, and let’s do this together! (No permission slip required.)

I’ve been a mom of neurodivergent kiddos for 13 (wild) years now, and it only took me about seven of them to realize this…. 

Funny mistake that most of us mamas make (that no one realizes is a mistake???) 

Starting from scratch EVERY time you have to fill out another dreaded school, doctor, therapy, or insurance form.

It’s not so bad in year one or two, but before you know it, those innocent-looking pieces of paper multiply like fluffy bunnies in springtime…only not as cute.

Then throw in another kid, diagnosis, or both, and your family will be lucky to see you shovel your way out anytime this side of the next century.

We all know that NeuroMom life = ‘Please complete this 486-page form completely with blue or black ink before last Tuesday.’ 

And that’s not going away. 

But the good news is, there is a better (read: faster) way to get it done... 

Create a master document with your child’s health, education, and personal info.

So you never have to dig out that insurance card, look up the pediatrician’s phone number, or try to calculate what year they had their tonsils out — ever again. 💥

Imagine, next time a well-intentioned office worker hands you a stack of Xeroxed sheets covered in blank lines, that you return a genuine smile (not that fake have-to-be-nice-but-you-just-ruined-my-life grimace you usually give her) because you have a secret weapon. 

You, organized supermom that you are, have a manageable system to keep track of all the important information in your NeuroKid’s life. 

And if you’re lucky enough to have had digital files zipped over for your form-filling pleasure, all you’ll have to do is copy and paste. 

You’ve streamlined the process of paperwork, so you can get it done efficiently. Like the Magic Eraser but for stress and overwhelm — BOOM gone!

So you can get back to the really important work of loving your littles.

But I know how busy you are. So busy that even implementing “helpful” time-saving strategies takes too long. 

So, let me help you wipe this clean even faster. 

This month inside the NeuroMom Nest, we’re having a paperwork party. 🥳 (You know you’re a NeuroMom if you actually think that sounds kind of fun.)

Inside, you’ll get a plug-n-play template with everything you need finish your own super-fast master doc to without wasting hours trying to figure out what to put in it.

Plus, I’m breaking it down into six tiny 10-minute mini-missions to help you get it done and ready to reference before that a new ream of forms rolls in.

If you’re already a member, keep reading to access yours below. 

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If you keep at anything long enough, you’ll eventually amass a toolkit brimming over with strategies to vanquish almost any challenge. 🧰🔨

I was reminded of this recently when a searing pain began clawing its way through my abdomen that was like nothing I’d ever felt before. 

Or, well, not quite…

After a couple of days, I realized that this gut-clenching ouch was one of the same I’d felt a decade ago when I was at my worst and trying to figure out my chronic illness. 

I was happy to realize that I didn’t need medication or surgery to fix this (though at that point, I would’ve been happy to take either in exchange for relief). Instead, I remembered that there was a simple acupressure trick that would fix it in a snap. 

As it turned out, I’d been-here-done-this before, and I already had what I needed to solve the problem.

And it’s the same for parenting your neurodivergent child. 

Eventually, you experience just about every challenge autism, ADHD, or anxiety has to offer enough times that you create a toolbox for the difficulties you’re dealing with. 

It’s like a rulebook for caring for your child. 

The one you wish you would’ve been given at birth, but most certainly were not. 

You hear an idea on a podcast…and it works!

Or you riff on a technique you picked up from your child’s therapist.

Or you try small, manageable changes every month inside a supportive community like the NeuroMom Nest.

And even on the hard days, you at least get a clearer picture of where the problems lie and what’s NOT working.

You keep whittling away at it, and many of those old issues stop showing up. But when they do, you face them with confidence — knowing you have just the tool for the job. 

It’s like in Mary Poppins when the neighbor fires off a cannon at 6 pm every evening. Everyone mans their positions with minimal fuss. 

These things are no longer a “problem” — they just are. And here’s how we accommodate them. 

>> Check your watch. 

>> Slide the piano back into place. 

>> Right the grandfather clock. 

Hold onto your tea cup (one pinky up!) without so much as a hiccup in the banter. 

Over time, you develop a mental guide to your child.

Where before there was just confusion, frustration, and overwhelm (on both your parts), there becomes a mutual understanding, support, and more loving moments.

>> We use this hairbrush (the only one that doesn’t cause tears and tangles). 

>> We skip the overstimulating electric toothbrush and opt for a manual. 

>> We must get to bed before the fireworks start on the 4th of July.

And never ever imbibe cow’s milk, especially not on the second Tuesday in January. 😜

Yes, it might still feel unfair that you have to live in this very particular, sometimes rigid and restricted manner that’s different from everyone else you know. 

But over time, you embrace it. 

Because it works. 

Makes life easier.

Better.

For you and your kids. 

I now know to be flexible with our shower routine. (Some nights, for reasons I still don’t quite understand, it’s just too much.) 

And even more flexible with the food we eat. (Eat whatever you like little ones, as long as there’s a protein and vegetable of some sort on your plate.) 

Finally getting a peek at the answer key after years of constant struggle is a beautiful feeling, but it does take time and patience to develop this deep knowledge of your child. 

To discover that writing out an agenda for unpredictable weekends and holidays helps diffuse so much anxiety and the accompanying irritability. 

Same goes for posting a weekly schedule every Sunday. 

It’s knowing that our kids can’t handle any screen-time at all, at least at this juncture, and their behavior is SO much better without it. 

And even before that, I had a long list of strategies I could use if a meltdown would occur. 

I knew that pulling out the ‘ol feelings wheel, setting it by either one of my children in distress, and leaving a dry-erase pen nearby would allow them to process their difficult emotions without ever having to speak a word. 

Or I’d pull out a blank sheet of paper and a pencil for what they call “Mama Therapy.” The practice consists simply of giving them my quiet attention, cuddles if they want, and allowing them to illustrate their hurts, frustrations, and needs. 

Or a PECS1 chart with all their most common needs on it. 

Anything that would help clue me into how to support them, even when they couldn’t verbalize any of it to me. 

They get their needs met, without the overstimulation and discomfort of the things that don’t work for them, and the challenging behaviors become fewer and farther between. 

If you’re feeling lost in the dark forest of exhaustion, defeat, and unanswerable questions, it may seem hard to imagine now, but…

Eventually, many of your child’s struggles will no longer feel like a problem — because you’ll know how to address them. 

Yes, it’s taken me 13 years and counting to figure out just these small solutions to make family life more manageable (and they’ll no doubt change as my kids continue to grow and develop).

So be patient with yourself if you don’t have all the answers yet. 

I know I sure don’t!

But I can tell you this. One day, you’ll look back at these moments, the one that feels hopeless, the other one that you’re sure is impossible, and most definitely the one you just know deserves the Guinness World Record for parenting failures…

And you’ll realize all along you were learning. 

Learning to listen to your child in a language far beyond words. 

How to smooth out the jagged and wrinkly world for them. 

How to soothe their 999 different triggers…one at an excruciatingly slow time. 

All along, you weren’t failing. 

The situation wasn’t totally hopeless. 

You just couldn’t see the almost imperceptible, thin-as-spiderweb threads of growth along the way.

This is simply your training ground to become the very best parent.

The exact one your very special NueroKid needs.

Until that day when you’ll find yourself feeling a little more cool and confident, knowing you have (at least some of) the answers. 

Even if your very punctual neighbor insists on rocking your house with cannon fire every afternoon (or if your kiddo’s behaviors just make you feel that way sometimes.) 😉

Until then, be gentle with yourself and remember that every hard day takes you one step closer.

With love,

Shannon Clark
The NeuroMama

Welcome to Week #4! You’re almost there, and I bet you’re wondering, what’s next? 

How do you reintroduce screens? 

Maybe it’s asked with a bit of trepidation because you don’t want to go back to how things were before.

I feel exactly the same way! 

Here’s what sealed the deal for me. 

During our Week #5, there was a day in which my daughter was supposed to …

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I don’t regret any of the sacrifices I’ve made for my kids. But if I’d known then what I know now, I might’ve taken my foot off the accelerator just a bit. 

But I had to wonder as I pulled up to the solitary asphalt sliver that leads in and out of my neighborhood, as any mom who drives kids around for 9 ½ hours a week would. 

A construction-orange reader board had sprouted out of the pavement overnight with its pixelated message flashing.

Screen one: Construction Starts May 6

Screen two: Expect Delays

Over and over. 

Every sunshiny morning when I drove my kids to school.

Every time I returned home.

When I had to run out to pick up another round of prescriptions.

And back again.

When I retrieved my daughter from school and turned around two hours later to nab my son.

When I drove them to therapy and when we straggled home

Expect delays. 

By the 79th time I’d passed the sign, I had to wonder whether Someone other than just the Coeur d’Alene Highway District wanted me to heed this warning. 

As if reminding me of the lesson I’ve been learning (and relearning) this year. 

Slow down.

Pace yourself.

Relax. 

This is going to be a long trip. 

Just when you finally push past a milestone, your kids age up, the bar gets pushed higher, and there’s one more problem to solve. 

Maybe it’s that we just ended another school year. Or maybe it’s that I’m coming to the end of myself after mothering these amazing children and all their extra for more than a dozen years. 

I’ve pushed so hard for so long that now I don’t have a choice but to slow down. 

I need only look at the moms I know who are a decade or more ahead of me on this journey — still running “mom’s shuttle service,” trying to figure out medications, ever anticipating appointments with specialists, and wrestling a broken system to get their kids some help — to know that this is a marathon. 

One that may not end as our children grow up or even when they age into adulthood.

While parents of neurotypical children can assume that after a couple of months, their kids will sleep through the night. And after a few years, they’ll be fully potty trained. Tie their shoes. Sit still-ish at a desk. Read. Write. Drive. Graduate. Move out. (And did I mention sleep through the night?) 

But we have no such guarantees. 

Maybe our kids will be ok. 

I hope they’ll be ok. 

But chances are good they’ll need Mom in some capacity even when they’re 20 or 30 or beyond. 

“The days are long but the years are short,” doesn’t apply here. 

We’d be wise to expect the developmental delays inherent in our kids’ diagnoses. 

Plan for them.

If we want to make it to the finish line (an ever-moving, possibly imaginary, but always hopeful destination for us special needs moms), we have to go at a rate that is sustainable now, and all along the way. 

It’s advice that’s easy to give, yet so hard to follow. 

But that’s exactly what I observed Kristen LaValley doing so well while reading her Substack about faith, work, and life with her neurodivergent twin toddlers. 

There was the waiting for early intervention preschool. 

Achieving the first IEP. 

More waiting for the diagnosis assessment. 

When she wrote about how both her little ones had been “dysregulated” (NeuroMom code for growling, hissing, whining, wailing, biting, throwing, climbing, flipping, shrieking, smacking, screeching, etc.) every day for weeks, I felt so much compassion. 

I know what it's like to parent not one but two neurodivergent kids and their delicate nervous systems.

And when she noted that the one good day they’d had was when she did O.T. activities with them from morning ‘til night... 

I felt exhausted as I remembered the year we went to the Oregon coast and I first discovered that if I just spent every waking moment (and some of the should-be-sleeping ones, too) co-regulating with one of my kiddos, AND there were no demands whatsoever on them, I could in fact reduce their tantrums. 😵 

And when she shared that she’d made the impossible decision to scale back her work (work that provides needed income for her family and meaning to her heart) so she could support her girls full time, I could so relate.

I’ve walked that excruciating road of cutting away at the work and passions that make me me,  to be there for them. Because that’s what you do when your kids need you.

But here’s what Kristen did so well that I’ve so rarely been able to…

She wrote about how she was putting part of her work in hibernation mode. Knowing, hoping that she could bring it back to life again, hale and healthy, once her littles are more settled. Established in their new school. 

In short, she counted the cost of her sacrifice.

Yes, I’m sure it looked easier on the page than it was in real life. I know there is grief there. 

But when faced with similar decisions in the last decade, I’m the one positioned with one foot planted on the dock and the other on the boat as it pulls away — until I’m more likely to fall in the water than land on either side safely. 

Rather than mindfully considering whether I’m able to complete the task I’m about to undertake. Or calculating how much I am willing and able to give. I try to cling to both/and until it costs me too much.

Count the cost. 

This is what every newly minted autism mom needs to be told while walking out of the psychologist’s office, diagnosis report in hand.

“Oh, Mama,” I’d hug her and say. 

“If only you knew what was ahead of you.”  

“Pace yourself.”

But then I’d stop myself because that’s not exactly encouraging or helpful, is it? 

Who wants to hear that while your life might get different, there’s a good chance it's not going to get easier? 

That the dysregulation your child exhibits now could very well look startlingly similar five or ten years down the road? 

But bigger. And scarier. And somehow even louder? And with higher stakes in the world. 

That you may still be getting up with them multiple times every exhausting night. 

That the insurance battles would never end but drag on into one epic and unfair war.

That life would become just one huge pile of…paperwork.

Of course not.

But this kind of grim reality check can be helpful once in a while. 

To give us perspective about the epic task we are trying to accomplish. 

Because here’s the truth…

If we want to be there to care for our kids in the long term (and I know you do). We need to care just as well for ourselves right now.

That’s not to say that it’s always a choice or that we shouldn’t make sacrifices for our kids, but that we should be mindful when we do. 

This is the ultimate endurance race. 

And whatever the roadblocks, traffic jams, and hold-ups you’re experiencing right now, there are bound to be more down the road.

When I look back on our journey thus far, I probably wouldn’t change much. What would I cut? The months of daily vision therapy homework that let my son fully see and engage with the world? The frantic application to the special school that’s helping him overcome learning disabilities? Speech? OT? ABA? 

Of course not. 

My guess is that you’re doing everything just right for what your family needs right now, too. Managing as best you can in sometimes impossible circumstances. But let me leave you with a little advice, from one NeuroMama to another.

And I’m not about to prescribe a high-intensity self-care regimen that only causes more stress when you can’t find time to follow it. 

This is coming from the woman for whom taking a 4-minute shower before running to school pick up 3 minutes late is an accomplishment, the one who’s sitting here typing to you with the crusty remains of a manicure she can’t find a second to strip off her nails. 

The bar is pretty low here. 

Just make small changes where you can. 

Don’t skip lunch. Don’t feel lame or guilty about going to bed early. Exercise when you can. And take 10 seconds to stretch and suck in a deep breath when you can’t (you’ll feel so much better). 

Spend time with God. A two-minute devotional or listening to an audio Bible still counts! 

And stay connected with a friend who at least tries to understand what your life is like. Even if it’s only online.

I know it’s so hard, but try to ask for help for the things that you don’t have to be the one to do. And when you’re setting up supports and services for your child, don’t be afraid to push back a little and ask for the days, times, and locations that work best for your whole family (including you, Mama!)

Just be sure to leave a little gas left in the tank. 

It looks like this is going to be a long trip.

::

On May 6, I pulled up to the bridge anticipating a long line of impatient motorists at a standstill. 

I’d rushed us all out of the house. 

“We have to be on time today, construction is starting on the bridge,” I called down the hall to my kids before we left. 

But when we pulled up, there was that reader board flashing: 

Construction starts May 9. 

Expect Delays. 

But then, I should have expected that.

Welcome to Week #3 of your Skip the Screens Challenge! 

By now, I hope you’re starting to see some results, even if things haven’t gone perfectly. 

As my family has been walking through this process, just a little ahead of you, we haven’t had a flawless performance either. 

As I mentioned in my original screen-free post, my husband for…

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That God made them juuuuuust right. 

But we both know there’s more to the story, don’t we?

And it doesn’t do them any favors to ignore it. 

::

Picture this: Golden sunshine glows on the faces of two cherub-cheeked children…

…holding a fluffy golden retriever pup…

…while sitting in a grassy field in springtime. 

Sounds pretty idyllic, right? 

But what you don’t know is that the boy is allergic to puppies…and grass, so you’ll miss the next seven hours of his nose dripping slime. 

You don’t know that these two are siblings. So you don’t hear their unending bickering over who gets to hold that very fluffy puppy. 

You don’t see the girl’s grin turn into a frozen screech of pain when the needle teeth of that same puppy nip her fingers. 

A picture is silent. 

It’s simple. 

It only shows you part of the story. 

And the neurodiversity paradigm, which celebrates all the wide-ranging ways our minds think with equal value and gusto, is just as limited as our “cute” picture above.

Celebrating neurodiversity and accepting our kids just as they are IS a beautiful idea, isn’t it? 

There’s this deep knowledge in my heart that says my kids can be ok in this world. That they were created just right. That what they need is perhaps a little extra space to regulate their nervous systems and find a mode of operation that works for them. That they’re amazing kids with strengths that leave me in awe. 

But there is brokenness here, too.

And the problem comes when the same philosophy that celebrates our children’s strengths is extended to argue that various forms of neurodivergence are NOT disordered. 

The messages come in big and small ways. 

From the brutal vernacular that frames “autism moms” as meddling, overprotective villains with victim complexes (yeah that one made my blood boil too) to the more subtle ones.

Like the widespread practice of slipping the more PC term “neurodivergent” into a sentence in the place of a child’s “label” 🙊 as if it could make all of their challenges instantly disappear (gee, I’m glad we solved that one!)

It’s mostly coming from a good place. The desire to make space for all the beautiful minds in this crazy world we live in.

But does it really have to be either/or?

Because here’s the rest of the scene, the part they don’t see in the rainbow bedecked picture celebrating neurodiversity.

By the time we’ve achieved a diagnosis of autism for our child, we’ve already endured months (if not years) of wait lists. 

>> 1,572 questions about our child, parenting, family dynamic, and even our marriage (leaving us questioning whether this is all somehow in fact our fault after all).

>> Dozens of hours spent in dreary waiting rooms and doctor’s offices, with our children subjected to the same.

>> And depending on whether you have insurance (or if yours is atrocious like ours) or you’re just trying to bypass the waitlists, you may have spent up to $5,000 to procure this little piece of paper and its magical diagnosis codes. 

This isn’t the kind of thing you pick up for fun like pickleball or rainbow-tizing your bookshelves.

And this isn’t a process you go through just because you’re worried yours will be the weird kid who has no one to sit with at lunch.

It’s hard work motivated by impossible life circumstances. 

You may be facing a range of serious challenging behaviors in your child like: 

• Tantrums

• Aggression

• Property destruction

• Self-harm

• Elopement

• Stealing

• Toileting accidents

• Oppositional behavior

• And just plain lots and lots of screaming every day

Autism and its cousins are not a cute punchline or quirky character on everyone’s favorite sitcom. 

Our kids have a diagnosis because they are experiencing REAL problems that need treatment. 

Though I’m willing to sacrifice just about anything for my kids, I can’t allow these “beautiful” autism-related traits to continue without intervention in the name of a dogmatic celebration of their differently-wired brains.

Call me “socially rigid,” but I’m not going to let my child fling their fork at my face and overturn their chair every time they sniff a whiff of something they don’t care for simmering — even if that is their “preferred” form of communication. 

Instead, I’m going to make sure they learn the skills to share their thoughts on my cuisine in an appropriate way while providing healthy alternatives that they consider more palatable. 

I love a good idealistic philosophy better than anybody (I mean, I gave birth to both my children at home because I so adamantly believed our bodies are so well designed to bring our children into the world), but in the end, I’m not willing to give up the mental and physical health of all of the diverse individuals in our family in order to do so.

Don’t we all deserve to feel safe in our homes and not suffer from the ongoing depression, anxiety, and PTSD that can result from living with some of these behaviors?

Getting a diagnosis (a.k.a. “label”) opens a family up to a revelatory cloudburst of information, community, therapy, and yes even medication that can make all the difference.

Treatments like ABA, which are often met with the arch of a disapproving eyebrow within some neuro-affirming communities, have been pivotal in improving the quality of life and mental well-being of my children and our whole family.

Now, kitchen utensils are used much less often as implements of disordered (yep, I said it) communication and much more for eating the likes of baby carrots and scrambled eggs. 

We still struggle, but all I have to do is look back to the true chaos of even a year ago to imagine how different our lives would be without it. 

::

Maybe you’ve experienced the inward cringe that comes with questioning your parenting choices in reflection of the neurodiversity paradigm, too: 

>> If you really love and accept your child, why do you want to try and change them? 

>> Shouldn’t you focus on developing their strengths, rather than putting so much focus on their deficits? 

>> Shouldn’t you respect their preferences rather than forcing them to fit the mold? 

In truth, these doubt doodles probably wouldn’t lead either of us to deprive our kids of needed treatment (and the diagnoses that allow it), yet it could easily cause us to hesitate and delay it. 

And that would only be hurting our kids and our families.

So let’s celebrate. And accommodate. And love the heck out of our neurodivergent children. 

But Mama, I hope you won’t ever be shamed out of seeking a diagnosis or treatment for your child because of a beautiful but incomplete picture of your family’s very real struggles.

In the end, nothing’s ever black and white but as rainbow-colored as the spectrum itself — and the books on your shelf. 

You know your child and their needs like no one else does. And if you ask me, there’s no one better equipped to find the best way to honor their differences.

Hello NeuroMama!

Welcome to your child’s first official day without screens! In all your amazing work preparing for this big day, it would be easy to lose sight of one important fact, though... 

A screen-fast isn’t just about taking out screens…

It’s also about what you’re putting back in that makes a big impact, too.

The other week in church, I noticed a young man sitting on the bleacher stairs. He was holding a long plastic tube about a yard long, and it had a red grip fitted to one end that looked like it had come from a bicycle handlebar. And on the more narrow end of the tube was a pen.

While he may not have had the fine motor skills to sit and draw with the typical ballpoint pen, he could use his whole arm to navigate the pen around the page from a distance using his larger muscles instead.

Which he contentedly did through the whole service, making delightful swirls of ink on his notebook, while his caregiver was able to listen to the sermon while keeping a smiling eye on her charge. 

Maybe what was most remarkable, though, was that this boy didn’t have an iPad superglued to his hands and eyeballs.

Screen-free activities will look a little bit different for every neurodivergent child, and that’s ok. 

What’s important is getting creative and finding at least a few things your child can enjoy that don’t include the allure of a glowing screen and buttons to push. 

Before I got trained as a Registered Behavior Tech and started doing ABA with my child, I never knew that the ability to engage in leisure activities is actually a skill. And for many of our NeuroKids, it’s a skill that needs to be intentionally taught. 💡

The good news is, it’s an area that they can grow in.

But here’s the really cool thing…

Every screen-free activity your kids engage in helps to develop new developmental skills in your child. 

Think about it. 

• When coloring an outline of a Minecraft wolf or folding origami, they’re developing their fine motor skills. 

• When pumping their arms and legs on the swings or building a fort, they’re growing their gross motor coordination and muscle strength. 

• When playing with dolls or having a tea party, they’re practicing social skills and emotional regulation.

Those are all crucial opportunities for development that would have been lost if they were replaced by screens. 

In fact, according to the Rest Your Child’s Brain book, screen-time hasn’t been shown to give anything of value back to our kids. 

Instead, it only steals their time, attention, and developmental window to acquire new skills vital to their present and future success.

So, this week, as you start your screen-fast, let’s help our kids engage in activities that give back. 

Read more

I’d say, it doesn’t take much. 

That’s why I’ve always hung onto this gift I got from a family friend. When I was in college. 

My sister was in her pageant era. 

I’d moved on to college, so I must’ve been home on a break. 

I had my own life, friends, and direction-ish, and honestly, I loved traveling to the big events to cheer on my sister. Whatever you think about pageants, competing in Miss America is a BIG deal.

I loved that it felt like it brought us all together, friends and family in the velvety folding seats of the crowd, holding the glittery I-D-A-H-O cutouts someone had made, and giving us all an excuse to hang out. 

Still, this friend must’ve thought I was getting lost amongst all the tulle tutus and sequin gowns. 

So one day she pulled me aside. And as we leaned on the side of the oversized sleigh bed in my room at my parents’ house, she handed me something. Heavy for its size.

A shimmering Shannon Crystal jar with a lid. 

Think Waterford, also of Ireland, but this one was even more special because it shared my name. The intricate pineapple crisscut pattern made the surface sparkle in the dim light. 

She wanted me to know that even though there was a lot of focus on my sis right now, that I was not forgotten. 

If you walked into my house now, it doesn’t exactly scream Pottery Barn. In fact, you may notice there’s a stark absence of home decor thanks to my minimalist aspirations.

But that crystal jar still sits on my bathroom counter almost two decades later. It’s empty. Mostly collects dust and clangs against the pull of the window shade when the wind blows. 

Still, no matter how I happen to be feeling that day, when I’m standing there with my WaterPik in hand or poking my contacts into my eyes, I always remember that there was once someone who saw me, even in my relative obscurity, and cared. 

And that it doesn’t take much. A small gesture, a kind word. To make a difference in someone’s heart that lasts a lifetime.

Being seen is everything. 

And the real magic is in being able to see someone even when (especially when) they don’t stand out in the ways our culture typically celebrates. 

To see the subtle beauty and the silent struggles when no one else notices. 

As moms of neurodivergent kiddos, we are perfectly equipped to see our children’s untapped strengths and unexpressed struggles and make sure they get recognized. 

I mean, nature or nurture. 

Either way, it’s all our “fault,” right?

Maybe. 

But it’s also our superpower. 

When I opened the packet from the psychologist with the report that held my daughter’s diagnosis, I noticed that the doctor had also slipped in a photocopy of an article that mentioned how many parents may also recognize symptoms of autism in themselves. 

After all, in most cases, we contributed a good chunk of our DNA (no matter how mutated and gnarly) to this human science experiment. 

At the time, I felt seen — but not in a good way. 

For a while, I felt myself making jerky glances over each shoulder. 

Does she send this to all the parents? 

Or is it just me?

In truth, it confirmed for me what I already knew.

Along with the chaos of dealing with a new diagnosis, I found myself awash with guilt that I’d somehow caused my kids’ disorders: 

I’ve been a bad sleeper for as long as I can remember.

I can be intense and hyper-focused. 

My mom still talks about how I didn’t even acknowledge my classmate Holly’s greeting at the Ponderosa Elementary School science fair in 1994. 

Growing up, I remember being the recipient of the drawn-out, one-word rebuke in various situations: “Shaaaannnnnnon!” Most often, I didn’t know what I’d said or done wrong. 

I’ve had several (what I considered to be) close friends suddenly get mad and stop talking to me, or just disappear from my life, and I had no idea why.

I was shaken when I met one such ex-friend for lunch so she could return the Bible I’d left behind in my dorm room. (Our other floormates had voted to burn it until she rescued it for me. Ouch!) 

As we discussed the ins and outs of what had gone wrong in our relationship, I defended myself by explaining that I’d never cared what she did or believed. As in, I didn’t have a stake in it. Didn’t judge her for it. 

It was like the bustling coffee shop with its clanking cups full of rich Mexican mochas, plates of crispy paninis, and all the conversations going on around us stopped when she said, “Shannon, maybe what we wanted was for you to care.” 

Until then, such a possibility hadn’t occurred to me.

I’d always considered it a virtue to live and let live. To not get into the drama. But apparently, not? 

But it’s not just the social ineptitudes that clued me in. 

I love rules. 

At least the ones that make sense to me. Especially the ones that I make up. 

My happy place is inside a spreadsheet doing data analysis and strategy building, which is a big part of my work today. 

I often have to Google the meaning of idioms and can rarely use them with any certainty. 

Forcing myself to hold eye contact for an extended time leaves my eyes vibrating, watery, and blurred with the effort, like when you insisted on trying your grandmother’s glasses prescription as a child. 

Depression has been a periodic visitor throughout my life. And anxiety so constant I couldn’t even recognize it was a thing separate from myself until recently.

Differentiating faces can be difficult, which I remember making the movie Pearl Harbor impossible for me to discern. Two dashing leading men in uniform? How did it end again?

I experienced meltdowns into my 30s when all the little gremlins of my emotions and physical cues would creep up my legs, over my back, and onto my shoulders unnoticed, until I was suddenly overwhelmed.

Or completely burned out.

Some people might notice they’re hungry and eat. Tired and rest. But not me — until too late!

I still sometimes have to bolt from the dinner table to escape the sound of my family’s chewing.  

And I learned to mask it all by putting a big smile on my face ‘til my head ached with the tension of it. 

Since the moment I pulled that Xeroxed article from my child’s psychologist out of its mail-battered envelope, I’ve spent an unanswerable amount of time staring into the reflection pond of online quizzes to determine that I don’t think I would’ve gotten an official diagnosis of autism, had such evaluations been readily available when I was a child.

However, sensory processing disorder, misophonia1, and neurodivergence are certainly mine to claim. 

The autistic apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, so to speak.

Oh, the weight of feeling I’d passed all this onto my children, whether by faulty genetics or by poor parenting!

But now I see it differently. 

And whether you consider yourself to be neurodivergent or not, it’s these types of experiences, along with the deep study of your child that you’ve no doubt made, that give us x-ray vision when it comes to our kids.

The small acts of seeing, knowing, and loving that will make all the difference for them. 

You can empathize and help your kids make space when life is too loud, too hot, too gross, or TOO MUCH, even when the average person wouldn’t even notice. 

And realize that they may be processing a depth of thoughts and emotions that they’ll never have the words to express. 

But it’s about more than using four different pots to cook dinner every night so none of their foods have to touch — EVER. 

Or making sure that “Sharko” the rickety robovac doesn’t run while they’re home. 

It also means you can genuinely delight in their obsession with all things fluffy, counting all the dogs you see along the way to school and therapy.

Their random ideas:

“You know Mom, if you could figure out how to stop time, you could walk on water.”  

The just as random facts:

“Apparently peacocks' feathers are brown on the bottom.” 

The artful way they arrange the eggs every morning.

Marvel at their early love of pattern recognition: 

“The low is 46 today and the high is 64!”

And their made-up word mashups: 

“Omnificcient, something that is infinitely efficient…obviously.” 

So that they can design a life with space for all their challenges and quirks with confidence. And you, Mama, don’t even have to have all their answers. 

::

It’s so easy to feel unequal to the task. 

All their needs. 

All of ours. 

To be sure, it can be a radioactive combination, too. 

Yet it’s knowing and valuing our own eccentricities that can make our NeuroMom superpowers even stronger.

So, if you’ve found yourself sneaking paranoid peeks over your shoulder. Wondering if anyone else has caught on to your dirty little secret.

Own it. 

You are amazing! 

So are your kids. 

And these are the lasting treasures of seeing and loving our children that we place into their hands. 

The ones that will sparkle for a lifetime — even in the darkness.

Hello NeuroMama! 

Welcome to the challenge. I’m so happy you found your way here. This is, I hope, going to be a pivotal moment in your family’s history.

The one where everything finally clicked into place and peace descended like a dove. 🙃

And if you only see incremental improvements or even none at all, it always feels good to have something new to try…

Read more

After everything we’ve tried? 

To be sure, everything from ABA to SLP and OT1 has helped along with vision therapy, special schools, diet changes, supplement protocols, medications, visual schedules, and rigorous daily routines to rival West Point. 

Some of them quickly, but only a little. Like when I dumped all the bananas in the garbage after getting back one kid’s food sensitivity results. Most of the constant itching stopped instantly, almost like magic. 

Yet, most worked incrementally, over long, drawn-out periods of time, so that it’s easy to forget what it was like before. And I can’t help but wonder (and get mad at my husband for wondering): Would time and maturity have done this anyway?

But this 4-week screen fast has been almost like flipping a switch. 

From revving on high, like that emotional tachometer craft they have your kids make with a paper plate in therapy to show how “in the red” they feel. Down to a nice steady hum, almost. 

Which is why I’ve been holding my breath for the last couple of weeks. 

Will this stick? 

You see, on May 20, we announced to our kids that our family was going to do a screen-fast, effective the next morning. No Netflix, no Switch, no DVDs, no YouTube, tablets, or laptops. (Our kids don’t have phones anyway, so at least we didn’t have to pry those out of their clenched little fingers.) 

A therapist we were working with recommended the book Reset Your Child’s Brain by Dr. Victoria Dunckley, D-U-N-C-K-L-E-Y, he spelled it out for me. And that we should give our kids a solid break from screens over the summer. When they’re home and wouldn’t be getting the hours of requisite screen-time at school every day.

It’s a “four-week plan to end meltdowns, raise grades, and boost social skills by reversing the effects of electronic screen-time” (I hadn’t even told him about the tantrums yet), and if I’m honest it sounded just a little too good to be true. 

At the time, I almost blew it off. Thinking that our kids get so little screen-time at home as it is, that it would hardly make a difference in their behavior. 

However, I love nothing if not an assignment and a radical intervention/transformation, so I had to take a peek.

Thank God I did. 

One of the best things about the book is that she has you spend the first week tracking challenging behaviors before you even start the screen-fast. (This is a strategy I plan to implement in all of our future experiments.)

So now, I’m not just writing to you saying, “Cutting out screens really improved our child’s behavior.” 

Instead, I can tell you exactly how much:

• One of our children went from an average of 76 minutes of tantrum behaviors per day down to 24 minutes in the first week (a 68% reduction). 

• And only 13 minutes per day in the second week.

• In week three, Daddy forgot the whole thing at the dentist’s office and let them watch half an hour of movies while they got their teeth cleaned, and we’ll just say…we got our proof of concept.

Then we got a visit from strep throat. 

Plus, it was the last week of school, bursting with field trips, parties, and treats. Much less than this would have caused a serious uptick in tantrums before.

Still, we had only an average of 10 minutes per day in the third week (an 87% reduction). 

Just because I’m nerdy like that, I also tracked how much screen-time this particular child was getting before we started: an average of only 45 minutes a day. 

That’s well under the average four to six hours spent by children ages 8-12 reported by the American Academy of Child & Adolescent Psychiatry. Yet, it was obviously causing serious harm to our child’s brain.

(Quick side note. No, I don’t think screens are causing children’s autism, ADHD, anxiety, etc. Victoria Dunckley explains this well in her book, based on her years of clinical experience working with children as a psychiatrist: Some more sensitive, neurotypical kids exhibit symptoms similar to these conditions just because of screen exposure. Whereas symptoms are intensified for kids like ours who do have a legitimate diagnosis.)

What I haven’t been tracking (but SO loving) are all the extra pats on the arm, strokes on the cheek, and Mama, I love yous I’ve been getting. 

::

After reading about the amazing transformations coming out of the author’s clinic, I knew there was no way I could wait until school let out to get started. 

However, I knew I would have to get my husband on board if it was going to work. 

But I felt a little sheepish about introducing him to yet another one of my crazy plans. To tell the truth, I was a little reluctant myself, thinking about taking away something that our little ones enjoy so much — that I enjoy doing with them.

And in fact, when I explained to him on our next monthly date night all the really important reasons our particular kids need a break from screens, and that one of our therapists had recommended it for them, that was his biggest question, without being at all unsupportive. 

Are we really going to take away another thing they enjoy?

Gluten, dairy, most sugar, blueberries, bananas, and Brussels sprouts (ok, I don’t think they’re too sad about the sprouts)…and now screen-time? Aren’t their lives hard enough as it is? 

Isn’t there at least this one area where they can have fun and be like “normal” kids? 

But I explained that even neurotypical kids are affected by screens (and sugar for that matter). Our kids just happen to be the canaries in the coal mine, whose little nervous systems get overloaded faster and warn everyone else as to the ill effects of modern life that are coming for them. 

Besides, if an iPad in every child’s hands is fun like dealing out a cupcake for every holiday from National Hug Day to International Donut Week in a childhood diabesity epidemic is fun, then do we really want any part in it? 

And I know, I know that iPads are an almost ubiquitous coping and reinforcement tool for autistic children everywhere. 

But here’s what Dr. Dunckley says in the book: “In fact, since the advent of the iPad, I find myself saying to parents of autistic children: ‘For your child, the iPad is the devil.’”

So we decided to move forward with the project.  

I spent a little longer than the one week recommended in the book to make the needed preparations for our upcoming screen fast and track baseline behaviors. Maybe I was dragging my heels a little, too, waiting for the right moment to tell our kids. 

When we made the announcement around the dinner table, there were definitely some tears. And some, but, but, but-ing

I tried to be reassuring. 

Tried to include them in exactly what it would look like and help them buy into why we were doing this. 

Per Dunckley’s suggestion, I asked them what they thought a good way to use screens was. And how they felt when other people around them were using their phones. 

A. noted that if someone had a phone, they should still pay attention to you when they’re with you. 

And E. talked about how it’s like the other kids his age, who all have tech in hand, are on another planet. 

For them, it seems too much screen-time is all about disconnection. 

And when we stop to think about it, we grown-ups know that to be true, too. 

Our little one asked if we could finish the Aristocats movie together that we’d started earlier in the day. We did. And when it was over, she cheerfully brought the remote and put it away into our new tech basket without any prompting from me. 

It was almost like she knew, even before I did, how much this change would help our family. 

That first weekend, I was prepared for the worst. A long day stretched out ahead with all four of us home and nothing much planned aside from friends from our small group visiting for dinner later that evening. 

I was prepared, as the book said I should be, to spend all day filling the boredom gap that TV and gaming used to fill with alternative activities as they made the transition. 

I was shocked at how well things went. 

They played outside. Dug holes with their cousins. Built LEGO.

One kid brought out an Ace Hardware craft that had been sitting in her room since 2020 (you know the year) and pounded in every nail herself. 

The other one dug out a cooperative play game he got for his birthday almost a year ago and made us finally learn how to play it. 

And we all loved it. 

The next weekend, with no one to play with, our youngest wrote the most adorable and poorly spelled note to all the neighborhood kids inviting them to a fort-building party in our yard, and asked Daddy to deliver copies to all their houses. Snacks were promised. 

They almost all showed up and had a screen-free blast together. 

Once the option of screens was off the table (or out of their hands), a whole new version of childhood seemed to open up in ways we as parents were too afraid to hope for. But part of me wonders if deep down (in the recesses of their cranky little tween hearts that they would absolutely never express) this is really the life our kids wanted all along.

::

If you’ve been withering for 99 weeks on waitlists, waiting to get your kids the help they need (or even to get a diagnosis to then get on the waitlist to get them the help they need. 

Or you’re in services, but it’s tough for therapists to target the challenging behaviors you’re seeing at home. Or the changes are happening but at a crawl.

If you don’t think you can live one more day with your kiddo’s meltdowns, rages, and all-around misery.  

And especially if you’ve seen the remote get flung at the TV one time too many when it’s time to transition off screens. 

There is hope. 

Because just as there isn’t just one cause for the difficult symptoms of autism, ADHD, anxiety, and other neurodivergent diagnoses, there isn’t just one solution for most kids.

But here’s why that’s good news. 

Every little effort we make for our kids adds up. 

Usually slowly, over the years. And once in an exciting while, quickly with dramatic results, as we’ve experienced during this screen-fast. 

Though the whole alphabet soup of therapies can be helpful. Medications and nutrition, too.

The simple changes we as parents can make at home can also make a big difference in our family’s quality of life — right now.

What if you could…

• Drastically reduce your child’s challenging behaviors this month (without languishing on a waitlist in some receptionist’s dusty bottom drawer)

• Spend more time enjoying being a mom – and less acting as your child’s defacto therapist

• And still cook dinner in peace, sans iPad (without perfecting your one-handed pumpkin juggling act)

• All alongside a supportive little community of other NeuroMoms who “get it.” 

Ready to give it a try? 

If you’re too busy and exhausted and you can’t even think about reading 384 pages packed with scientific research and detailed instructions for doing an intervention at this scale, let me help! 

I’ve boiled it all down into a few simple checklists and worksheets to make it easy for you. It’s the 31-Day Skip the Screens Challenge Kit with all the resources you need to make a screen-fast happen for your family. And this month, we’ll be going through it together.

I hope you’ll join us!

::

As for us, we’re not planning to even consider reintroducing screens until the end of the summer, when our kids have had a nice long break both at home and school, giving their brains a chance to heal and reset. 

Will the results we’ve seen so far continue? Will the challenging behaviors decrease even more? Will they go away completely? Will this be as effective as the Great Banana Brushoff of 2021?

Stay tuned for updates.

For now, I think I’ll let out that breath I’ve been holding and enjoy this season of peace along with all the extra kisses and cuddles.

3-Months Without Screens (Our Screen-Free update) >>

I’ve been reading The Princess Bride to my daughter; it’s one of my favorite books and movies from when I was her age. To be honest though, I think she’s just humoring me. Every two and a half pages she asks if we can take a break.

Despite her lack of enthusiasm, I still love coming across the most memorable moments again.

Like when poor Inigo Montoya stands by, wavy black hair flowing to his shoulders, and watches as his buddy Vizzini exclaims,

“Inconceivable!”

Their ship is being followed…

“Inconceivable!”

The other ship is gaining on them…

“Inconceivable!” he lisps again with eyes wide, eyebrows raised, and balding forehead wrinkles scrunched.

Finally, when the fact that the Man in Black doesn’t fall off the cliff is met with the same response, our friend Inigo couldn’t keep quiet any longer,

“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

He may have been a simple Spaniard bent on avenging his father’s death, but it was clear to him, something wasn’t right here.

And I think we run into the same erroneous interpretation as moms when we hear the Word say that children are a “blessing” from the Lord and then look at our real, very messy lives and think…

Something isn’t adding up here.

I don’t know about you, but the “blessing” of motherhood doesn’t look anything like what I thought it would.

I sometimes find myself thinking there must’ve been some mistake. These are not the children I signed up for!

I took for granted that I’d have happy, well-regulated children. As babies, they’d sleep through the night.

Their cries would be soothed the moment their dimpled little hands reached for me, and I’d snuggle them to my chest.

In the rare moments when they’d be sick, I’d take their temperature while they’d smile and with a couple of blinks of heavy eyelids drift off to sleep in the warm glow of their night light.

I was supposed to have kids who’d sit for hours and listen to my favorite classic read-alouds (without interrupting). We would joyfully homeschool and learn together at the kitchen table. Of course, they’d excel and grasp every concept right away with a grin and light shining on their baby-angel faces.

They’d be best friends, never fight, and always put the needs of the other first.

I would delight to watch how they take care of and dote on one another.

And I would be the best mom.

I’d love to be with them every minute of every day (who wouldn’t, since they’d be so perfect?) I’d never need a break.

I’d have boundless energy to cook healthy meals from scratch 100% of the time and somehow my immaculate counters would always sparkle in the sunshine. (Maybe in my dream Mary Poppins and her magic were there, too?)

I’d always be calm and have a serene little smile of contentment on my face. I would always find their jokes delightful and my house would be full of laughter and joy.

And the truth is something like that…some of the time. And sometimes, it’s just the opposite.

As I write this I hear how silly and unrealistic this is. But as moms and especially as moms of faith, somehow we get this ideal in our heads.

Our vision of what the “blessing” of motherhood should look like is a cross between a Norman Rockwell painting and a diaper commercial.

And then we feel endlessly discouraged that we can’t replicate the standard.

I must be doing it wrong! we think.

Maybe, I’m just not cut out for motherhood, I tell myself.

Because I am not the best mom.

I do need a break, and three evenings out of five I want to bolt out of the house, stomp on the accelerator, and not look back.

It’s too hard.

I’m not strong enough, compassionate enough, energetic enough.

Or maybe I’m just not the right mom for these children.

I went four years without more than two hours of sleep at a time. They were always sick.

And their runny noses dried up just in time for them to discover sarcasm, “whatever,” and the eye roll.

And the truth is, even in the Norman Rockwell paintings, Sister is sent to the principal’s office with a black eye, Dad’s there in his bathrobe and slippers while mom and the kids march off to church, the baby is inconsolable, and the baseball game gets rained out.

It’s just that the volume on it all is turned way down, so all we can see is the warmth and nostalgia of each scene.

But in my very real household, the volume is loud — real loud.

Family life is more like the McCallisters at the beginning of Home Alone trying to get 17 people ready to fly overseas at Christmas.

There’s no end to the whining and bickering, someone spilled milk all over the passports and plane tickets, you just know someone is going to wet the bed, and there might be a hairy tarantula running loose somewhere near your bare toes.

Recently we had this picturesque snow day.

School was canceled.

The neighborhood kids all went sledding through the downy white powder.

But soon it was the sound of garbled quarreling that resonates over the hillside. One kid stomps home mad, cheeks red, complaining that no one gave them a turn with the sled.

When they come in, I make soothing dairy-free hot chocolate to warm their frozen fingers. But rather than sipping it sweetly, one spills it all over the computer.

While the other one howls that surely no one else’s mother makes them do homework on a snow day.

It’s real.

It’s messy.

Hot pink post-its transfer their perfect rectangular imprint onto the white countertop.

The car won’t start on Monday morning because someone left the light turned on all weekend.

All they want to read are those nonsense graphic novels.

I’m always half expecting a call home from the school.

…And we all love each other more than life itself.

And sometimes, I can even see the beauty in it and realize that, yes, God chose me to be the imperfect mom of these two challenging, amazing little ones.

Nothing has gone wrong.

He has a plan and purpose for every challenge.

As a mom, I’ve been compelled to grow shoots through the stubborn concrete of my heart in ways I never could have if I didn’t have children.

From the first months of my oldest child’s life, we battled with the right timing of a surgery that we knew would someday be needed, and I had no choice but to give him into God’s hands from that moment.

I had no power or control to protect him.

All I could do was trust God and the doctors.

Eleven years in, I’ve now prayed over these two as they’ve been wheeled off to multiple surgeries and procedures.

Over abnormal EEG results and umpteen other heart-wrenching situations that were entirely out of my control when all I could do was pray.

Those big moments of battle almost seem small next to the avalanche of our unrelenting everyday struggles, but those too put me face-down in my pillow and crying out to God in my insufficiency to help my babies.

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” — James 1:2-4

And trials, when you’re a mom, come in fresh supply every morning, in all shapes and sizes.

God has refined me by baby steps with unlimited “opportunities” to grow in patience and compassion because my kids demand it (and so does my love for them).

To wait for them to tie their shoes.

To pick up the food the toddler threw on the floor for the 749th time that day.

And endless chances to repent and practice asking forgiveness from little people who are always eager to reconcile. (For the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.)

To strip away even the good to focus on what really matters and my true purpose.

But most of all I’ve grown in humility as I am faced with the griminess of my sinful heart every day.

Their needs have put a spotlight on my abject need for my Savior.

I’ve been battered by sleepless nights when I could only rely on the strength of God to get me through the next day.

Motherhood has shown me what it means to be a living sacrifice, to love another as myself, and to be motivated to put the needs of another ahead of my own in a way that nothing else ever could.

Motherhood has blessed me with ample opportunity to ponder how God must feel when his children choose to disobey him, knowing it will only hurt them.

And to understand a little more about what the Father’s love for me is like.

What a sacrifice it must have been for Him to give his one and only son for us.

The experience of being driven to our knees again and again for the sake of our children as we realize our humble inadequacy in raising these little creatures…

This is the blessing of motherhood.

Sanctification.

It’s not the glossy stock photo families with their rosy cheeks and frozen smiles embracing in the sunshine.

It’s nothing like I dreamed it would be…

But these children are exactly what I needed.

It’s beautiful and painful.

God wants us to be utterly dependent and submitted to Him, and sometimes it takes the messiness and struggle of life to get us there.

I was reading Ruth, (that’s the widow who faithfully left her homeland to return to Bethlehem with her mother-in-law Naomi) and this verse stood out to me,

“…the Lord enabled her to conceive, and she gave birth to a son.” — Ruth 4:13

Yes, biology was obviously at play here, but the Lord chose that day, that husband, that wife, that day when that particular set of DNA joined to grow that particular baby boy, as a blessing to his father and mother and grandmother and community and eventually the whole world.

And somewhere deep down, I know the same is true for me, too.

And once in a while at least, I look up and I’m so grateful that God didn’t see fit to leave me where I was. I remind myself that I really am the perfect mom for these kids, and they are the perfect kids for me, too.

Not because we’re perfect but because God chose us for each other.

And the same is true for you, Mama.

As my wise friend (and supporting subscriber) Linda pointed out, Mary the mother of Jesus was called blessed among women. Yet, as we know, the arc of her story and probably her day-to-day life encompassed constant obstacles, pain, and unthinkable suffering.

As Simeon “blessed” her family in the temple (there’s that word again) he told her, “A sword will pierce your own soul too.”

Sounds like a lot of fun, right?

Yet she was also there to witness the culmination of God’s plan for all humanity from the very start to the finish.

For each one of us, we get to see the growth of our children from helpless infants into independent adults — if we’re lucky. And the maturity of our own hearts, too, in the process.

It’s messy, frustrating, and sometimes painful, and we get to be a part of God’s amazing plan for our children.

It’s just that that “blessing” may not mean what we think it means when we start the journey.

One day, we packed up our gluten-free snacks and sweatshirts and pulled out from our vacation rental driveway in Lincoln City almost in time to arrive for the opening of the Oregon Aquarium in Newport.

As we passed through the village of Depoe Bay, my husband slowed with traffic as we noticed dozens of tourists in various stages of pulling off the road, parking, and staring out into the water. 

A shaggy black dog tugged at its leash and put its paws on the sea wall as if it too was watching. 

Having never been there before, we couldn’t resist stopping to see what was detouring all these tourists from their busy itineraries. Even in the digital age, we humans apparently still have a tribal connection that silently pulls us together and orients us in the same direction. 

What we saw in the ocean below was the evidence of whales. Although we learned from the faded signs our look around town revealed that Depoe Bay is the “Whale Watching Capital of Oregon,” but we never saw a whole whale. 

It was more of a spout of water jetting up, movement somewhere near the surface of the waves, and every once in a while a flipper or part of a whale’s back sliding through the water.

But it was enough to have a hundred jaded travelers standing in awe on the side of the road with binoculars half raised to their eyes, mouths agape at the vastness of it as frantic little whale-watching vessels raced across the bay to try to catch a peek.  

And that is kind of what it’s like to have a relationship with God. 

You never quite see the whole picture, but enough is revealed (or at least recognized in retrospect) to hold you over until the next time.

A flash of grace and unexpected blessing.

A prayer answered.

A sprinkling of strength where you had none.

A seemingly glacial, yet miraculous progression toward healing.

“For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” — 1 Corinthians 13:12

It’s like when you get out of the shower and the bathroom mirror is all fogged up. Everything is reflected through a mist, with blocks of color and vague shapes but not many details. 

But if you take a towel and wipe away some of the steam, you begin to see things more clearly. It may take a few tries as the moisture condenses onto the surface, again and again, erasing the clarity you gained until the cloud finally lifts and you get a much sharper picture. 

It’s still just a reflection, an image. It isn’t a real, warm, flesh and blood being you can hug and talk to and play Go Fish with. But you now have a better understanding of what that person would be like to hang out with. 

Experiencing the presence of God might seem like something that should be “spiritual,” a feeling and therefore it should come naturally or automatically. And those serendipitous encounters with God ARE something that I want to grow more present and open to as well. 

While I would like this practice to be more spontaneous, more Spirit-led, it’s equally important to actively build my faith by scheduling opportunities to get a fuller picture of who He is, who He says that I am, and to be with Him. 

To pull off the road on the way to Get-the-Kids-Out-the-Door-to-School-on-Time-Ville and Put-the-Babies-in-Bed-and-Get-Them-to-Stay-There-Burg and strain my eyes toward what God wants to show me that day. And with a framework in place, those chance encounters with God are happening more and more, too. 

Scheduled Spirituality? 

I guess I’ll embrace it! Because putting time on my calendar to spend experiencing the presence of God even (and especially) in this intense and demanding season of mothering has brought refreshing to my parched and cracked soul I didn’t remember was possible.

Truly, we need to schedule anything important, especially activities of eternal significance. Yet those are often the things that I let slide because I’m “too busy” crossing other “important” things off my list. 

Connecting with my husband (I mean like even making eye contact and saying two words to each other some days), playing with my kids, and, of course, spending time with God so easily go by the wayside without pre-planning. 

Plus, my faith is so quickly derailed by how I’m feeling emotionally, the behavior of my kids, the behavior of my husband, my hormones, how many hours I’ve been on hold with the insurance company, how many marketing emails I still need to write before Black Friday, or whether I’m fighting a cold. Which is why I have to plan these pauses to tune back into the presence of God with intentionality.

(Side note: I have long loathed the Christian-jargon word “Intentional.” For a decade, I’ve always cringed and rolled my eyes whenever any of our church friends would use it. But, maybe, just maybe that was an indicator of my lack of maturity and need to be more, well intentional in my spiritual life. Because I really can’t think of any other appropriate word for what needs to happen here.)

So, here are a few ways I’m building “intentional” time with God into my daily routine, even as a busy mom, wife, sister, daughter, friend, SEO, copywriter, financial coach, and blogger, so I don’t come to the end of this life and find I’ve completely missed the point. 

Step 1. Sit on the Floor of My Closet (Find Stillness and Silence)

Most mornings, I wake up to the soft glow of my phone and its tinkling alarm at 5:30 am, willing myself to roll toward it, to push myself up to sit on the edge of the bed and turn it off before it wakes my husband (if he hasn’t already outdone me by heading off to the gym at 5 AM). 

I creep toward the bathroom, listening for the sounds of my sleeping household: a rustling of the covers, the clanking of the puppy’s kennel as he rolls over in his sleep. 

I hide my eyes as I flick on the warm light of the closet, hear the beep of the scale as I tap it on with my toe, and eventually settle my sitz bones onto the hard floor as I sit cross-legged, the weight of my Bible, journals, and planner on my lap.

So many of the great moms of faith I’ve known and heard about have held a practice of huddling in their prayer closets much earlier than this, praying their kids out of the darkest sin and sometimes into the ministry, from huts in India to ranchers in California. 

But for me, this is simply the only place I can safely go without also waking my sensitive sleepers down the hall. 

And this is almost entirely selfish. 

I need some time to be in my own grown-up brain space and be nourished spiritually before my kids pile on top of me and poke holes in my sanity, yelling, “Mommy, where are you? I’m hungry.” They wake up at 6, so 5:30 it is. 

And it turns out that I’m usually a better human and mom when I’m not attacked by the sharp little elbows and demands of my favorite people the very first thing after I wake up. 

So there I am, at 5:30 am sitting on the floor of my closet because there is nowhere else I can go that won’t unsettle the feather-like balance of my household at that hour. Now what? 

I’ve realized that I’ve inadvertently begun following the virtuous cycle of Philippians 4:4-8. One practice feeds the next and the next for greater peace and joy. I do these in any order that feels right that day, but I’ll list them in the order that they occur in the scripture. 

Step 2. Rejoice!

“Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.” — Philippians 4:4-5

I doubt my so-called gentleness is evident to anyone, but as my quiet time has developed, I find myself writing almost exclusively two types of prayers. The first is gratitude as I remember all the ways I can rejoice and experience that the Lord is near.

So now, I fill the left-hand pages with gratitude. I scrawl “Thank you for…” at the top and add anything, big or small that I’m grateful for.

The glimpse of a spiritual awakening from my 11-year-old as he realized Christmas as he’s understood it feels a little meaningless and empty. “You open all the presents and this thing you’ve been waiting for is just…over.” 

Or the pure joy on my 9-year-old’s face as she grabbed her friends’ hands, raised them high, and took a bow when her school musical came to a close. 

And as I write, I try to re-experience that beautiful, wonderful thing or person or moment in my body. Let the warm, tingly feelings of love and grace soak. So next time someone spills their hot chocolate all over the computer, maybe, just maybe I won’t forget and think that my entire life is doomed to constant drudgery and failure as I am so apt to do. 

My morning time brings me back to the beauty and blessedness of my life. Then I move onto…

Step 3. Put Prayer in Place of Anxiety

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 4:6-7

The pages on the right-hand side of my journal are headed with “Please help…” each followed by a long list of supplications to God. 

Please help my children to know you, please help the insurance pick up the dang phone in less than the anticipated 57 minutes, please help that prescription to get refilled before we run out, please help me finish the Black Friday copy in time despite the sick child and the snow day and the school that gets canceled because too many of the staff are out sick. Help me not lose my mind when my child spills said hot chocolate on the computer. Please help because, Lord, you are truly our only hope. 

And by the time I’m done pouring out my fears to God, I feel my breathing slow, my clenched muscles relax, remembering it’s not all on my shoulders to keep the world spinning. (Shocking I know!) 

Then I leave a little space under each request so I can come back later and write down what the answer was. 

And do you know what? 

Almost every prayer gets answered; every situation gets resolved. 

Which tells me this: either I worry way too much about too many things (true) or we have a great big God who loves us and is working out everything for our good (also true). 

And this helps when I’m waiting on prayers that seem to take way too long to be answered. To remember that no matter what, all will be well. I can trust He’s working it all out for our good.

But then there’s a third type of prayer that’s been developing where I leave time to just sit and listen with a pen in my hand. 

Most of what I write here comes from those prayer times because, if you know me well, my posts contain way more wisdom than I possess on my own. And it’s dazzling to see what God shows me in those moments of stillness and silence.

Step 4. Focus My Thoughts on What Is True

“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable — if anything is excellent or praiseworthy — think about such things.” Philippians 4:8

As I sit, I will spend some time meditating on scripture, by which I mean, reading, rereading, reviewing the context of the passage, and looking up other related verses, and word meanings. Most often, this is one verse or a very short passage of scripture. 

After my pastor had been bragging on his mom from the pulpit (who is no doubt saintly) for always keeping a prayer journal and for reading her Bible as a busy mom, she reminded him, “When I had four little kids at home as a working mom, most often it was one verse and a prayer of ‘Lord help!’”

I thought, “I can do one verse.” 

But isn’t it like our fast-paced, achiever culture to come up with something like the “Bible in a Year” plan to make us feel overwhelmed and inadequate, so we give up before New Year’s is even over? 

And of course, there’s nothing wrong with reading the Bible in a year if it feels manageable and helpful to you. But I’m giving you permission right now to read one verse and check reading your bible off your list for the day. 

It still counts. 

And I’ve benefited more by absorbing the nuances of a slow verse-by-verse study than by trying to gulp the whole 1,254 pages too quickly.

And listening to an audio version? 

That counts too. 

Don’t be afraid to find what works for you in this season. Do anything, but don’t give up and say you don’t have time as I have too often done.

In the back of my planner, I keep a list (it’s about three pages long by now) of my favorite thoughts that I review in the morning (if by some miracle the children are still sleeping at this point). Many are paraphrases of scripture or simply elevated thoughts I aspire to be true of myself and my outlook as I go about my day. 

They help me dwell on what is noble and lovely because I so very easily lose sight of those things, and it helps me to take every thought captive if I have some healthy replacements to substitute in the moment. 

Here are a couple of my current favorites: 

• Everything is falling into place

• God will fulfill his purpose in me

• I have enough time for everything God has for me to do

Finally, if those babies are really snoozing, I’ll review my one or two, or five eternal goals that keep me oriented toward what’s important in my life as I start my day.

Somewhere along the way, (often at 5:45 but most definitely by 6) one kid slides open the pocket door between the closet and bathroom and curls up on my lap, (which would be cute if it didn’t make my ankle bones dig into the floor under their weight). So I shoo them off to sit next to me and read quietly as I finish up. 

And it depends on the morning whether I can see the beauty of modeling this practice for my children…or if I’m just annoyed at being interrupted, but I do my best. 

Then it’s off to the races as we dive into our morning routine. 

It’s no wonder that God called David a man after His own heart, despite his shortcomings. In Psalm 27, David writes that no matter what fears and trials may besiege him, his ONE desire was to dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of his life. To be there living out his days with his creator, gazing upon the beauty of God with shouts of joy. 

And my morning times with God are giving me a taste of what it’s like to do just that. It’s become my favorite time of day, a privilege I hunger for, early morning wake-up and all.  

We set out to visit the creatures at the aquarium that day on the coast, but seeing even a flipper here waving up above the water and the corner of a tail there flicking toward the sun ended up being our most stunning encounter with creation. 

At one point, my husband asked while looking out over the sea cliff, “What if you jumped?” 

“You would surely die,” I assured my children in my warning Mom Voice while resisting the urge to dig my elbow into his ribs as my eye traced the crumbling concrete wall separating us from the rocks below and all manner of potential peril in a flash. 

But what if it wasn’t death that waited at the bottom at all?

What if, instead of hovering timidly on the edge of your faith, you went all in and it brought you life? 

What if you slowed, pulled off the highway you’re racing down, toward the destination you thought you were headed for, and waited for God to reveal one piece of his goodness, a tiny corner of his love until a fuller picture starts to develop?

I was about to resign from a contract position I loved for a boss that I admired.

With a team of impressive women who I got to help lead.

Doing work that I enjoyed, that got concrete results for interesting clients, who appreciated what I did for them.

Not to mention a consistent paycheck that landed in my account every month.

For months, my head was spinning with the weight of it.

I did not want to say goodbye and watch the whole organization march forward without me.

Did not want to disappoint my boss or heap the burden on her of having to hire and train someone new.

I also didn’t want to (or feel like I could) walk away from the income. Not only because of the money but also the value I imagined it bestowed on me as a human.

But I’d spent the day before hunkered down in a quiet coffee shop, chronicling everything going wrong in my life.

And the truth was, I wasn’t taking good care of myself.

I was overwhelmed, struggling to breathe.

Even my messy desk, piled with scraps of paper, receipts, broken pieces that would never be fixed, and products waiting to be returned, wasn’t as cluttered as my brain.

I was always on high alert, scanning my list of tasks that seemed to multiply with each anxious glance.

Yet I was terrified to release any of my to-dos.

I didn’t have enough energy to make it through the day without a nap, and still required 9 or 10 hours of sleep at night.

As my pen scratched across the page, I poured it all out into my journal. The one with Boston Terriers wearing sunglasses on the cover.

“I’m burned out with a capital ‘B.’”

“I’m tired of being tired.”

“Nothing ever seems to change.”

“I don’t even know how to connect with my kids.”

“I’m not cut out for this life.”

“I just want to be left alone.”

“I don’t know how to be happy and content anymore.”

I felt trapped and panicked in the Groundhog Day of raising often demanding, angry, broken children with struggles of their own.

And I felt like a failure for not being able to fix it for them as easily as I could scoop them up and mend a scraped knee with a Band-Aid.

And then guilty for being impatient with them or wanting to run away from them and their pain.

I knew I couldn’t keep living that way.

Like I wanted to quit everything and crawl into a hole and sleep.

But work, if truth be told, was my escape.

I persuaded myself that I worked to give the kids their gluten-free pretzels and dairy-free cheese shreds, their private schools that supported their special needs, their therapy, and supplements.

But work also makes me feel competent.

I’m good at what I do.

I sit down with my clients who show up on time, eager to meet with me after waiting weeks or months to get on my schedule.

I dole out advice that they actually follow.

Then they generate positive, measurable results: they pay off their debt, their businesses bring in more money, they attract more search traffic, they sell more products.

They come back and thank me for helping them and compliment my work.

Oh, and they pay me for my efforts, too.

I feel good; they feel good.

Everyone is happy.

Can you see how this is the opposite of parenting?!

Because here’s the hard reality of mothering: You can dedicate everything you have to your maternal efforts (listening to their stories, teaching them Bible verses, redirecting them toward more kindness, preparing healthy meals, and providing all the physical, mental, emotional, financial, and spiritual support they need), and all that effort may or may not yield the fruit you’re hoping for.

They might still get mad at me for making them unload the dishwasher or making them the broccoli frittata they loathe for dinner and scream right in my face that I am the very worst mother in the world.

They might still get in trouble at school for being unkind to their fellow students and rude to their teachers.

They might alternate shrieking and weeping while tears and snot run down their red faces for 582 hours at a time.

Or dump out their entire bin of toys all over the floor and refuse to clean them up.

Lose their school supplies.

Forget to turn in their homework.

And leave their lunches rotting in their backpacks over the weekend.

And if my experience proves true, they’ll probably continue to do all that and more.

It’s the most important work I’ll ever do, but the rewards are eternal — not immediate.

Which is why I felt so reluctant when I opened my eyes the morning after my coffee shop brain dump, and it was heavy on my mind that I should walk away from the position I loved so much.

By some miracle, the kids weren’t yet clamoring over us, and I snuggled up and unloaded everything I was thinking with my wiser, better half, the early light sneaking past the edges of our bedroom curtains.

He responded simply, “It sounds like you need to quit.” (Without saying, “I told you so,” which he had been, for months.)

And he was right.

I was right.

I knew that was exactly what I needed to do.

And a couple of hours later, I tapped out a message to my boss, asking her for a meeting, and hit send before I could lose my nerve. She was available to talk right away and wasn’t at all surprised to hear what I had to tell her.

While I did shed some tears afterward, in the days and weeks that followed, I felt like a literal weight had disappeared from my shoulders, and I could breathe again.

Sometimes as moms, we have to say no to the good, and instead choose the best “yes.”

To course-correct and pick the path that brings you closer to who God intended you to be by the end of it.

It’s never easy, but you do have the power to make needed changes for yourself and your family.

It might not look like leaving a job. Maybe it’s an attitude or an activity, a commitment, or a coping mechanism you need to let go.

It might not be one dramatic quit but instead a series of smaller changes over time.

Whatever your situation, I believe the Spirit is already prompting your heart about exactly what you need to change, quit, or leave behind.

Now all you need to do is take time to be still and listen. Pour it all out in your journal. Crunch some numbers. Then obey what you hear, not yet knowing how it will all work out.

In the end, I had to drop a few of the balls I had in the air in faith and wait and see where they’d land.

No, not everything is perfect, and I still feel overwhelmed at least part of every day.

But I now have the little bit of margin I needed to not always feel like the sky is falling when they need a costume for the school play or they wore a hole in their shoes or I have to fill out 40 pages of paperwork for a doctor’s appointment, or there’s a snow day, or one of them comes down with strep.

This one decision freed up the hours to consistently read my Bible, exercise, journal, write, plan, pray, knit, and breathe again — all so I can be more calm, connected, and present with my kids.

I’m finally starting to heal from the last few years.

To see the beauty in life again.

My desk and my mind are a lot less cluttered.

I’m going all in on my kids while working a more sustainable 10 hours a week for my own clients.

Most of all, I feel good that I’m showing up more as the mom I want to be.

To have a genuine smile on my face when they get out of school.

To kneel down and look into their sweet faces and ask them about their day (even if all I get is a shrug and a grunt).

To drive them to their appointments.

To take weekends off.

They’ve stopped saying, “Mommy why do you always have to work?”

In fact, this isn’t the first time that I’ve stepped back from my paid work for a season to focus on my calling as a mom. (The first was when my oldest baby was born and the second was when I was “COVID-schooling” our youngest for over a year.)

Each time, the numbers haven’t quite added up. With rampant inflation on food, gas, and healthcare, this time is no different.

But every time, God has provided abundantly and usually in unexpected ways far outside my own efforts.

And so far, no one has been deprived of their gluten-free pretzels.

While financial stewardship is essential, there’s much more that figures into these decisions than mere dollars and cents.

It would have been easy to assess the numbers alone and say, “We need the income, so I can’t quit.”

But it’s the bigger picture of your faith, family, and finances that all need to work together to bring you where you ultimately want to be.

I believe you can grow and find coherence in all three.

If you too are feeling overwhelmed, stretched too thin, and not prioritizing what’s really important to you, you are not alone.

If you want to find forward motion with our faith, family, and finances — without so much frenzy, let’s do this together.

I hope you’ll join me in this new chapter of GrowingSlower.