This guest blog by Jessica Benson-Lidholm, an Autistic psychologist and parent, is part of our Yellow Ladybugs Mentoring Series. In this insightful and heartfelt piece, Jessica reflects on how her dual role as a parent to two neurodivergent children and a registered psychologist informs her advocacy, therapeutic approach, and understanding of what it means to show up with both professionalism and lived experience.

Jessica shares the practical strategies she uses in her own life and work, including mini scripts, sensory mapping, and reframing communication with children. She also speaks to the emotional realities of parenting while neurodivergent, navigating internalised stigma, and advocating within systems that are not always designed to support Autistic families.

This blog offers a validating and empowering lens for Autistic parents, professionals, and anyone seeking to understand the layered, nuanced experience of raising and supporting neurodivergent children while doing the work of self-understanding.

Readers will take away:
• A rare inside view into parenting and clinical work from a neurodivergent perspective
• Practical, calming advocacy tools for school and community settings
• Reflections on masking, burnout, regulation, and sensory mismatches within families
• Encouragement for Autistic parents to honour their needs and strengths
• A reminder that emotional safety, clear communication, and self-compassion are core to support

Content note: This blog contains discussion of Autism, masking, internalised stigma, emotional regulation, and parenting challenges. It also includes references to mental health, burnout, and systemic barriers faced by neurodivergent individuals. These topics are explored through a validating, lived experience lens, but some readers may find parts emotionally activating. Please read at your own pace and prioritise your wellbeing.

Navigating Neurodivergence: Reflections from an Autistic Parent and Clinician

1. How has being an Autistic mother of two neurodivergent children influenced your work as a psychologist?

Parenting as an Autistic mother of two neurodivergent children has deepened my understanding as a clinician in ways no textbook or training ever could – not more valid, just different. It has reshaped the way I connect with clients, advocate for families, and hold space in therapy. At the same time, I am guided by a strong commitment to uphold ethical and professional boundaries. Therefore, I aim not to conflate lived experience with clinical guidance. As a registered psychologist in Australia, it is so important to me that any strategy I discuss is grounded in current research and integrates neurodiversity-affirming, trauma-informed, and culturally aware practice. When I offer reflections, I always aim to be transparent about where the information is coming from. I often say things like, "Here is what the literature shows us," or, "This is a pattern I have noticed working with other families and aligns with this research on…"

What I bring into the room is layered insight from three key lenses: clinical experience, contemporary research, and lived experience. I truly feel that these lenses layered together equip me to show up in a sensitive and emotionally safe manner which in turn, helps me to get to know a client or dynamic – and best serve their needs. In showing up this way, I feel that not only am I working within the ethical and professional bounds of my practice; but that I am upholding personal values of empathy and respect with those I have the privilege of working with. I’ve always been driven by a deep commitment to helping others, and I hope that those I work with feel that care in our time together.
Being both a parent and clinician means I move between systems, sometimes as the professional facilitating change, sometimes as the person needing support. I have been the mother trying to translate a child's distress in a crowded clinic waiting room or at an overwhelming family or school event. I have also been the psychologist gently unpacking a family's fear around diagnosis. These two roles keep me grounded.
When wearing my clinician hat, one core value I return to again and again is the importance of "parking assumptions at the door." Every Autistic person and every family system is different. While I might recognise a familiar pattern or emotional landscape, I do not assume my experience is the same as someone else’s. I try to ask, not tell. To hold curiosity over certainty.
As I’ve worn my mum hat over time, I have also had to unlearn a lot about what "good parenting" looks like. I have learnt that it is not about being perfectly calm or regulated. It is about being attuned. It is about noticing when I am approaching my limits and taking a breath before responding. It is about repair, not perfection.
Giving myself permission to adapt has been critical. The world was not designed with neurodivergent families in mind. But that does not mean we need to constantly bend ourselves to fit it. We can build systems that reflect our values and capacities. We can redefine what thriving looks like. Our community can support us to develop the skills to advocate for ourselves and our families.
Speaking of advocacy, one tool I return to often, both in my work with families and in my own life, is the use of mini scripts. These are short, intentional phrases prepared ahead of time to help express a boundary, clarify a need, or gently advocate for a child in a specific context.

I think of it like preparing for an exam. I could show up on the day and wing it. Sometimes that works, sometimes it doesn’t. But when I take a brief moment to plan ahead, write down what I want to say (whether it be on my phone notes or on paper) and practice it out loud a couple of times; I’m far more likely to leave a situation feeling grounded and clear – feeling more confident that I’ve spoken from a place of intention rather than reactivity. I also want to note, that sometimes it is difficult to withhold distress as we go into bat for our children – especially when our needs of being seen and heard as a parent aren’t appearing to be met. In those human moments, it is important where possible to steer away from shaming ourselves. Redirecting any inner critic comments to validate ourselves (it makes sense I became upset because of XYZ), as well as reminding ourselves that we can try again the next time.

Like any exam (AKA exchange regarding our child), the outcome isn't always in our control. Others might respond with understanding, or they might not. But mini scripts offer something incredibly valuable: peace of mind. They can help us to walk away knowing we upheld our child’s needs as best we could. That we advocated with care, clarity, and compassion. And that’s always enough. The responses of others do not define how well we advocate for our children, or how ‘good of a parent’ we are, we as the parent get to define that.
Mini scripts don’t have to be loud or forceful to land. In my experience, they can often land best when they are delivered as serene moments of clarity. A thoughtful email before a meeting. A simple phrase to reframe a misunderstanding. A calm sentence that says, "I see my child clearly, and I’m here to help you see them too."

I’ve found that practical advocacy often starts with calm, confident communication. Often, I set a boundary that signals I’ll be advocating for my child’s needs – then follow through with a supportive, specific request or comment. For instance:
• “I’m focused on ensuring X has what they need to stay comfortable in this environment.”
Linking Advocacy Script: “Would it be okay if they brought their headphones and stim toy for support?”
• “I’ll share some small environmental tweaks that seem to help X manage more comfortably.”
Linking Advocacy Script: “Would it be possible to adjust the classroom seating to reduce sensory input?”
• “We’ll be working within the systems in place to ensure X can access the support they’re entitled to.”
Linking Advocacy Script: “We’re seeking adjustments under the Disability Standards for Education (Australia, 2005). I’m happy to provide documentation if needed.”
• “I’ll support how we respond when X is overwhelmed, so they have the best chance of feeling safe and understood.”
Linking Advocacy Script: “In our experience, X’s overwhelm is often linked to sensory overload rather than misbehaviour. Calm and space tend to help them reset. If needed, I’m happy to step in and support.”
• “I’ll gently redirect when something might unintentionally add pressure.”
Linking Advocacy Script: “What I’ve found to be most helpful in those moments is gentleness and patience, rather than additional demands.”
• “I’ll take the lead in supporting X  –  and knowing you’re open to that support means a lot.”
Linking Advocacy Script: “Thanks so much for being willing to assist. Following my lead in these moments is really appreciated.”
• “I’ll offer context when behaviour might be misread.”
Linking Advocacy Script: “X isn’t being difficult  –  they tend to respond to stress in a different way. Creating an emotionally safe space, and avoiding criticism or pressure, really helps them regulate.”
• “I’ll do my best to stay steady  –  and that calm energy from others can make a big difference too.”
Linking Advocacy Script: “When others stay calm, it often helps X feel more secure. There’s no need to fix anything  –  just being a steady presence is often enough. Children often take their cues from the emotional tone around them.”
• “We’re always learning what works  –  I’ll keep the lines of communication open.”
Linking Advocacy Script: “Let’s touch base afterwards to reflect on what supported X well and what we might adjust next time.”
Evidence shows that collaborative communication and pre-meeting planning can reduce adversarial outcomes and support better child-centred decisions (Pellicano et al., 2014; Beardon, 2017).
 
2. You mentioned removing the fear from the word "Autism." What strategies have you found effective in doing this within families and communities?

In aiming to shift fear away from Autism, I focus on creating space for reflection, curiosity, and sometimes – unlearning. This often involves exploring the origins of internalised beliefs, validating the emotional responses that accompany uncertainty, and gently introducing contemporary, evidence-informed perspectives. These conversations may include discussing the potential impacts of delayed identification, such as unmet support needs, increased stress, or misinterpreted behaviours. When neurodivergent neurotypes go unrecognised or unsupported, the emotional, educational, and relational consequences can be significant – not because of the neurodivergence itself, but due to environments not designed to meet those needs.
Many parents and members of the broader community I work with express fear or discomfort around the word Autism. Sometimes it sounds like, “I don’t want my child to be labelled.” Other times it’s, “I just want them to have a normal life.” These fears don’t arise in isolation. They are often shaped by years of deficit-based narratives, medicalised language, the phenomenon of othering, and limited visibility of Autistic adults (Pearson & Rose, 2024).
A significant contributor to this fear can be internalised stigma: messages families have absorbed about what Autism is supposed to mean. 

These beliefs are frequently influenced by ableism, the idea that there is one preferred or "normal" way of being, and that neurodivergent experiences are somehow less valid or valuable. This structural bias can lead to associations between Autism and dysfunction or pathology (Campbell, 2009). Autistic psychologist Dr. Wenn Lawson (2020) has highlighted how these societal expectations can lead individuals to unconsciously adapt their behaviour in ways that mask their true selves, not as a form of deception, but as a survival response to an ableist world.

When stigma and misunderstanding go unchallenged, they can contribute to masking, denial, and a lack of timely identification. Without identification, appropriate supports are often missed, and the consequences can be serious. Autistic individuals are significantly overrepresented in suicide statistics, with research indicating that up to 66 percent of autistic adults have contemplated suicide, and around 35 percent have attempted it (Cassidy et al., 2014).
There is also growing evidence of a strong link between autism and eating disorders, with one systematic review finding an average autism prevalence of 22.9 percent among individuals with eating disorders (Kinnaird et al., 2022). Unfortunately, these outcomes are often associated with unmet support needs, delayed identification, and environments that have not been designed with neurodivergent individuals in mind (Cassidy et al., 2014; Kinnaird et al., 2022).
In my role, I find it helpful to create space to gently explore these fears rather than shutting them down. I might ask, “What do you think Autism means?” or “I wonder if you remember one of the first times you heard the word ‘Autism’?” – These types of questions can help families reflect on and explore inherited beliefs or assumptions. In many cases, the fear is not about Autism itself. It is about the possibility of their child being misunderstood, excluded, or unfairly limited. I also find it helpful to refer to current, neurodiversity-affirming research when providing evidence-based information about Autism.

I understand for many people, research terminology and psychological constructs may become overwhelming to comprehend and as such, I often try to come up with analogies during therapy. I find that analogies can help people to digest contemporary research which in turn, can coincide with greater and more practical understandings.

The light switch analogy is one I come back to often:
Imagine a neurotypical brain being somewhat like a light switch board where different switches for the five senses (sight, sound, touch, smell, taste) can be dimmed or turned up depending on context. One particular Autistic brain, by contrast, might have all the switches turned up high, all at once (whether they like it or not) and this could impact things like communication or regulation. For the Autistic brain in this example, it could lead to overwhelm and shutdown, not because the person is disengaged, but because they are over-engaged with their environment.
This analogy may help parents move away from the idea of intentional behaviour and toward an understanding of nervous system load. It is aimed at promoting understanding and compassion, with the added intention of reducing blame.
Another is the cordial test tube analogy:
Imagine each person has a test tube filled with two distinct flavours of cordial, one for sensory seeking (peach tea) and one for sensory aversion (lemon). One person might be 70 percent lemon and 30 percent peach tea, which may mean they crave quiet and soft textures, often wear noise-cancelling earphones to help reduce feelings of sensory overload, while also occasionally enjoying movement activities like martial arts. Another person might be 80 percent peach tea and 20 percent lemon, which may mean they often seek out loud music, engagement with people, or adventurous pursuits, while also having a stark aversion to the feeling of a stray hair stuck to their arm after washing their hair in the shower. Additionally, these ratios are not fixed. They change based on stress, fatigue, time of day, or context.
These sensory “ratios” reflect how each person’s nervous system interacts with their environment. A nervous system that leans more toward sensory-seeking may be wired to crave stimulation in order to feel alert or regulated, while one that leans sensory-averse may become easily overstimulated and signal the need for calm and predictability. Neither is better or worse – just different. Understanding these patterns can help individuals and families recognise what supports regulation and wellbeing, and reduce the chance of misinterpreting sensory responses as behavioural issues. It's not about control or discipline – it's about nervous system communication.
Once families understand this, we can start mapping it out together. Who needs what? Where do our sensory profiles collide or complement each other? This often leads to practical shifts, like introducing noise-buffered spaces, alternating sensory activities, or using headphones and communication cards.

I also spend time talking about language. Words carry weight. I use identity-first language (e.g. "Autistic person") because many in the community prefer it, but I always follow the lead of the person or family. I also aim to avoid functioning labels and reframe challenges through the lens of support needs, context, and sensory environments.
At the core, removing fear is not about painting an overly rosy picture. It is about grounding people in truth, nuance, and community. It is about showing that an Autistic identity can be a source of pride, clarity, and connection – not a life sentence.
 
3. What reflections would you share with other Autistic parents navigating family dynamics and sensory needs?

One reflection I often return to is this:
Your needs are valid. Your sensory profile is valid. Your bandwidth is not less than; it is different.
Many Autistic parents may find themselves navigating complex internal landscapes while also supporting children whose sensory preferences differ from their own. For instance, it is not uncommon for a typically sensory-averse parent to feel overwhelmed by a primarily sensory-seeking child. This does not reflect inadequacy; it may simply mean that each person’s nervous system is seeking or avoiding input in different ways.
Similar dynamics can occur between siblings. A child who is more sensory-averse might feel distressed by a sibling’s movement, sound, or tactile seeking, and may respond by withdrawing, yelling, or pushing. This is not necessarily out of cruelty but may be a form of self-protection. The sensory-seeking sibling might then perceive this as rejection, creating a feedback loop that can persist unless compassionately interrupted.
One approach that I have found helpful, both personally and in work with families, is to externalise sensory differences using simple, shared language. For example:

• “It looks like your bodies are speaking different sensory languages right now.”

• “Your nervous systems might be asking for different things.”

• “I wonder if we can be detectives together and figure out what helps everyone feel okay.”

• “Would you like to try wearing your headphones while your sibling does some big jumps?”

• “Next time that icky feeling shows up, want to be sensory detectives and try something together?”

• “What’s our secret signal when things feel too loud?”

• “Want to race to the trampoline and then check in together?”

• “Let’s build a quiet fort or chill-out spot for when we need stillness.”

For families supporting a child with a profile consistent with Pathological Demand Avoidance (PDA), pressure and perceived demands may trigger heightened distress. Reframing requests in gentle, collaborative language can help reduce escalation. For example:

• “I wonder if your shoes are by the door” instead of “Put your shoes on.”

• “Want to team up and race to the car?” instead of “Hurry up.”

• “Would you prefer to brush your teeth before or after your bath?” instead of “Go brush your teeth.”

• “I need five minutes to reset. I’m not upset with you; I just need quiet.”

• “My brain feels full. I care about you, and I need a short break.”

1. Observation (without judgment): “I noticed the toy was thrown.”

1. Naming emotion: “I wonder if you’re feeling frustrated or unsettled? If I guessed wrong, you can correct me – if you want to.”

1. Identifying need: “I wonder if you need some space or quiet? I’ll stay nearby in case you want to tell me or show me what need could be missing.”

1. Collaborative request: “Would building a pillow fort or wearing headphones help? If there’s another idea, I’m happy to hear it.”

Your own regulation matters.

Many Autistic parents place pressure on themselves to be everything – parent, advocate, educator, and therapist. But we cannot support others without also supporting ourselves. Tuning into early signs of overload and creating small rituals for recovery, like quiet time, compression wear, warm drinks, or time with stim toys, can be protective and sustaining.

Connection within families does not have to rely on words. It might take the form of parallel play, shared routines with minimal speech, or quiet co-presence. There is no single way to connect, only what feels genuine for your family.

For me, this means tuning into my own rhythm and honouring it by building days around sustainability, not performance. That small shift often makes all the difference.
 
About Me
I am a 34-year-old Autistic and ADHD psychologist, parent, and neurodiversity-affirming practitioner. I support individuals, couples, and families across the lifespan and am especially passionate about helping people untangle internalised stigma and rebuild a compassionate relationship with themselves.

Outside of the therapy space, I’m often found with a research article in one hand and some form of electrolyte drink in the other. I love watching Louis Theroux documentaries on repeat, learning new instruments, slow walks through Bunnings, and giving my Italian Greyhound ridiculous nicknames (and speaking to him in equally ridiculous accents). I also adore quality time with my children and wish to thank them in this article for the way they inspire how I continue to reflect on connection, regulation, and advocacy. Their influence has very much helped to shape the perspectives shared here. I love you both:  infinity x infinity.
 
 

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 I respectfully acknowledge the Whadjuk people of the Nyoongar Nation, the Traditional Custodians of the land on which I live and work. I pay my respects to Elders past and present, and extend that respect to all First Nations people and communities. Sovereignty was never ceded. This always was, and always will be, Aboriginal land.

Disclaimer
I am continually learning how to communicate in ways that are respectful and affirming of my neurokin, across diverse lived experiences, cultural contexts, and intersecting identities. This includes those with multiple neurodivergences and those who are multiply marginalised. I have written with the intention of being neuroaffirming, trauma-informed, and inclusive. If any of the language I use can be improved, I welcome constructive feedback as I grow in both practice and advocacy.
I also formally acknowledge fellow advocates, allies, organisations, parents, colleagues, researchers, teachers, and broader community members who have long been working to create safer and more inclusive spaces for neurodivergent people. Thank you for paving the way and continuing to inspire this work in support of the Autistic community.
This Yellow Ladybugs blog post is written from the perspective of lived experience. While some tools, strategies, or supportive frameworks may be referenced, this content is not intended to constitute psychological advice or formal therapy. For individual or family-specific support, it is recommended that any strategies be explored in collaboration with a registered, neurodiversity-affirming clinician or appropriately qualified allied health professional.
 
 
 
 
 
References
Beardon, L. (2017). Autism and Asperger syndrome in adults. Sheldon Press.
Campbell, F. K. (2009). Contours of ableism: The production of disability and abledness. Palgrave Macmillan.
Cassidy, S., Bradley, L., Robinson, J., Allison, C., McHugh, M., & Baron-Cohen, S. (2014). Suicidal ideation and suicide plans or attempts in adults with Asperger’s syndrome attending a specialist diagnostic clinic: A clinical cohort study. The Lancet Psychiatry, 1(2), 142–147. https://doi.org/10.1016/S2215-0366(14)70248-2
Disability Standards for Education. (2005). Disability Standards for Education 2005. Australian Government, Department of Education. https://www.education.gov.au/disability-standards-education-2005
Kinnaird, E., Norton, C., & Tchanturia, K. (2022). Eating disorders in autism spectrum disorder: A systematic review. Journal of Eating Disorders, 10(1), 1–15. https://doi.org/10.1186/s40337-022-00654-2
Lawson, W. (2020). Adaptive morphing and coping with social threat in autism: An Autistic perspective. Journal of Intellectual Disability – Diagnosis and Treatment, 8(3), 519–526. https://doi.org/10.6000/2292-2598.2020.08.03.29
Pearson, A., & Rose, K. (2024). Misunderstood, excluded, and othered: Lay constructions of autistic women. Feminism & Psychology. Advance online publication. https://doi.org/10.1177/09593535241306535
Pellicano, E., Dinsmore, A., & Charman, T. (2014). What should autism research focus upon? Community views and priorities from the United Kingdom. Autism, 18(7), 756–770. https://doi.org/10.1177/1362361314529627
Rosenberg, M. B. (2015). Nonviolent communication: A language of life (3rd ed.). PuddleDancer Press.