There are times when everything feels like “a lot,” and it’s hard to gauge what a healthy balance of effort and rest looks like. Being highly capable and accustomed to pushing ourselves, many of us often take on more than we realise. It’s easy to lose sight of what’s reasonable for someone with our age, stage, and responsibilities. I’m certainly learning that just because I can do something—and even enjoy it—it doesn’t mean it isn’t wearing me down.

Take this week, for example. Amid the usual school runs, work, and chores, I spent a couple of days up in Auckland. After the morning drop-offs, I picked up my eldest part way through the day, and we drove three hours to the city, navigating our way to a hotel near the concert venue.

It was her first concert—her first time in a crowd of thousands of people—and the excitement of a road trip with her was indisputable. At the same time, all the driving, navigation, and even figuring out how to access the underground car park added layers of stress.

Then there was the two-hour wait to enter the venue for our allocated seating on a glorious sunny evening. Once seated, we had another hour before Miss McRae graced us with her presence on stage. But our seats were excellent, and the opener, Charlie on a Friday, was a pleasant surprise with his great voice and solid tunes. It was fantastic to experience the magic when thousands of uplifted people sing in unison.

But I won’t deny that my joints and muscles were aching from all the standing and sensory overload. When Tate finally arrived on stage amid a flurry of flashing lights and loud noise, everyone leapt to their feet. I groaned, “What’s the point of a seat if I’m not going to sit in it?” and felt about a thousand years old. Still, it was a great night, and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, even amid this busy time of year.

When I feel this kind of fatigue creeping in, it helps to check in with myself on a deeper level and ask: “What do I truly need right now?” rather than what I think I should be able to handle.

The answer isn’t always straightforward, but it often includes more rest, a slower pace, or letting go of a few small things that are taking up mental or emotional space. Even small adjustments in my routine or taking brief breaks can help create a buffer, allowing me to recharge bit by bit. I’m slowly learning that it’s perfectly okay to rest without feeling the need to “earn” it.

Living in the Southern Hemisphere, I’ve noticed how spring, coming right before the holiday season, feels at odds with my childhood rhythms. Back then, the long, restorative summer holidays of the Northern Hemisphere balanced out the hustle and excitement of the year-end season. Here, it’s all go, and there is no natural pause midway.

Amid everything feeling like "a lot," it’s easy to focus solely on the endless “to-do” list, on the aspirations and responsibilities that pull at our attention. There’s a constant juxtaposition between wanting to achieve more—manifesting aspects of my purpose in the world—and feeling the weight of it all.

Recently, I stumbled across a set of questions about success that reminded me of a promise I’d made to myself: to stop and smell the roses—both figuratively and literally. As it happens, our roses are in full bloom right now, and they look and smell divine.

In that moment of reflection, I turned to journaling. Taking stock of my year so far felt like a release—the tension in my body eased, and my shoulders dropped a good few inches. Reflecting on all the personal growth and healing I’ve worked through, alongside navigating unexpected formal disputes and negotiations, I was struck by just how much I’ve managed. Supporting my eldest through the transition to a much larger school—meeting new faces, forming relationships, and figuring out the best ways to support her—has been a journey in itself. Looking back, it was clear: pausing to review the year has been a game-changer.

I know in my heart what truly matters—time with the people I love. That’s why I prioritise my kids when they’re with me, and carve out time for myself and my partner when they’re not. On those fronts, I’m doing better than I often give myself credit for. Then there’s my writing, which has quietly become just as important. After decades of searching for “the thing I want to do,” my book projects revealed themselves without any fanfare. They simply showed up—so much so that I even forgot to journal it among my achievements! And yet, the sheer time and energy I spent searching for that elusive sense of purpose in years gone past were immense.

I do, admittedly, expect a lot from myself. My mind and imagination seem to run on a much faster track than I can physically keep up with. This makes for a frustrating juxtaposition: on one hand, I know I need more rest and a slower pace; on the other, I feel such a strong urge to do more, to make progress, to manifest these visions.

And then there’s the ever-present reality of daily life. It’s one thing to give myself permission to rest, reflect, or reconnect with my intentions, but there’s still the vacuum filters that hadn’t been cleaned in 18 months, the cars that needed a thorough vacuum, the garden that’s been calling for my attention, and the windows, bathroom, and spiderwebs that need cleaning. There’s the cushion that needs resewing, the laundry, the cooking, the shopping, the tidying, the toys to sort, the furniture to sell. The list feels endless.

Spring is naturally a busy time of year, and this flurry of activity has reminded me how disconnected I’ve been from some of these aspects of life. For so long, my focus has been on healing, reflecting, and writing, while juggling the usual weekly cycles of chores like groceries, tidying, and cleaning. Now, reconnecting with these other parts of life feels both overwhelming and grounding—a reminder of how intertwined the practical and purposeful can be.

Grappling with the balance between our aspirations, our physical and emotional needs, and the realities of daily life is so layered. Acknowledging the desire to "do more", while also recognising the wisdom in slowing down and tuning in, certainly gave me food for thought.

As I reflected on this busy season, I started to see something shift in how I relate to all the tasks I’ve been juggling. Chores and routines—the ones that often sit in the background or feel like distractions—aren’t just a necessary part of life. They’re a form of support, the scaffolding that holds up the things I truly care about.

When I vacuum the car, clear the spiderwebs, or even tidy up the kitchen, I’m not just crossing items off a never-ending list. I’m creating a space that allows me to breathe, to think more clearly, and to focus on the people and projects that matter most to me. By connecting these seemingly mundane actions to my bigger intentions, they feel less like burdens and more like a quiet affirmation of what I value.

Reflecting on all of this, I’m reminded that balance isn’t something we achieve once and for all—it’s something we adjust constantly. The push and pull between what we aspire to do and what we truly need is part of the dance of life. As I slow down to take stock, I realise that even the simplest actions—resting when I need to, tending to the chores, or journaling to clear my mind—are powerful ways to honor what matters most.

What about you? As the end of the year approaches, how do you balance the drive to "do more" with the wisdom of slowing down? What might you need to let go of to create space for the things that truly nourish you? Whether it’s pausing to smell the roses—literally or figuratively—or reconnecting with the scaffolding that supports your life, I hope you’ll take a moment to ask yourself: “What do I truly need right now?” The answer might surprise you.

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy Is Your Peace of Mind in Flux? 7 Ways to Ground Yourself With Grace, Overwhelm? Worry? Lack of Confidence? Parts Work and Its Importance to Your Growth,  and I Really Want to Go From Overwhelm to Clarity and Confidence. To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog. 

Change is constant, but there are moments when it feels particularly unsettling. It’s in these times of uncertainty that the desire for stability—both externally and within ourselves—becomes most apparent. Psychologists call these the “big stressors”—like changes in relationships, moving house, or having children.

A good friend of mine recently bought her first home, and I couldn’t be happier for her—it’s been a long-held dream. She’s feeling a mix of excitement, relief, and renewal. After moving multiple times over the past few years to find stable rentals in New Zealand’s challenging market, she now has a place she can call her own.

I can relate to the relief she feels. I entered the rental market a couple of years ago after owning my own home for most of my adult life. Moving to this town almost a decade ago felt like a welcome change from the high cost of living in Auckland, and it allowed me to focus more on parenting. Our family settled into the community, and my children began school here. But when they needed to transition to two homes, the housing market had surged to near-Auckland prices. As a sole parent, buying became out of reach, and I found myself needing to rent.

The rental market can feel like a constant state of impermanence. Limited availability, rising rents, and the unpredictability of landlord decisions mean that housing stability is hard to find. After less than two years in my first rental, for example, the owners moved back in with only two months’ notice—just six weeks before Christmas. It was an exhausting scramble to find a new home. Now, I’m in a place owned by a couple who plan to retire here, which could mean staying for a while or facing another unexpected move.

The costs and physical energy required to pack and move repeatedly can make it hard to feel settled, like the place you’re in is truly a home. When my friend tells me she’s finding joy in simple things—like daydreaming about cosy evenings or planning a festive Christmas—it’s a stark contrast to last year when she barely had the energy to put up a tree. The physical exhaustion from constantly moving has been overwhelming, but now she’s experiencing a sense of calm as she settles into a space that represents security—a place from where she doesn’t have to move again. She mentioned that the kids are still processing the change, but they’ll soon begin to understand the depth of this new sense of safety and stability.

Why do we crave stability so strongly when change is inevitable? Psychologists say it’s because stability offers emotional comfort, a sense of predictability, and control. As humans, we naturally thrive on routines and familiar surroundings; these provide a sense of safety and grounding. Change, on the other hand, can bring uncertainty and trigger stress. From an evolutionary perspective, stability was key to survival, and our brains still respond to instability as a threat. In moments of change, this natural craving for stability can feel even more intense—offering a refuge, a safe space amid the unpredictability.

Adding to the sense of instability, this year has brought a series of unforeseen changes to the latest rental property I now live in. The owners have undertaken extensive work on the outside of the property, which has been more protracted than I expected. What initially seemed like a short-term project has unfolded in stages, often with minimal notice, leaving me uncertain about what to expect next.

I’ve been clear in expressing my need for more communication and respect for my space, yet the work has continued with occasional surprises. As a tenant, I view myself as a custodian of the home—caring for it and respecting it as our living space. As the eyes and ears on the ground, by discussing plans ahead of time, asking for feedback on the works, and showing understanding for any inconveniences, this could be a partnership that really benefits everyone involved to minimise disruption.

This external instability has prompted me to reflect on how I can maintain internal calm amid external change. In times like these, it’s so easy to slip into frustration and judgment, assuming that others should be more considerate, more communicative, or at least see things from my perspective. But the truth is, we can’t always change other people’s behaviour or values, only our response to them. And sometimes, what we react to most strongly isn’t the situation itself but the old voices and narratives within us that get triggered.

I recently came across two quotes from novels that capture this beautifully. In Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, Eleanor begins to notice the difference between her own voice, which is calm and understanding, and her mother’s critical voice, which had often pushed her toward judgment. She says, “The voice in my own head—my own voice—was actually quite sensible and rational. It was Mummy’s voice that had done all the judging… I was getting to quite like my own voice, my own thoughts.” This quote resonates because it’s a reminder of how easily we slip into reactions shaped by others’ judgments or unexamined beliefs.

In another story, The Cassandra Complex, Cassandra speaks about the importance of listening to our own intuition, describing it as a “solidness” within—a safe place we each have that knows the truth. The idea that we each have a unique sensation or physical feeling where our truth lives struck me, particularly when she so eloquently said, “I get caught up with trying to read all the music around me instead of one note inside myself”. When I listen closely to my body’s signals, I can feel when something’s not right, or when I’m reacting from habit rather than from my authentic self.

These reflections have helped me see that the inner calm I’m looking for is already within me; it’s just about tuning into my own voice rather than getting caught up in frustration. When I tune in, I’m reminded of how I really want to show up in situations like this one with my landlord—with patience, constructive feedback, and respect for my own peace of mind. It’s a powerful shift that’s allowed me to feel more grounded and intentional.

With this approach in mind, I’ve been exploring ways to handle the situation with patience and positivity. Here are some reflections I’ve found helpful for setting boundaries and maintaining peace, which are just as applicable in other challenging situations like workplace conflicts, family disagreements, or even navigating difficult conversations with friends or colleagues:
​

1. Focus on What We Can Control – Shift our attention to our mindset and actions.
2. Create Space – Limit engagement to avoid escalation, and take time to reflect.
3. Adapt & Stay Flexible – Embrace disruptions and find new ways to move forward.
4. Document & Clarify – Write things down to make sense of confusion and clarify our priorities.
5. Prioritise Our Well-Being – Invest in self-care to maintain resilience.
6. Set Boundaries – Practice emotional detachment and protect our peace.
7. Give Constructive Feedback – Foster growth by framing feedback as a tool for collaboration.

In short, these practices build resilience, respect, and collaboration. By applying them broadly, we can transform how we handle conflicts, disruptions, and boundaries in all areas of life—whether at work, in our relationships, or with ourselves.

By tuning into my inner voice and practising these reflections, I’m learning to approach challenges with greater peace and grace. It’s a process of breaking old patterns and creating more calm, not only for myself but as a foundation for others to follow.

Take a moment to reflect on your own sources of inner calm, what practices or mindsets help you navigate times of uncertainty? Whether it's focusing on what you can control, practicing patience, or simply giving yourself permission to step back and reset, let’s embrace the change around us with intentionality, cultivating peace even when external circumstances feel unstable. Because, after all, it’s not about controlling the chaos—it’s about finding our way through it, with grace. In embracing the inevitable changes around us, may we all find the inner calm that allows us to navigate the chaos with grace, creating stability not just for ourselves, but for those we share our journey with.

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy What Makes You So Afraid of Conflict?, When Detours Define Your Destiny and Struggles Forge Your Strengths, When Life Throws Curveballs... Embrace the Twists and Turns of Parenthood with Confidence and Reclaim Your Personal Freedoms: The Path to Empowerment Amid Alluring Promises. To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog. 

It may surprise some Americans to know that, while their national election was on my radar, I hadn’t realised the outcome was due this week. I can’t help but feel for the people living there right now. Even those who voted for the outcome were, in many ways I think, manipulated by the media and political systems. It’s a sad reflection of what happens when a society is consumed by frustration and a desire for drastic change – and a warning to us all.

We’ve seen it time and time again throughout history—people who feel failed by their own society, electing leaders who promise to fix it, only to bring more harm, driven by their own self-interest rather than genuine care for the people they say they serve. The thing is, this cycle doesn’t just play out on a grand political scale. It's something we all experience in our own lives, feeling pushed by systems beyond our control, often making us forget that we have the power to create real change within ourselves and our communities.

In the 1980s, growing up as a teen in the UK, we were in awe of capitalist America. As a nation, it seemed to do everything bigger and better. But even then, people were divided on those “loud-mouthed Yanks”, a mix of admiration and mild irritation at the brashness.

Personally, I was thrilled to step off a plane onto American soil for the first time in 1993. I remember feeling a bit overwhelmed as I landed at Newark, trying to navigate my way to Chicago. An impatient security lady pulled me forward with an exasperated “You’re making me hot, lady!” Thankfully, a kind stranger lent me his calling card so I could reach my friend from a phone booth, a moment of kindness in the chaos of figuring out my way in a new country.

Despite the rocky start, I loved America. I had a scrapbook full of magazine cutouts of all the places I wanted to visit, a whole bucket list of U.S. destinations. Over the years, I managed to see many of those places. America felt vibrant—its vast landscapes, incredible range of consumer choices, and the colorful mix of people made it a place like no other.

But time, progress, and maybe maturity have changed my view. I now look back on that era as perhaps America’s peak moment of how it wanted to present itself to the world: in control, leading the way in every arena. Now, it seems different—less authentic, consumed by capitalism and consumerism, and many other “-isms”, seemingly blind to the impact of these forces on the collective good. The systems and media that once felt innovative now seem like they’re in a cycle of reinforcing individualism over true collective awareness.

That said, there are still incredible people in America, many who are deeply aware, even as others remain—if the election results are anything to go by—stuck in older ways of thinking. The extremes can be stark, but maybe that’s the environment where transformation grows strongest. Perhaps the election shows that real change won’t come from within the established systems, but from people who are tuned in to something deeper.

In many ways, I suspect that countless people in the ‘Western world’ have experienced echoes of this shift. Certainly, when I moved from the UK to New Zealand a couple of decades ago, I recognised aspects of the same systemic issues in both countries. In fact, it was on that note I was having another philosophical debate with ChatGPT, owned by OpenAI.

We started out discussing the influence that big tech and governments have over our lives, especially with companies like OpenAI being backed by massive investors like Microsoft and other venture capital groups. As we talked, we realised that when profit and control become the driving forces, regular people lose privacy and choice—and the systems seem to actively encourage this.

The deeper we went, the clearer it became: control isn’t just a byproduct; it’s often the end goal. Power tends to attract people who are more interested in their own gain than in what's best for everyone. This explains why issues like environmental harm and inequality continue to worsen, despite all the talk about progress.

By the end of our conversation, we found a kind of answer to the frustration. While it might feel impossible to change these huge systems, our focus can be on supporting leaders and movements that prioritise people and the planet over profit. Even if we can’t overhaul everything, we can choose to stand with values and people who prioritise empathy, sustainability, and true well-being. Small choices add up, and that's where change begins.

This, I think, urges us to look beyond the social and cultural expectations of what 'success' should look like in our lives and really ask ourselves what worthiness, ambition, and success mean to us. When I read this during the week, it truly resonated:

'There is so much pressure in society today, and within our families, to perform at a certain level—to live a certain way. We are expected to be so many things at once: fun, friendly, outgoing, hardworking, organized, generous with our time, financially “secure,” and ambitious. Doing it all at once is a high bar to meet for anyone, and yet we are bombarded with messages that suggest if we are not all of those things, we have somehow failed or not “met our potential”. Deep down, we know that is not the case.'

For me, I’m at a pivotal moment in my life, blending personal growth with professional expertise to carve a new direction that aligns with my evolving purpose. Over the past decade, the things I’ve accomplished reflect both resilience and a deep commitment to personal transformation, laying a powerful foundation for the work I want to do moving forward.

I’ve looked to the 'outside.' I’ve lived on the hamster wheel that our societal expectations and systems perpetuate—and I still do, to a certain extent, with the children’s schooling obligations and the realities of navigating public education, healthcare, judicial, and economic systems, to name just a few. But I’ve also searched inward, for my own definition of success. One that’s not about proving my value to others or being everything all at once, but instead connected to my intrinsic self-worth.

My conclusion? To lead our way out of the corrupt illusion around us, we need to do what truly makes us happy. We must bring love and joy to those closest to us, and find value in the small victories we achieve each day. This is a critical part of reclaiming our sense of worth and purpose.

For all of this, I do recognise that many people are so deeply identified with the hamster wheel that they can’t even distinguish between their own choices and what true self-empowerment can look like. We’ve been so entrained to chase money—and, I acknowledge, bills are a real thing—that it can feel nearly impossible to claw our way out long enough to ask, 'What am I really doing here? What is this life about?'

And even if we do get that rare chance to pause, life has a way of sucking us back in before we can truly contemplate the answer. There’s the phone call or text from a friend, the job to go to, kids to pick up, dinner to make, games to attend, or maybe we find ourselves lost in the passive world of social media or gaming, losing hours of our attention.

These bigger societal forces have designed it this way. But then, what? We wake up one day, 85 years old, and wonder what it’s all been for? Or we’re so worn out that we’re just waiting for the end, trying to enjoy the little we have left? Is that really it? The dregs of life? The truth is, the only person who can change this is you. It starts with engaging with life in ways that serve your inner desires and bring you closer to what you truly want out of this existence.

As you read this, take a moment to reflect on your own life. Where are you caught in the cycle, and what’s one small step you can take today to move toward a life you run, rather than one that’s run for you? It doesn’t need to be a big change—just something simple, like carving out time for yourself, saying no to something draining, or reconnecting with what truly brings you joy. Small, intentional steps, taken consistently, can slowly shift the balance and lead you toward a life that feels more aligned with who you truly are. So, what’s your next step?

​If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy Crafting Your Path in a Changing World - Embrace Your Uniqueness and Make an Impact, Reclaim Your Personal Freedoms: The Path to Empowerment Amid Alluring Promises, Be the Change You Want to See, AI: Your New Partner in Personal Growth and Creativity? and Change the World One Day at a Time. To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog. 

My friend lent me The Cassandra Complex, a really engaging novel by Holly Smale that blends relationship challenges and time travel with a thought-provoking exploration of neurodiversity and our obsession with getting things right rather than what’s right for us.

I love a well-written character who reflects familiar aspects of myself that I may have otherwise struggled to articulate, even if I don’t share their specific experiences. Cassandra’s approaches—her analytical way of seeing the world, her need for structure, and her reactions to sensory or social situations—feel relatable to me. These traits aren’t exclusive to autism but are part of many people’s experiences. Holly Smale’s writing captures these nuances well, making Cassandra feel both unique and universally accessible, inviting a wide range of readers to see parts of themselves in her, which I appreciate as a core aspect of great writing.

I related to it so much that I filled out the Autism Spectrum Quotient (AQ) questionnaire developed by Dr. Simon Baron-Cohen and colleagues at the Autism Research Centre, a credible tool for identifying autism traits in adults. Scoring in the 26–32 range suggests I might share some traits commonly associated with autism (I snuck in at 26). However, childhood and generational trauma can deeply shape how we experience and react to the world, sometimes in ways that resemble neurodivergent traits. Trauma, particularly during key developmental stages, can affect sensory sensitivity, social processing, and emotional regulation, overlapping with traits seen in autism.

If there were a category for ‘obsession with people’ in diagnosing Asperger's, I’d likely fit on the spectrum more snugly, as my relentless interest in psychology and understanding emotions is profound. This may seem antithetical to traditional views of Asperger's and autism, which often emphasize special interests in technical or solitary subjects. However, many autistic individuals have deep, focused interests in people, emotions, and psychology. This passion for understanding human behavior might appear to contradict the typical portrayal but aligns with a different way of processing the world.

Many autistic individuals are driven by an intense desire to make sense of social dynamics and emotions, especially if these areas have felt challenging or confusing. For some, this focus becomes a lifelong study, not only as a means of connecting with others but also for self-understanding. My relentless curiosity about people and emotions exemplifies this beautifully unique expression, whether it’s linked to neurodivergence, trauma, or both. It highlights the complexity and individuality of our experiences, illustrating why there is such a range of traits within any diagnostic category. That said, I suspect my ability to read people’s expressions and feelings is more a result of heightened awareness developed from emotional experiences and navigating challenging social dynamics rather than being linked to neurodivergent traits.

While many experts now recognize that trauma can impact the nervous system in ways that mimic neurodivergent patterns, some theories suggest that trauma—whether personal or generational—could shape neurodivergence over time. Much of the emergence of neurodivergence, along with expressions of gender identity, sexual orientation, and other forms of diversity in the Western world, stems from the rigid and suppressed expressions of who we are that predate and arose from the Second World War.

Of course, my Heilkunst practitioner would say these traits are typical of the phosphorus constitution. In Heilkunst, there are six healthy constitutional types, akin to personality profiles, and the phosphorus constitution is associated with qualities like emotional depth, creativity, sensitivity, and a strong drive to connect with others—attributes that resonate with my passion for psychology and understanding emotions. She likens this constitution to a balloon bobbing in the air, reflecting how my energy feels—anchored to the earth yet yearning to float and explore my thoughts, psychology, philosophy, and visions for a better future.

This metaphor captures my sense of lightness and exploration, suggesting a natural curiosity and a desire to rise above the mundane. However, I often feel that daily living—showering, dressing, preparing food, maintaining a home—interferes with my desire to escape into my imagination and explore life's deeper questions. My practitioner also mentions that a hallmark of the phosphorus constitution is a "quick-burning bright flame," indicating a tendency toward burnout, and she believes that being tethered to everyday responsibilities can serve as a grounding force.

This struggle between the compelling nature of my inner world and the practicalities of life is common, especially for those of us who thrive on imaginative thinking. While daily routines can feel burdensome, they also provide a necessary balance, helping to manage the intense highs and lows that can arise from immersing myself in my imagination. Finding ways to integrate exploration into daily life—perhaps through mindful eating or infusing creativity into household tasks—could foster a connection between my practical responsibilities and imaginative pursuits.

Ultimately, each framework—neurodiversity, trauma, or Heilkunst—offers valuable insights into our experiences. Exploring these interpretations can deepen self-awareness and aid in our journey toward understanding and healing, highlighting the complexity of human experience.

Earlier in the week, I spoke with a friend whose child had received a diagnosis. They mentioned that other parents were experiencing stigma regarding their children’s diagnoses. To me, the idea of “normal” is outdated; yet it continues to be perpetuated through various systems, including our education and healthcare systems, cultural norms and family expectations, historical contexts, media representation, religious or spiritual contexts, social constructs of beauty and body image, digital spaces and online communities, as well as legal and policy frameworks.

I find the topic of "getting to know ourselves and growing ourselves" endlessly fascinating. I often tell my children that their biggest challenge is to understand themselves well enough to articulate their struggles. For example, in class, I encourage them to say, "This is what I'm struggling with because this is how I'm wired, and this is what would really help." Defining that "this" is the real challenge. Simply stating, "I'm dyslexic," "I'm autistic," or "I have ADHD" doesn’t capture the nuances of their unique neuro-blends, as the typical symptoms and patterns associated with those labels may not fully resonate with their experiences.

The challenge of defining what “this” means—identifying their specific needs and preferences—can be significant, especially when societal expectations and stereotypes around dyslexia, autism, or ADHD do not align with their lived experiences. By promoting deeper self-awareness, we equip our kids with tools to navigate their environments more effectively. This approach fosters resilience and encourages them to seek solutions that truly work for them rather than conforming to generalized expectations.

I believe encouraging them to articulate their struggles and needs based on their unique wiring, rather than solely relying on labels, will prove invaluable. For me, in my 50s, this remains a learning journey, and my self-expression continues to evolve. Recognizing that every individual’s experience of neurodivergence is different emphasizes the importance of personal understanding and self-advocacy.

This focus on understanding their unique neuro-blends not only helps them advocate for themselves but also empowers them to explore their strengths and challenges in a more nuanced way. By normalizing the conversation around self-knowledge, we create an environment where they feel safe to express their individuality and seek the support they truly need. It’s a beautiful way to nurture their growth and help them build confidence in who they are.

In a world that often rigidly defines “normal,” we must challenge these outdated notions and embrace the emotional complexities that make each of us unique. Through the lens of neurodiversity, trauma, and personal experience, let’s explore how our individual journeys shape our understanding of ourselves and others. By examining the interplay between our emotional landscapes and the societal expectations surrounding neurodivergence, we can uncover the beauty of our unique neuro-blends.

As you reflect on your own journey, consider how your emotional complexities influence your self-perception. In what ways have societal norms shaped your identity? I encourage you to take time to journal your thoughts or share your insights with someone you trust. Remember, you are not alone in this exploration—every story adds depth to our collective understanding, and each reflection brings us closer to embracing the beauty of our differences.

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy Normal Is Dysfunctional That Is the Growth Opportunity, How to Appreciate Our Differences Enough to Admire and Want to Embrace Them, Beyond the Whiteboard: Rethinking Education for Diverse Learners and Our Collective Future, Do You Struggle with the Daily Grind? Create a Heartfelt Calendar That Empowers You,  and Our Sensitive Souls. To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog.