I’m going through a hard spell.
There’s no real way to soften that, is there? I’m struggling. And while it’s lovely sharing the breakthroughs and the moments of self-discovery that have come with my late diagnosis, I think it’s just as important to share this side of things, too. The lows as well as the highs… the good and the bad.
Because my mental health this week has been, to put it mildly, shocking. I’d describe it as going off the edge of a cliff. The difference between how I was thinking one day and the next has really caught me completely off guard.
The Unseen Weight of Just… Everything
So, what’s going on? Well, life. Work is incredibly busy, and there’s a lot of pressure at the moment. And me being me, I’m just piling more onto that situation… setting ridiculously high expectations for myself that are, in truth, completely unattainable. It’s a classic move, isn’t it?
Then there’s home. My kids are wonderful, but our toddler is still very much a toddler, with all the beautiful, chaotic energy that entails. Our eldest has his own needs, and trying to navigate the SEND system and post-adoption support while we await assessments for ASD and ADHD has me constantly scrambling. All this, while home educating and trying as hard as I possibly can to parent therapeutically. Oh, and preparing the letterbox contact for their birth parents.
It’s a lot. My autistic brain can mask with the best of them, appearing to handle it all. But that capacity isn’t infinite. When I get overwhelmed, those limitations are laid bare, and suddenly, it’s all just too much.
What Does Autistic Burnout Feel Like?
This isn’t just standard stress or feeling a bit down. For many of us, this is Autistic Burnout. It’s a state of profound exhaustion—physical, mental, and emotional—that comes from the cumulative effect of navigating a world not designed for our neurology. It’s the result of prolonged masking, sensory overload, and emotional exertion. That feeling of going off a cliff? That’s not you failing; it’s your system hitting its absolute limit and sending out a system-wide distress signal.
A Conversation with the Kid Inside
After work today, I broke a little bit inside. And it’s strange how that happens, isn’t it? Not always in the thick of the chaos, but in the quiet moment just after. Maybe it was the sudden space to breathe—that moment of suddenly having less on my plate. Don’t get me wrong, I really like my job. But the pressures had just converged, and as soon as they lifted, the tears started to run down my face. I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
So I didn’t. I took some time to just let it out, and I rocked back and forth, a self-soothing rhythm I’ve known my whole life. And in that moment, I talked to little Mark.
You know, the kid inside me who doesn’t feel like he’s enough… who worries he’ll never be enough. That’s the part of me that holds those exceedingly high expectations. I told him it was alright. I told him that he was doing the best he could with what he had… that he was enough. And that I am enough.
It’s a practice I’m returning to from therapy—this idea of re-parenting ourselves. Of giving that inner child the reassurance and unconditional acceptance that they (and we) so desperately need. It’s about meeting my own needs, right now, with the same compassion I try to give my children.
Finding Your Anchor in the Storm
So, re-parenting and making sure my own needs are met will be the first order of business. And for me, though it might sound a bit strange… one of the most effective ways to do that is by having a bath.
I’m pretty sure there’s a sensory component to it. The warm water, the quiet, the feeling of being held and contained—it helps settle the frantic fizz of my mind in a way little else can. It’s a reset button A way to reduce the autistic burnout.
Your Anchor: A Practical Step to Recovery
Finding that thing for you is so, so important. For you, it might be the polar opposite—a fast-paced run where the rhythm of your feet on the pavement drowns everything else out, or a quiet walk in nature. Maybe it’s playing music so loud the vibrations shake your bones. Whatever it is, finding something that helps settle your thoughts can be a powerful, positive anchor in the moment.
This isn’t the worst it’s ever been, and I feel like I have strategies that will help me climb back from the cliff edge. And in that, there is solace. There is hope.
It’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to be barely coping. Sharing this part of my journey with autistic burnout feels just as vital as sharing the good parts. Because if you’re out there, feeling like you’re falling… please know you’re not alone. We’re in this together.
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