Victoria Brown
As an Autistic mum of three neurodivergent children, aged 12, 9 and 7, I am learning more than I could have ever imagined. Every day, I learn something new about myself or my children. Every day, I make a mistake. Every day, I reflect, grow and try again tomorrow.

But there’s one thing I am still learning. It’s something I have valued for a long time but am still learning to consistently apply and practice. It is something that contradicts the parenting I was raised with and often requires me to push against the expectations of those around me. It’s something that requires a refocus of priorities and is a reminder of what’s most important – my children. It is the most important thing I have learned, and continue to learn, as a mum.

Expect the world to fit around your child, rather than expecting your child to fit into the world.
It may sound like a quote you would find on a wall in a therapy waiting room that briefly inspires a moment of self-reflection that is forgotten shortly after you leave. It might sound impractical. Impossible even. But it’s not a task that requires completion. It’s an outlook. An outlook I wish I’d felt confident enough to apply in the early years of parenting. An outlook that I’m still learning is more important than the expectations of others. An outlook I aspire to.

So what does this look like when applied to everyday life? As parents, it requires us to analyse and assess all the expectations that are currently put upon our kids, and rewrite the ones that don’t support their individual wellbeing and growth. It’s learning that just because something is usually done a certain way, doesn’t mean that’s how it needs to be done, if it needs to be done at all.

Expect the world to be inclusive of your child’s communication style
I used to tell my eldest to ‘look at the person when they’re speaking to you’, and I advised him that it was ‘rude not to answer when asked a question’. Even back then, it didn’t sit right with me to force my child to communicate in a way that didn’t come naturally to him. Partly because I knew how uncomfortable it makes me feel to do the same. But that was what I was taught so I thought that was what had to be taught to my son. It was good manners, which was my responsibility to teach my child.

I was wrong. I didn’t need to force him. And now I don’t. I now know that my youngest is not being rude if she is unable to answer your questions. She will do so with confidence and loveable sass once she gets to know you. I now know that my eldest is still listening if he doesn’t look at you when you are speaking. He is actually taking all of it in! And when my 9 year old talks at you endlessly, around in circles without context, whilst pacing around the room – I notice that he is a captivating communicator who draws people in with his passion and excitement.

Expect the world to understand your child’s sensory preferences
Thankfully, supporting my children’s sensory preferences has always come natural to me as a parent. In the early days, most sensory aversions could be accommodated easily. When my daughter didn’t like the feeling of her socks, I bought new ones until we found the right feel (and then stocked up in case they were discontinued!). We pre-warned our eldest of any expected loud noises, used ear-muffs, and provided him with quiet breaks from noisy situations. And when my younger son sought out continual movement during family movie night, I put a crash mat in the corner of the room to allow for his big movements with minimal interruptions to the movie for the rest of the family. These accommodations seemed like pretty obvious and simple solutions. And thankfully, in my experience, the world has become more accepting of young children wearing ear-muffs, chewing holes in their T-Shirts and constantly fidgeting. As it should be.

But, as they’ve become older, some of these sensory preferences have become less age-appropriate and less socially understood, requiring more complex solutions and work-arounds. A simple solution wasn’t as easy to find when my eldest found the limited school uniform options offensively scratchy, in upper primary school. This required a needle and thread, some alternative soft fabric, and a conversation with the school to find a mutually acceptable alternative. Equally un-simple was explaining to the school that our son in upper primary would not be able to walk on the oval during wet days, due to the sound his shoes made on the wet grass. Perhaps the furthest thing from simple was learning to say no when asked (or expected) to attend certain events that we knew would be too much of a sensory overload for our child, and not a supportive experience for them (because they’re not babies and toddlers anymore, so what’s the issue?). These situations have not become simpler with time. Each new situation is equally less-simple than the last. What has become simpler, is the choice to approach each situation with my child’s best interests above everything else, and my confidence to expect some expectations to bend for my child.

Expect the world to be flexible around your child’s fluctuating capacity
I am ashamed to think of the number of times I said to my son with frustration in my voice ‘but you did it yesterday with no problems!’. I remember my genuine confusion as to how his ability and his support needs could be vastly different from one day, or one moment, to the next. The moment I learnt of the concept of fluctuating capacity, so many things fell into place.

All kids, including neurodivergent kids, want to succeed. All kids do well when they can. And even if they could yesterday, doesn’t mean they can today, because perhaps they don’t have the same tools they had yesterday. Perhaps their brain is preoccupied today by the sensory discomfort of the scratchy tag on their clothing, or the humming sound of the air conditioner. Perhaps the instructions today were delivered in too many steps, or along with other demands. Perhaps they’re hungry, tired or utterly exhausted from completing this task yesterday.

In our house, we refer to fluctuating capacity as a battery, and we use a visual to show the level of our batteries. We know we each have different activities that drain and recharge our batteries. Going to school and work drains all our batteries differently, and we each use different activities at the end of the day to recharge. And on days when my kids’ batteries are too low to facilitate a successful day at school, they go home early or stay home all day. On days when our family have had a rough day and are not up for dinner with the grandparents, we apologise and decline the invitation, even if it’s last minute. And this is OK. It’s more than OK. It’s setting my children up for future success and teaching them to advocate for their needs.

I am still learning that it’s OK to bend against external expectations in order to put my children first. It’s OK to hold my own expectations of the world. It’s OK to expect the world to fit around my children, rather than expecting my children to fit into the world.