When It Feels Like Everyone Is Watching

“When It Feels Like Everyone Is Watching (and No One Is Understanding)”

Several years ago, we had a family trip planned to a local theme park for a fun day out.

This was before my kiddo was diagnosed ASD but was starting to show signs of anxiety in a variety of places. However, I had NO clue what was happening in her thoughts, feelings and processing.

Her siblings were heading to the bigger coasters and the closer we got, the more anxious she got.

Right before getting to the ride, she literally fell down, fetal position on the ground, right in the middle of a huge crowd.

My first thought was “oh my dear God, what is happening??” She knew she wasn’t riding anything and we would just be waiting. But, she absolutely freaked out.

My next thought, as I’m on the ground now too trying to console her, was “oh, what these people must be thinking about my kid”. I felt horribly for her and me and honestly the people watching.

My very next thought was “what are they thinking about me and how I’m handling this”.

If you’ve ever felt eyes on you, the stares, the whispers, the subtle judgment ... you’re not imagining it.

Parenting a neurodivergent child can feel like living in a world that wasn’t built for your family. But, somehow you’re still expected to navigate it like everyone else.

The meltdowns in the store on a shopping trip.

The looks from strangers who think it’s bad behavior from a spoiled kid or an overly permissive parent.

The well-meaning advice that somehow still feels like criticism. (Sadly, this frequently comes from your extended family.)

“Have you tried being more consistent?”

“They just need more discipline.”

“My child would never behave like that.”

Suddenly, you feel thrown into solitary confinement.

You’re not just managing your child’s needs anymore, you’re carrying the weight of everyone else’s opinions. If I’m being honest, I was carrying the weight of my own opinion of myself too.

Heavy, heavy cargo!

What people don’t see is everything that happens behind the scenes.

They don’t see how much thought we put into every outing.

How we prepare, adjust, and try again.

How we’ve learned our child’s cues, their triggers, their brilliance.

They don’t see the way we celebrate things other parents might overlook because for our child, those moments are huge.

And they certainly don’t see the exhaustion, or at least the full extent of it, that you carry ... all ... the ... time.

Not just physical, but emotional. For me the emotional exhaustion is what usually got me the most.

That kind of total burnout that comes from constantly explaining, advocating, and sometimes defending your child and your parenting.

And then there’s the isolation.

Because even in rooms full of other parents, it can feel like you’re the only one living this version of parenthood.

Conversations with other parents don’t always 'flow'. With neurodiverse kids, you either ‘get it’ or you just can’t know what it's like.

Playdates can feel stressful as hell instead of fun like they’re supposed to be. This includes you and your kiddo. So often, kids are masking to ‘look’ more normal to their playdate or look ‘happy’ to make you feel better. And you are hyper vigilantly surveying for any possible thing that could throw off your kiddo.

Invitations slowly stop coming or you simply stop accepting them. It’s just too much.

Not because people don’t care, but because they don’t always fully understand.

It can feel really lonely.

You are parenting in a way that requires more patience, more creativity, and more emotional strength than most people will ever fully see.

You are learning a different language: your child’s language. You’re learning your child’s limits which are more ‘hard set’ than other children.

And that takes time. And grace. And a lot of love.

There is no right way to do this. Every family has to figure out what works for them and their particular situation.

There is only your way.

The one where you keep showing up, even when it’s hard.

The one where you choose connection over perfection.

The one where you keep learning, adapting, and loving your child exactly as they are, where they are.

And even if it doesn’t always feel like it, there are other parents out there who absolutely get it.

Parents who sat in their cars after a hard moment and cried.

Parents who have questioned themselves at every twist and turn.

Parents who have felt the sting of judgment and the ache of isolation.

You are part of a community you may not always see, but we are here. And we get you. And you belong it.

So, the next time you feel all of those eyes on you or that voice in your head starts to question everything, pause for a moment.

Remember that you are not alone. You are not doing this wrong. You are doing something so incredibly hard yet so meaningful even when it doesn’t look like what the world expects.

Because our families are not the rule but the exception, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Our kiddos are amazing!

Our kiddos are priceless!

And you were uniquely chosen to be their parent because they need you. And I can tell you that I need mine just as much. They have probably taught me just as much, if not more than, I’ve taught them.

And that matters more than you know.

Please feel free to share this post with anyone who you think could use a little encouragement and understanding.