Picture yourself as a child, let’s say you’re 10 years old. Now add in your parents. Do you have siblings? Put them in your picture. Grandparents? Aunts and Uncles? Add them too. This is your birth family. These people represent your origins. They are your roots.

Maybe you didn’t have a traditional family set up like I’ve described, but whoever you did have, bring them front of mind for a moment.

Now imagine there are some of these individuals you love deeply and sincerely even though they hurt you. There are also some you tell yourself you love, because that’s your duty…even though they hurt you. After all, no family is perfect and you are loyal. You love hard and generously, as many children do.

Conflict is the norm in your family. Name calling, ridicule, insults, physical violence. Gradually, you learn to defend yourself with a sharp tongue; with fists. Every confrontation fills you with a confusing cocktail of fear, anger and shame but this is how you survive. You imagine running away but instead you keep treading water, try not to sink, because family is forever right?

Except sometimes it’s not.

Sometimes, (like I did) you find out that the time you DID have with your family was just smoke and mirrors. A fragile web of lies and misinformation. And because you were trusting, naive…you believed it all.

I genuinely loved my maternal birth family and imagined they must feel the same way about me. But the truth is, I was only tolerated, an outsider looking in. I was odd, different. I asked questions, shared unsolicited opinions.

I had my uses; I was fantastic at being leaned on. I could lend money, provide lifts, baby sit, dog sit, clean houses, write CV’s, listen generously to their woes. But my main purpose in that toxic dynamic was to take the blame. Ask my advice then blame me for telling you what I thought. Blame me for being too honest, too direct, too rigid, too emotional. Blame me to make yourselves feel better. Blame me because you knew I never had anyone in my corner, fighting for me. Until I met my husband. Then you tried to blame him for ‘putting up with me’.

This was my reality. A reality I’ve come to accept over the last 3 years since estranging from my maternal birth family.

I’ll never know the whole truth, not unless I develop the powers to time travel!

God how I’d love to be a fly on the wall of my childhood; to see all the players in action.

Or maybe it’s better not to know the extent of the fabrication that was the first 45 years of my life.

Did my undiagnosed Autism make it easier for them to manipulate and mislead me? Absolutely.

◦ I was extremely naive and trusting.

◦ I felt duty bound to follow rules – grown ups were to be respected and obeyed.

◦ Difficulty regulating my emotions lead to self hurting behaviours as I struggled to contain my internal conflict – I loved and pitied my family yet feared and resented them.

◦ My poor mental health was used to discredit me, ‘she’s mental. She’s mad. Don’t listen to her!’

◦ My hyper empathy made me responsible for their struggles. While many would have run for the hills, I stayed, believing I could change them for the better.

◦ Unable to interpret non verbal communication such as body language and tone of voice, I clung onto my mothers every word. Never doubted that I was hearing the truth.

But my Autism helped me too.

◦ My ability to find joy in the darkness; hope, when life was truly bleak.

◦ My hyperfocus driving me to become the best version of myself despite countless setbacks.

◦ My written communication skills providing an outlet for my deep hurts when the words would not be spoken.

◦ My intense sensory recall of memories enabling me to retain and catalogue conversations and events; to be revisited as an adult and processed with clarity and maturity.

◦ My courage to challenge my own behaviours and mistakes; to make better choices; to be kinder; to apologise; to own my behaviour and change for the better.

◦ My belief in truth and justice, right and wrong, giving me the courage to make the hardest decision I ever made; to estrange from my birth family.

But how did I get to this place of understanding? How did I come to recognise the narcissist’s greatest weapon, smoke and mirrors?

It started with my Autism diagnosis. Being handled the instruction manual for my brain taught me I was different, not bad or broken. All the behaviours I’d been judged and criticised for were because of how I experienced the world. The more I grew to know and like myself, the more secure I felt.

It continued with trauma therapy, revisiting the worst times and confronting what happened to me. The validation of another, impartial human being was lifesaving.

Writing my blog has helped too – it is cathartic to commit my thoughts and feelings to the page. In fact, I find it much easier to write than speak and always have done.

The love of my husband gives my safety and security to explore my past and believe in our shared future.

Part of healing is being able to look back and recognise when and how you were mislead. To identify the stages of deception.

As a small child I idolised my mother and believed my role was to protect her, to save her. To me, she was the perfect human being and I never doubted her wisdom in staying with my violent alcoholic father. Her decision meant I grew up feeling afraid every single day. But I knew her love too and I trusted my mother completely.

As an adolescent I began to question my mothers’ decisions. I realised that other families weren’t like mine. That violence and slavish devotion to men was not normal or healthy. Neither was the invisible gag placed on myself and my siblings preventing us from asking for help. I still loved my mother. But resentment began to simmer inside of me. I started to plan a life outside the prison I lived in.

Sensing I was pulling away from her drove my mother to punish me. Physically and mentally. She did not want me to grow up, to have independent thoughts. I was her possession. I owed everything to her. She resented my growing confidence, my maturity, my friendships. She made me feel ashamed for wanting more for myself than the life of fear and servitude she had built for me. Her violence towards me accelerated while the rest of my family conveniently looked away.

As I became increasingly isolated I began to suspect my mother was telling lies about me, working to alienate me from my siblings and extended birth family. I had seen her ostracise my oldest brother and paint him as the villain – I never questioned her judgment of him nor the fact she sanctioned him being cut off from his family. Only when I became a parent myself did I realise that a mother should love unconditionally and support siblings to repair any breakdown in relations.

But I had no proof of her treachery, only a feeling in my gut which made me confused and afraid. I did not understand the sophistication of smoke and mirrors then; how situations could be twisted, the truth embellished. I only knew that the people who I loved and should love me, ignored me or treated me with disdain.

As a young adult I kept my birth family at arms length. My relationship with my mother was volatile. My siblings were my occasional drinking buddies. Alcohol loosened our tongues and we’d talk about our upbringing, sharing horror stories and laughing as if it was somehow funny. None of us was capable of serious discussion, that would have meant confronting our true feelings. I also harboured a belief that as the only girl and main target of her physical violence, they could not understand what I had endured.

When my husband and I started our own family I was taken off guard by the desire to reconnect with my mother. Carrying our sons in my belly triggered something in me. I loved my babies with every molecule in my body and I imagined she must have loved me like that. Musn’t she?

For a while things improved and she was undoubtedly a better grandma than she ever was a parent. Naively, I began to trust her again. She in turn appeared to take me into her confidence. I was flattered and utterly naive to the danger I was in.

And so began the era of coercive control. My mother would regularly confide all the wrongdoings of my siblings, and extended family. The general theme was how they’d mistreated her and this guaranteed I would feel upset for her and resentful of them. I still very much believed my Mother was the vulnerable and exploited victim of my early childhood and my Autistic radar for fairness and justice meant I wanted to tackle these family members to enforce that they treated her correctly.

The problem was she’d swear me to secrecy, so I’d feel frustrated and disappointed in these family members but was unable to act.

Some of the things she told me were thoughtless and selfish behaviour. Some things caused me huge anxiety for the other people involved. I did not dare share these things with anyone because of the damage such information could cause if it got out.

What I understand now (oh beautiful hindsight) is that her confidences were a guaranteed way to segregate me from the other family members. If I DID confront them (which on occasion I did), my heightened Autistic emotions were like a bomb going off. Making angry accusations that only made others resent me. And of course it was always my fault. I was interfering. I’d stepped out of line. No one blamed my mother.

She knew it would happen that way.

If I DIDN’T confront them I would carry her confidences like heavy rocks on my back. I was utterly conflicted. I loved my family but I had lost respect for them. I couldn’t trust them. They were stopping me from saving my mother.

It was only in the year before my estrangement from my birth family that I started to wonder:

⁃ how much of what she had told me was actually true?

⁃ If she was feeding me lies and misinformation to separate me from the rest of the family, what on earth was she telling THEM about ME?!

There were clues to her treachery.

Strange comments made by my siblings alluding to things I’d done which I knew never happened.

Relatives who suddenly treated me coldly or acted distant when I knew I’d done nothing to warrant that behaviour.

My own husband confessed that when we were experiencing marital problems prior to my Autism diagnosis, my mother had set herself up as his confidante and sworn not to share what he told her. Yet in truth she went around telling everyone in the family exactly what he told her and embellishing it; calling me unhinged, violent ….. with no concern for my poor mental health and suffering or the fact that I was at risk of self harm and worse.

My husband’s shame at being exploited by her paled in comparison to the way I felt then; stripped bare, flesh flailed. The fragile bones of me exposed for my ‘family’ to pick over.

But the biggest clue of the smoke and mirrors was the reaction of my maternal birth family, when I ended contact with my mother. They all ghosted me, my husband and our children. There was no explanation or justification. My efforts to reach out to each of them individually were met with total silence. An impenetrable wall was put up by them.

I had loved all of those people and believed we were a close family. The injustice of their actions still sting 3 years on.

Of course this is just the tip of the iceberg. And it has made me question the whole 45 years of my life before the estrangement. It has made me doubt everything I was told by my mother. It has made me rethink any ‘happy memories’ with my maternal birth family (and for me there definitely were some) because they clearly had no respect, love or loyalty for me. I was useful for what I could provide to them emotionally, practically or financially. My worth expired when I refused to be responsible for my mother anymore.

In truth, this realisation eases my sadness. I have been mourning people I never really knew, who never knew or accepted the real me. They viewed me through poisonous glasses provided by my mother. This realisation sets me free.

I received a voicemail recently from my mother. Having not heard her voice in almost 3 years it was a brutal shock and I burst into tears. Suddenly I was that helpless little girl again who idolised her Mummy and wanted to stay with her forever. She was crying and she said that she missed me and our boys. In that moment I desperately wanted to hug her.

But then I dried my tears and I reflected. Did she apologise?…No.

Did she acknowledge the terrible things she’d done to me and allowed to happen to me as a child and adolescent…No.

Did she express regret or accept responsibility for alienating me from my maternal birth family?….No.

Her voice message wasn’t for me. It was for herself. It was just more smoke and mirrors. A friend told me it’s called a ‘guilt grenade’. But by some miracle of therapy and love from my husband and children, I didn’t let it injure me.

It hurt to hear her crying. I know she’s had a very hard life and she deserves better. But I also know it’s not my responsibility to save her anymore. She has to save herself like I did.

I shouldn’t have replied to her. I know that now – doing so implies she still has some hold over me. But it also shows I have a good heart, I have empathy. I sent a kind reply wishing her well. I explained I am not part of her family anymore and I can never go back. I told her I am happy now and I need to be left in peace.

Of course, she didn’t reply.

If any of this resonates, if it sounds familiar, please be careful. Smoke and mirrors is not some mysterious party trick. It’s dangerous, it’s life changing. Whether the person using this technique against you is your mother, a friend or a lover, it will make you question everything you know. Make you think you’re going mad, that it’s your fault. That there is no one you can trust.

But there is.

Trust yourself.

Smoke clears.

Mirrors can be broken.

Find safety, seek the truth and don’t-go-back.

It’s never too late to start the rest of your life, like I did.

I watched a new program ‘Inside Our Autistic Minds’ tonight, with my husband and our two boys. BBC Two – Inside Our Autistic Minds, Series 1, Episode 1

It was presented by the wonderful Chris Packham and featured two Autistic adults Flo and Murray, who share their lived experience of Autism.

I wanted our sons L (11) and H (8) to watch it with us so they would understand how lucky they are to have their Autism diagnosed in childhood.

I wanted them to see how uniquely individual and amazing Autistic people are.

I wanted them to understand that non speaking Autistic people have thoughts and feelings and hopes and fears and the right to be heard – that there are so many ways to communicate other than speaking!

I wanted them to understand why I love my job as an Autism trainer. Why I love helping other Autistic children and their families, so they can embrace their identities like we do in our family.

L absolutely loved the program. He opened up about a few different things he experiences with stimming and with social communication – it makes me so proud how well he is learning to understand himself.

H kept asking ‘Mum, why are you crying?!’ When I explained I was feeling sad about my childhood growing up without an Autism diagnosis he said ‘Yes but why are you CRYING?!’ My very own little Mr Blunt still watched it to the end and said it was ‘quite good’.

I was crying because I was that little Autistic girl Flo described in the program. I grew up confused, feeling different, self loathing, not fitting in. Masking to try and make friends. Constantly overwhelmed and melting down only to be told I was mad or bad.

Unlike Flo, I didn’t have a loving mother to help me, to protect me, to guide me. My mother judged, she silenced, she punished, she manipulated. When I was eventually diagnosed Autistic at 42, my mother showed no empathy; no acceptance. It was just another reason to criticise me and undermine me so that ultimately, she could control me and control the way others saw me.

Chris Packham said Autistic women are 8 times as likely to commit suicide than non Autistic women. That is why I had to estrange from my mother following my Autism diagnosis at 42…because I knew I could not stay alive if she continued to be in my life. Perhaps my decision sounds extreme but there are thousands upon thousands of Autistic adults like me who grew up in persecution and choose to sever contact with their birth family to save themselves from further mistreatment, to protect their mental health.

In the program ‘Inside Our Autistic Minds’, Murray is blessed with the most knowledgeable, gentle, patient parents who are committed to helping him tell his story. It is so moving to see what parenting an Autistic person can be like, when you remove judgement and let go of neurotypical expectations.

If you haven’t watched ‘Inside Our Autistic Minds’ with Chris Packham, please do. It’s beautifully filmed and so informative. We are NOT a medical diagnosis, we just have differently wired brains that affect how we experience the World. We are a different type of human, but a human nonetheless.

A medical diagnosis of Autism is often missed or withheld unless there is obvious suffering and struggles. But ALL Autistic people should have the right to discover their neurodiversity. A diagnosis is about getting access to the rule book for our brains so we can live well and thrive. So that we can help others understand what is going on inside our Autistic minds.

I sometimes joke to my husband or friends, that if they had to live inside my head for even an hour, they would run out screaming, forever traumatised! But in truth I love my different brain now I understand it. It is an honour to raise our sons to understand their Autistic minds and to see them already advocating for themselves at home and at school is my greatest achievement to date.

I never imagined the body count would be so high… the body count being the relatives I’ve lost through my decision to estrange from my mother. I think I’m maxing out at 14 at the moment. That’s not counting a few who are sitting on the fence but will likely be seduced by the ‘sweep it all under the carpet for an easy life’ theory.

There is no doubt that estranging from my mother saved my life. I am better person for it, a better wife and a better parent. My children are happy and confident, surrounded by friends and passionately pursuing their special interests. They live the life I used to dream of.

My mother claimed to love me but what she wanted was to control me. She actively and deliberately spread lies about me and diligently worked to isolate me from my support network throughout my life. I on the other hand, really did love her. I also hated her but still, I worked very hard to earn her love and friendship like the naive Autistic optimist that I am.

Cowardice and Betrayal

I knew estrangement would hurt. I’m pretty sure I could fill several bathtubs with my tears during the first year after ending all contact. What I didn’t count on was the cowardice and betrayal that would be demonstrated by my extended family.

I knew my mother was crafty, clever, and a convincing actress, but I never for one second thought she would try and take other family members away from me. And not just from me, but from my children, the grandchildren she claimed to love. Even if I had thought her capable of that, I never anticipated she would follow through with such cruelty.

I’m not sure what she did or said, how she orchestrated the exodus of siblings, grandparents and more, from our lives. Most of them have met my attempts to contact them with silence. A few made spiteful verbal attacks, unmasking their true selves. This was actually worse than the silent treatment because family I had loved and respected revealed their true murky shades of colour, undermining our shared past and making it feel like a sham.

The Fragile Love of the Loyal

But harder even than that, was the loss of family members who initially stood by me, who assured me of their love, who withstood the criticism and judgment of my mother and her followers so that they could continue to be in mine and my childrens’ lives. I was insanely grateful at the start for their loyalty and sacrifice. I also felt guilty that they were experiencing stress and pressure from my persecutors. But as time has gone on, and they have slowly pulled away from me, the hurt is ten times worse.

The Aunt I worshipped since I was a little girl; a kind and lovely person with incredible talents I admired and tried to emulate. I used to wish she was my mum, I felt I was far more like her than my own mother. But gradually her contact became less frequent. I asked her, is it too much being there for me? And she insisted it was fine, that she could cope, that she loved all of us and always would. But that was the last time I ever heard from her. And so I stay away, not wanting to cause her stress or to be a burden.

Then there is the sister in law I stood by through her difficult divorce; for many years my husband and I and our children were her constant, her safety net, offering enduring love and friendship to her children, my niece and nephew. This was no hardship. We loved them to bits and some of the happiest times in my life have been spent having adventures with ‘the cousins,’ our four children. My own childhood was so marked by fear and stress and violence, that it was wonderfully normal and wholesome to watch our kids growing up having fun together. Best of all, she treated me like I was her real sister – something I’d never had before.

But nothing stays the same and as my niece and nephew got older and navigated adolescence, my sister in law began a new relationship and had a gorgeous little boy. Exciting new beginnings for her, new family members, new friends. Gradually we saw her less and less. Still I continued to put love and effort into the relationship. I tried to create opportunities to get to know her new partner and I was supportive in every stage of her journey. I never for one second imagined a time when she wouldn’t be my sister.

But recently she surprised me with a text announcing a special event, an important ceremony, an event for closest family and friends. Her message said she wasn’t inviting us as she didn’t want to upset my mother. It was better not to invite us apparently. She was sure I would understand. She even stated that my youngest son and I would struggle to be at this event because we are Autistic. This was frankly all kinds of offensive, hurtful and disrespectful given the many special events we had shared previously.

I was heartbroken. I cried a river and then some. The rejection of me and my husband and our lovely boys was a huge injustice. How could she hurt us so badly, the ones who had stood by her in her darkest hours and her happiest times? And all because she didn’t want to upset the woman who has repeatedly tried to destroy me? The woman who ironically, had repeatedly fed me negativity about my sister in law, criticising her lifestyle and her parenting like she did the mothers of all my brothers’ children.

We exchanged angry and emotional messages and she asked me to have empathy. To see her point of view. It was as if she were a stranger. I thought we had earned a place on her VIP family list after all the years of friendship and memory making. I would never treat her like this. Never.

Unanswered Questions / My Right to Write

I don’t know what influenced her decision. Whether it was my mother, or her partner, or even my niece who mysteriously withdrew from us after I estranged from my mother. It seems like I’m destined never to know the truth, never to have answers to my questions because no one is brave enough to be honest with me let alone honest with themselves.

I want to salvage this relationship for me and for my sons. They adore their cousins and have been hurt enough by the family who’ve turned their backs on us. But how do I overcome this hurt I feel? And why should I have to fight to be loved, why should I have to fight to be included by the family members we made our number one priority for years and years? Is it better to just accept we aren’t needed anymore? That we’ve served our purpose?

I understand now that it’s so easy for people to say ‘I love you’ to excuse their choices and behaviour, but love is shown by what you DO, not by what you say. I am trying not to blame these family members that I still care for. I know they are torn. But it still fills me with sadness because I think I deserve more. I deserve their love and I deserve their loyalty. I gave them mine freely and generously.

I understand now that this blog of mine, this emotional download and sharing of experiences over the last few years, has probably been used by my persecutors to turn others against me and to pressure those who once loved me to give up on me. To them it is shameful and embarrassing that I am airing the ‘family secrets’. They point to my writing as evidence of my inherent badness.

But this blog is here to stay. I write only for ME and all the people like me who have lived through trauma and abuse, mental health problems or late diagnosed neurodiversity. I write to heal myself and help others. I write so that one day, when they are grown up, my sons will read my journey and understand what I’ve overcome to be here. I write so they can be proud of me like I am proud of me. Writing helps me work through the most difficult of times.

People assume if you can speak, that you are capable of discussing your feelings face to face or on the telephone. I cannot do these things unless I feel completely safe with the other person. Otherwise I crumble. This is a core part of my Autism – I have always felt more capable and in control communicating in writing. Without it my feelings would be trapped inside me, accelerating my mental health problems.

I do appreciate that heavy and emotional topics can be uncomfortable for some people. In fact my most recent and by far my most read blog, ‘The Narcissist’s Daughter’ saw my inbox jammed with messages and comments from total strangers thanking me and telling me to keep writing. In contrast barely any of my friends and family have read it or commented to me about it…but that’s ok. I know every word is a step further in my healing and every stranger who reads my blog and finds help there is a gift.

I’m aware some people turn a blind eye to avoid confrontation, that they put on a pretence to keep the peace. But I never asked anyone to get involved in my conflict. I never asked anyone to take my side over hers. I never tried to take family members away from my mother. In fact I was extremely anxious that she should have support in my absence, given I was the one carrying her for most of my life. I simply asked my birth family to hear my truth, to recognise my suffering and to accept my decision. I pleaded with them NOT to take sides. But I was ignored and gaslighted. My husband was verbally abused. Our sons were abandoned.

I realise that not everyone who knows my birth family will have experienced the pervasive, toxic, coercive control I was subjected to. Both my mother and my father can be very charming and engaging when they want to. They can show love and can perform acts of kindness. They just never did that to me. Both of them treated my siblings very differently to how they treated me although my oldest brothers definitely saw what I went through and definitely experienced their own trauma growing up in that household. In fact there are plenty of people who saw and heard what my life was like under that regime. They saw how I suffered and they did nothing because it was easier to avoid confrontation. I also think my grandparents were of the generation that believed you made your bed, so lie in it! Don’t make a fuss. Pull yourself together. No one wants a scene. Men were providers, women served and children should mind their manners. All in all, I think I had a lucky escape.

Silver Linings

There are silver linings to estrangement.

I have built loving contact with my father’s sisters. My Aunts. For most of my childhood and adolescence we were kept apart by my mother’s inexplicable resentment of my father’s birth family and his secretive manner only seeing them without us. Knowing they care about me is a huge comfort and seeing the love they have for their children and grandchildren reassures me that I am related to some really good people, not just horrible ones.

I also have a sibling who was lost to our whole family many years ago, when he divorced from my sister in law. With great shame I admit that I followed the lead of my mother and my siblings, rejecting him and judging him for his actions without ever asking why. I know now I should have talked to him. I should have asked how he was feeling. Why he’d made the decisions he had. I should never have taken sides. I should never have listened to the gossip nor caved in to the peer pressure. I should have worked to sustain my relationship with those on both sides of the story.

Somehow we’ve found our way back into each other’s lives and have struck up a tentative friendship. We message about the past and we message about the now. It is MASSIVELY validating to talk with someone who was there during our awful childhood, who can confirm what happened after my other siblings betrayed me with their silence or gaslighted me as a way to control me and shut me up.

I don’t know if our relationship will ever grow beyond messaging but I am so grateful for the opportunity to apologise for my mistakes, to apologise for taking sides, to apologise for not being a better sister and to offer my friendship as a fellow survivor of trauma. He has built a really good life for himself and whatever happens in the future I am grateful for my chance to have known the man he has become, despite my mother’s best efforts to keep us apart. I feel sick now knowing that I believed her toxic lies about him whilst all the while she was telling lies about me and I never had a clue.

Estrangement is a b****. It turns your life upside down and drags you through a maze of every possible emotion. I like to think I’m at the healthy anger and acceptance stage because I have so much to be grateful for, more than I’ve ever had. Yet it still surprises me when a ‘memory’ comes up on Facebook, or a mutual friend posts a photo; and suddenly I’m looking at my mum smiling in happier times or at my grandad looking frail and tired. Then the sadness overwhelms me. Because there were happy times and I really believe they were real. I don’t understand why they couldn’t last. I don’t understand why my mother hates me so much that she refused to acknowledge or apologise for the years and years of damage I suffered at her hands. I don’t understand why my family was so quick to betray me and take sides. Why did they have to take sides? Why does anyone?

No one prepares you for the extra body count of estrangement but still, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

You can’t put a price on freedom.

Sometimes the most difficult decisions are the best ones.

Sometimes letting go is the best and only way to be happy.

Hell is a crowd of exceptionally loud drunk men clutching beer bottles on the 5pm train. They wear a uniform of (almost) matching shorts, polo shirts and cardigans draped round their shoulders; boat shoes without socks. They all talk at once, competing for attention; maniac laughter.

I picture grabbing a samurai sword like Mishone in The Walking Dead and silencing them. Ah intrusive thoughts – a gift from my OCD.

Their shouting vibrates in my chest and makes it hard to breath. I look into the faces of the people sitting around me. Impassive. If they are experiencing what I am, how are they hiding it so well? One comment ‘knee deep in rape’ makes me stand up in disgust, ready to challenge them. But I know my hearing can be unreliable and my interpretation too literal. So I sit down and breathe through it.

Their communal stench of beer, aftershave and cigarettes makes me want to scream. It floods my nose until I can taste it.

This is the first train I’ve travelled on in maybe 2 years. It shouldn’t be this torturous, this intimidating.

It took all my willpower not to have a meltdown. A meltdown that would have burst open my verbal floodgates and seen me lecturing the lot of them on Autism and respect for other peoples differences. No doubt I’d have been labelled a nutter. It’s a fair label.

My husband and I joke that I don’t like humans. But it’s not really a joke.

I like children – playing eye spy on the train this morning with a melting down toddler whose mum needed a break was a highlight in my day. I understand children and they understand me.

I also like animals.

I like lovers of nature.

People who care about the planet.

I like people who understand Autism, who embrace our differences without judgement.

Passionate people who stand up for what they believe in – I like them.

The booming clamour of voices over voices starts to ease as we pull into a station and the badly dressed loud mouths disembark taking their stinky stench with them. I feel the oppression lift and my anger subside.

The irony is, I used to be one of those loud, obnoxious drunks on a train. Before my Autism diagnosis I was a regular social drinker, wearing my vodka jacket like a shield against stranger danger. I had a lot of fun in those alcohol fuelled years but also a lot of arguments, hangovers and mental health problems.

It’s almost 3 years since I stopped drinking, slowly cutting down to zero and I feel amazing for it. I feel calmer, happier, more authentic. But there are times when my sensory processing differences make living sober feel hard.

The men are gone now. And I don’t need a vodka jacket to block them out. I can write to offload my feelings; I can walk on the beach at low tide collecting shells; I can stand in my nightie in the rain collecting snails off of my beautiful plants and relocating them to the park. I can hide in the Snug at home and just. be. silent.

I have a whole toolkit of ways to manage my sensory needs now. I choose a lifestyle that helps keep me well. I avoid the things that trigger me. I am protective of my space and time.

But sometimes I find myself in a crowded place, somewhere too noisy, or too hot, too messy, too encroaching on my space. In those moments my strategies go out the window and anxiety rolls over me in angry waves.

If you’re neurodivergent like me, maybe what I’m describing sounds familiar. If you’re neurotypical, you might be moving seats on the train because the angry woman deep breathing and clenching her fists is freaking you out!

Regardless, you could help. Open a window to let some air in. Offer to swap seats. Start a conversation – empathise. Tell the loud, stinky men to shut the hell up!

Sensory overwhelm is not a choice, we don’t want to feel like this. It’s not stupid or immature or a lack of control. It’s not over reacting. If you help us remove or reduce the sensory triggers, you will set us back on the path to calm and balance. You may even restore this cranky old Autistic person’s faith in humans and save me from getting my samurai sword out!!

I envy people who have close and loving relationships with their mothers.
I even envy people who are bereaved and mourning the loss of the mum they loved and were loved by. 
They have known maternal love.
I didn’t. I don’t.


My mum and I are estranged. 
I grieve for her, yet she is alive, 
She is earthly but out of reach. 
She lives around the corner, yet I haven’t seen her for almost two years.


My mum loved me once, but it was a jealous and fickle love. 
It required me to be the humble servant; obedient, compliant. 
Never questioning her actions. 
Constantly judged for being different to her.


I grew up in a permanent state of afraid, a bystander to her destructive yet intoxicating relationship with my dad.
I looked at my parents and knew exactly who I didn’t want to be. 
What was worse? The physical beatings or the spiteful name calling?
The love withheld or the shame and self loathing she caused me to feel about my teenage body, my sexual feelings?


My adolescence was overshadowed by the weight of responsibility for her and my brothers. 
I was an expert in picking up the pieces. 
No matter how much they took advantage of me, I loved them completely.  
I thought they loved me too.


But I made a terrible mistake apparently, because I wouldn’t accept my Lot. 
I wouldn’t be quiet.
I wanted to know who I am, I needed to understand myself. 
I wanted to be a better version of me and so I expected them to be better version of themselves.


‘Don’t punish your wife for your affairs’
‘Don’t abandon your children, don’t take their home’
‘Be a Dad to your long lost daughter’
‘Stop bullying your wife’
‘Don’t take money from Mum that she hasn’t got’


It turned out they didn’t like being asked to look in the mirror. 
It turned out that my well intentioned pleading to be better than, more than…just made them resent me. 
How crushing it was to watch them repeat the mistakes of our parents, and worse.


So I went on my own journey…
I discovered my true self.
I live well with my mental health issues,
I live well without alcohol and without the false intimacy it brings.
I embrace my identity as an Autistic person.
I do a job that I love for little money because it means I can help others like me.
I have the most wonderful husband and two uniquely gorgeous, special sons who love and accept me for ME.


It turns out I am an absolute Rockstar of a Mum!!! 


But all this came at a price.
I had to estrange from my Mum. 
She was hurting me so much, so badly, it made my head want to explode.
She made me want to hurt myself.
She lied to me, 
She lied about me, again and again.


I didn’t want to say goodbye. 
I just wanted her to STOP. To LISTEN. To SEE all the sadness and fear she’d caused me. 
I wanted her to CHANGE. To say SORRY. To be a Mum. To be my friend. 
I loved her so very much. 
I wanted her to love me back so that I could stop feeling angry at her, so I could stop fearing her next rejection. 
I wanted her to be a Nanny to my boys. 


But she refused to talk. 
She chose to punish me instead.
She built a wall of silence and used my brothers as bricks and mortar.
She concocted elaborate lies about me to drive a wedge because me, my siblings, my grandparents.
What a shock it was to realise how fragile and shallow our relationships were, how little I was valued by my birth family. 
How easy it was for them to discard me once I stopped playing the role of caretaker. 


It’s been almost two years that we’ve been apart.
She has reached out once. 
A message to declare her love and share confusion about why we are in this ‘situation’.
That message set me back weeks. 
I cried an ocean. 
How can she not understand? 
How can she not apologise? 
She birthed me and yet I am invisible to her, my needs, my truth, just a fantasy in her mind.


But here I am. 
Against all the odds.
A much loved Mummy to my children, my World.
My children are cherished, respected and nurtured. 
My children have a devoted Daddy; a playmate, a provider, their rock.
My children are safe. 
My children are involved in decisions that affect them. 
My children laugh a LOT.
My children are loved UNCONDITIONALLY. 
My children are their own people. They are not my possessions.
My children will follow their hopes and dreams because we will show them how.


You don’t need a Mother’s love to be a good Mother.
But I’ll always miss not having a Mother’s love. 

I have a confession. Sometimes things get on top of me and I feel sorry for myself. I think ‘why me?’ ‘It’s not fair’.

This doesn’t happen often because I AM NOT A VICTIM. I refuse to see myself as that.

In my late teens, experiencing my first romantic relationships, I confided my horrible upbringing, the violence I both witnessed and was subjected to by my parents. But I didn’t want pity. I saw myself as a SURVIVOR. I saw myself as strong. I did well at school. I earned my own money. I had friends I loved and trusted. I wore my past like a medal, proof I made it out ok.

What I didn’t appreciate at the time was how badly my upbringing had affected me. The constant judgement and rejection. The conditional love of a mother who both needed and resented me. Living each day with fear somersaulting in my belly. The weight of responsibility I felt towards my siblings. The strange mix of loathing and pity I felt towards my father.

These things didn’t make me a survivor. They made me angry, so angry. I wore an invisible suit of armour but I didn’t realise it. I scared people, I pushed them away before they could hurt me. I had one female school friend who I knew I could genuinely trust, and school teachers who gave me more security and validation than my parents ever did. But for the most part I was entirely alone, lost in the chaos of my own head.

So yeah, these things didn’t make me a survivor. They made me VULNERABLE.

Since my Autism diagnosis at 42, I have read, watched, listened to and discussed everything I possibly can about Autism. I’ve worked so hard to marry up my lived experienced with current research and best practice because it has allowed me to know myself in a way I never did before.

Imagine at 42, after a lifetime questioning who and why you are, knowing you are different, being told you are inadequate. Imagine suddenly being giving the rule book to your brain, the instruction manual. That’s what it was like for me. It was bloody brilliant!!

Suddenly everything from my past and present made sense, I wasn’t mad, bad, weird, horrible, difficult, selfish….I was just a different type of human being, who experienced the world through a different lens. And that was ok. Sweet relief it was ok. I had permission to make choices and lifestyle changes that protected my mental and physical health. I started to accept myself. Even like myself.

Of course there were those (ignorant, arrogant, blinkered souls) who viewed my Autism as an excuse, an inconvenience, something I needed to change about myself.

But the people that mattered, that bothered to really know me and love me; they made the effort to understand my world and the world of my sons. We grew stronger and closer.

Yet still, I was vulnerable. I have been plagued with mental health issues my whole life culminating in my Bipolar 2 diagnosis four years ago. That suit of armour I wore turned out to be paper thin, easily torn, dissolved to pulp by rain. I break so easily. Even with almost a year of trauma therapy and psychiatric medication I was scarily vulnerable to the judgement of others. And I needed to know why. I couldn’t just accept that this was my lot. And I especially didn’t want my sons to struggle with their mental health like I have.

So I did what I do best and I researched and researched and researched some more. And I came across some work by Autistica, the UK’s leading Autism research charity. They have been looking at why Autistic people are so much more vulnerable to mental health issues.

Now I already knew that my Autistic neurology predisposed me to poor mental health. In fact 80% Autistic adults experience mental health issues versus 25% of the general population. But I couldn’t accept the idea that my neurology was to blame.

What the research also showed is that Autistic people suffer more negative life events. My reaction? ‘Tell me about it!!!’ Seriously, anyone who looked at my life on paper would probably say ‘wow, she’s been pretty unlucky!!’ But it’s easy to focus on the negatives and I’m not a negative person, so I decided to compare my good life events with the bad…

What’s interesting is that a medical professional would consider me an Autistic with ‘good outcomes’. This is because I tick many of the boxes of neurotypical expectations for success. In a stable relationship? Tick. Employed? Tick. Children? Tick. Home owner? Tick.

But then you look at the negative life events and you start to see why my armour is so thin. Why I break so easily. Abusive childhood. Bullied at school. Divorced. Losing our sweet first son Pablo. Chronic diseases- breast cancer and blood clotting disorder. Estrangement from my birth family.

These things would be tough for any person to experience but especially tough for a sensitive and highly vulnerable Autistic person who grew up in a hostile and unsafe environment.

Armed with this information I started to explore the relationship between my differently wired brain and the negative life events I had experienced. And what I learned was so powerful.

You see the cognitive and sensory differences of the Autistic brain don’t CAUSE poor mental health. But these differences coupled with negative life events form a dangerous cocktail. Together these things DO lead to mental health issues.

Is it our fault that we are more vulnerable to negative life events?

NO IT IS NOT! But we experience these events MORE INTENSELY.

We find it HARDER TO COPE and HARDER TO RECOVER.

We BLAME OURSELVES because so often we are told it’s our fault for not coping better.

How many times have you told another human…?

Pull yourself together!

Move on!

Get over it!

Or maybe you’ve said:

Stop crying!

You’re so sensitive!

You need to change!

I’m not judging by the way. Im sure I’ve made similar unhelpful comments when weary and frustrated. The problem is, to an Autistic person this type of commentary only serves to undermine our self esteem; it tells us that our NATURAL REACTIONS ARE WRONG. That our feelings are wrong. That who we are, is wrong.

What is happening in these situations is INVALIDATION. Invalidation creates trauma. Invalidation is the breeding ground for early mental health issues. Invalidation drives Autistic masking. It makes us say yes when we mean no. It makes us constantly apologise (I am always saying sorry!) It makes us beat ourselves up for not meeting our own impossible standards.

The worrying thing is, invalidation isn’t always deliberate. Whilst it is the tool of the bully and the manipulator, it can also be done without meaning to. Because you are tired or frustrated. You want a quick solution. An end to the drama. You want the Autistic person in your life to cope better, to fit in. You think you can talk them into being more ‘normal’. Yet all you’re doing is showing them that their differences are bad, that they’re not good enough.

I could go on and on but I keep reminding myself this is a blog not a book and in subsequent posts I promise to explore:

⁃ which of our cognitive and sensory differences make us more vulnerable and why

⁃ how to improve our resilience and coping strategies by understanding these cognitive and sensory differences better

⁃ Exploring tools that can help us grow and improve the skills we have in these areas

What I want you to take away from todays writing is this…

Our differently wired brains (cognitive and sensory differences) PLUS negative life events = poor mental health

Negative life events PLUS invalidation (deliberate or not) = poor mental health

But poor mental health is NOT a given. It won’t happen to every Autistic person. It doesn’t NEED to happen to the 80% as the statistics suggest.

Instead of thinking ‘How can I protect my Autistic relatives’ mental health?’ think ‘How can I help them pursue emotional well-being?’ Let that become your mantra.

⁃ Protect them from the invalidation of others.

⁃ Advocate for adjustments that meet their cognitive and sensory needs.

⁃ Support them through negative life events gently and at their own pace.

⁃ Learn what makes them feel good about themselves, and do it! This is usually linked to their special interests.

For me, when I start to feel overloaded, when I start to feel sorry for myself, I get out in the fresh air, amongst nature, and I look for the small things. The details. The proof of magic. Recently my husband and I had a rare afternoon off from parenting and despite the freezing winds, he agreed to take me beach combing.

I photographed seagulls being battered by the waves. I rummaged through seaweed to uncover a piece of coral, a dried up jellyfish, a sea worn piece of driftwood. The pinks and blues on the inside of a crab shell. My husband and I held hands as we walked along. These are the small things that ground me. That bring me back to feeling calm and safe.

In years gone by we’d have sat on the beach with a bottle of vodka and some takeaway noodles, chatting and giggling. These are happy memories. And this would cheer up. But I’d feel terrible the next day, hungover. And we’d be bickering a few days later, the alcohol impacting our mood and our sleep.

The way I cope now is much calmer and kinder on both of us. It suits my needs as an Autistic person. We still chat and giggle but I’m a cheaper and less volatile date!

I am on a lifelong mission to achieve and sustain emotional well-being. This is just the start. See you for my next blog post 🙂

This is for the child I was, the adolescent, the young adult, the wife and mum I am…for all the abuse, manipulation and lies I was subjected to…

It’s been 18 months since I went ‘no contact’ with my mum and 18 months since my brothers and grandparents abandoned me for daring to question the multi generational abuse that was accepted and hidden in our so called ‘family’.

Even after years of counselling including 11 months of trauma therapy, the consequences of the abuse I suffered are far reaching. Unlike the lady who wrote the article linked below, I don’t take abuse anymore. I speak up if people hurt me and I advocate for myself fiercely. Sometimes that scares people; I hope they remember my back story and don’t take it personally.

For the child I was, the adolescent, the young adult, the wife and mum I am…

I love you
I’m proud of you
You are wonderfully neurodiverse
You are bonkers Bipolar
You are 2 years, 4 months sober
You are brave and strong
You are totally bad ass
You are honest and real
You have the biggest heart
You have the best husband and children
You have 2 awesome but stinky cats
You are the future
You are happy
You are safe
You are free

I have always loved Christmas and this one will be particularly special – our last in our current home. So I will bathe in the smiles of our beautiful boys, enjoy the twinkly lights, the presents, the Christmas movies, the ton of food and I will look to 2022 and our new beginnings.

It’s time to live the life I’ve always deserved. Are you living yours?

My recent blog post ‘The Art of Being Different’ explores my frustration at being judged and misunderstood for simply trying to be my true and authentic self, an Autistic female with a pick and mix of mental health problems and a heart marked ‘fragile – easily broken’.

This morning my husband sent me a link to a song and said ‘this could have been written about you!’

Now my husband is not one for grand gestures, nor is he expressive with his feelings. And over the last 18 years, despite the fact I love the bones of him, I’ve told him I want to leave him many times out of sheer frustration that our brains are so different. Lucky for me, he’s not a quitter!

So today I listened to the song he sent me, then I listened again. And I must admit (because I’m Autistic and the meaning of words can confuse me) I had to ask my husband ‘what do you mean, why is it about me?’

And he explained that I have a low opinion
of myself, but that’s not how he sees me. And he explained that he understands I just want to be accepted (weirdness and all) rather than forced to be ‘normal’.

Then I felt a sparkly star burst of love for my husband because the song is his way of saying ‘I love you. I see you. I get you’. That means the World to me.

The song is by Fred, again. It’s called ‘Dermot (see yourself in my eyes)’.

If you love someone who has a different type of brain, go have a listen. The best gift you can ever give them is the freedom to be themselves, to make their own rules and to shine in their own unique way.

‘’And if only you could see yourself in my eyes
You’d see you shine, you shine’’

“Fall in love with someone that enjoys your weirdness
Not someone that tries to talk you into being normal”

Thanks to @fredagainagainagainagainagain
for fab lyrics and an amazing song.

You do you, I’ll do me. That’s how it’s supposed to be…

I saw this image this morning and it resonated so strongly I had to share.

So often I’ve seen quotes and memes emphasising that Autistic people are ‘Different not Less’. Which of course is true and correct but that is rarely how we are treated in real life.

A Different Neurology

Most people are born with the typical brain you would expect to see in a human being. They have typical developmental, intellectual and cognitive abilities. Many (most) refer to this as ‘normal’. Normal, grinds my gears. There can be no normal if we are committed to diversity and inclusion.

Autistic children and adults are under constant pressure to behave like the neurotypical (or NT) majority, to appear ‘normal’. We are expected to adapt, conform, follow social rules and standards that AREN’T our rules.

The NT majority for whatever reason, think their way is the right way and not meeting their expectations means we are labelled as difficult, rude, bad, mad, uncooperative and over the top.

Even those neurotypical individuals who are well educated about Autism, and have good intentions, are disappointed and frustrated by our behaviour because it doesn’t match how they think people ‘should’ behave.

Don’t get me wrong, most of the people I know, love and respect are neurotypical. It’s rare that NT’s are deliberately dismissive and cruel. But very few truly understand and respect the neurological differences of the Autistic community. And that is so, so hard to live with on a day to day basis.

I’ve lived my whole life being told the way I feel is wrong, my emotions are wrong, my reactions are wrong. Not only is this exhausting but as someone with lifelong mental health challenges and a Bipolar 2 diagnosis, it is soul destroying. It means I struggle to trust people, rarely feel accepted or that I belong and am under real pressure to mask, pretend, and ‘fake’ my behaviour to please others.

Equity not Equality

There is so much talk of equality, equal rights. But equality means everyone is treated the exact same way, regardless of their needs or differences.

What Autistic people need and deserve is equity. Equity means each individual is given what they personally need to succeed. For example, equality would be all offering all children a place in school. Equity would mean ensuring each child is given a school place where the environment and style of learning can be adapted to meet their individual needs.

D is for Discrimination

Think about this. If Autistic people were seen as a different culture, our customs and practices would be studied and respected.

Yet we are constantly discriminated against, often worse than any other minority group. The vile hate crimes against the LGBTQ+ community is at least spoken about in the media, there is a good level of social awareness. But people with Autism and especially Autism and learning disabilities, are openly treated as ‘less than’ and our access to a suitable education, work and healthcare is severely restricted.

The medical profession classifies us as disabled, yet we receive few if any concessions or assistance like a physically disabled person would.

In my work as an Autism trainer I consistently find that my lived experience of Autism and professional expertise as a trainer are hugely valued and welcomed. However, my Autistic behaviours and ways of working can frustrate the people I work with. My obsessive attention to detail, need for control and struggle with ambiguity mean I ask a lot of questions, need a lot of context and am very opinionated. I often feel like other professionals want me to be an Autistic person ONLY when I’m designing and delivering training and a neurotypical person in all other aspects of the job!

Unconscious Bias

Our Autistic brains are different to the typical human brain but you can’t see our differences. We look just like you. So even when you are told we are wired differently, your brains unconscious bias revolts against the way we think, feel and act.

You tell yourself you understand, that you are making concessions for us, flexing your rules; but if you do so with resentment in your heart, then you are still guilty of discrimination.

We will never feel safe or trust you nor will we feel accepted if you can’t let go of the idea that your way is the right way. Because it isn’t. Your way if ONE way. Not the only way.

A Different Future

I doubt things will change significantly in my lifetime and my hurts, the rejections, the judgements, the burden of being misunderstood, is tattooed all over me now like scars. But my hope and focus is that my sons will have a different experience to me. I am raising them to understand their neurology, the good and the not so good. I am teaching them to advocate for themselves. I am showing them how to look after their mental health and make lifestyle choices that will protect them from emotional and sensory overload. I am teaching them they are different, NOT less, and to educate or ignore people who judge them. I am celebrating their uniqueness, their strengths and their passions every day so they never have to feel the way I’ve been made to feel.

What Part will you Play?

You can play a part in this change by educating yourself on Autism and Neurodiversity. You can teach your brain and open your heart to embrace our differences and squash your unconscious bias. I’m not saying it will be easy. I can see why neurotypical people think we are awkward, difficult and frustrating. I have a very patient, loving, (sometimes infuriating!) neurotypical husband who has experienced more than his fair share of stress trying to understand me and our children. We are raising two very different but equally strong willed Autistic sons together, who make us cry, pull our hair out, laugh our heads off and burst with joy in equal measure. Marriage is hard. Parenting is hard. Add two different neurotypes into the mix and of course it is harder, because different minds don’t think alike!

I don’t think there’s a magic formula and I don’t think it’s a one way street. One of the things I’m teaching my sons is about social rules and expectations because I want them to integrate in society and appreciate the typical customs of others. I also see how hard it’s been for my husband trying to understand my neurology when he has been brought up to believe there is a ‘normal’ and a right way for people to behave.

What I do know is there can be no normal in an inclusive society. That there is more than one way, no right way. And that no one has the right to judge the correctness of another persons thoughts or feelings. My brain and my heart belong to me as does yours to you. But TOGETHER, we could achieve truly amazing things…