The Neurodivergent Homemaker

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Reclaiming Patriotism: A Fourth of July Reflection

As the birthday of our country approaches, I’ve been seeing more and more videos and posts about the flag… this symbol of freedom that once united us. For years now, I haven’t felt joy in celebrating Independence Day, not because I don’t want to, but because the American flag has been co-opted by some as a symbol of exclusion, racism, homophobia, transphobia, and Christian nationalism. Increasingly, those who claim to be the “true patriots” are the same people who don’t believe in real equality, who act as if they are better than everyone else.

The American flag flying with a backdrop of blue sky: a symbol of freedom and liberty for all.

I’ve seen so many people, myself included, feel hesitant to display the flag or call themselves “patriotic” because of how that word has been twisted. But recently, I saw a video by an old acquaintance who said she wants to take back what the flag means. She called for the Democratic Party to reclaim the flag and rebrand what it represents. I loved that idea. I used to feel so proud to stand up for my country and its flag. Now, it makes me sick to my stomach, and I wish it didn’t. Because the American flag is supposed to stand for freedom and equality for all, no matter what someone believes or who they are, whether they’re citizens by birth or new to this country, immigrants or refugees. It’s supposed to stand for liberty and justice for everyone.

I’m a white ex-Mormon woman in a straight-passing marriage, and I know that, at a glance, some people might assume I’m conservative or part of the Christian nationalist movement. But the truth is: I’m a proud demi-pansexual, neurodivergent, liberal woman married to a white, straight, neurotypical (as far as we know) liberal man. We’re raising two neurodivergent daughters in a deeply liberal household. My husband and I both grew up in conservative Mormon homes (especially me), and we’ve done a lot of work to unlearn the biases we were raised with. We’re still unlearning every day, striving to be more kind, empathetic, and loving to everyone, no matter who they are or what they believe.

It’s frustrating to feel like we can’t be outwardly proud of our country without being mistaken for something we’re not. But I refuse to let the people who wave the flag for hate win. Because I believe true patriotism means fighting for equality, justice, and freedom for everyone. It means displaying the American flag right alongside the Pride flag, or the signs in our yard that say “Black Lives Matter” and “No Human is Illegal.”

I recently saw another video that really drove this home: someone said that when we protest today, we should carry the American flag. Trump and others want it to look like it’s “the American troops/government versus outsiders” like immigrants, Muslims, or queer people. But carrying the flag at protests shows the truth: it’s the American government versus the American people who are demanding real justice and freedom for all. And the whole world is watching.

So as we head into the Fourth of July, Pride month, and another election cycle, I’m planting my flag in the ground, figuratively, since I live in an apartment… and proclaiming that I’m an American, I’m proud of our Constitution, and I want this country to keep fighting for freedom and the rights of everyone, not just a select few. I’m reclaiming the symbols of my country for everyone, not just for the narrow, hateful vision of what some think America should be.

We’re Americans, too. And we believe in a future that includes everyone.

The System That Broke Us, and the Hope That Remains

What if Curiosity were the Goal?

By Clarissa Enos Plagmann, The Neurodivergent Homemaker

I loved school. I loved learning. I loved being around my peers, playing with my friends, socializing, and exploring new ideas.

But I also remember struggling under the weight of expectations.

I remember losing recess in 4th grade because I lost my math assignment in the classroom yet again.

I remember the shame of remaining standing as my teacher allowed each of my classmates to sit down as she called the names of those she received essays from, and getting detention because I forgot to write my name on my essay in the 6th grade.

I remember not wanting to go to school because I had forgotten to do an assignment or my project wasn’t as good as I wanted it to be.

I remember being unable to stay awake during lectures, not because I was tired but because it was boring and my head hurt.

I remember not being able to focus because I was on my period and all the sensory problems and the pain involved with that made school unbearable.

And despite all that, I know people who struggled even more than I did.

But none of us had a choice. We had to go.

The school system is broken, and not just in the United States. When kids are forced to go even when they’re breaking inside, and parents have no choice but to send their children to a place that slowly drains their light. When a system insists that one rigid model should fit every brain… that is a system quietly destroying kids from the inside out every single day.

It’s why I always wanted to homeschool my children. Because I realized they might not thrive in that system, and I thought I could provide a better environment for them to learn in.

Thankfully, for my own mental health, my oldest daughter who is in 1st grade actually loves being around her peers. She thrives socially and doesn’t want to stay home. But she still struggles with the expectations, the rules, and especially the unspoken rules.

Her IEP helps. It gives her a little breathing room, and allows for accommodations that help her thrive. But even with it, she often comes home upset. She’ll tell me she tried her absolute best to be “good,” and still wasn’t “good enough.” We comfort her, we tell her she is good, that we believe her, that her best is good enough… but still, that’s not what she hears at school from her peers and her teachers.

And I can already see my youngest daughter, in a couple years, quietly following the rules and masking at school, then coming home and breaking down once she feels safe again.

It’s not okay. None of it is.

And now the American government is working to dismantle what little protections disabled kids do have, protections that haven’t even been around for very long.

When my parents were kids in the 1960s and 70s, disabled children weren’t in the same schools as their neurotypical peers.

When I was a kid in the late 90’s-early 2000s, they were in the schools but kept in separate classes, and by the time I was in 6th grade (around 2003-2005) they were slowly starting to integrate kids with disabilities into our classrooms for certain classes, but they were still mostly separate, until as late as the 2010’s. My younger brother who was diagnosed with Asperger’s as a child in the early 2000’s was kept in a separate class all the way through middle school and even in high school had only a few classes with his neurotypical peers. He graduated in 2018 or 2019.

Now, schools try to include disabled kids with their peers, which is amazing, but it’s still not enough. And lately it feels like things are starting to go backward.

And all I can think about is how different things could be if mental health were taken seriously.

Maybe the system wouldn’t feel so broken if kids weren’t expected to sit in classrooms for so many hours a day. If we didn’t expect the same things from every single child, no matter how different their brains, needs, or rhythms are.

What if school could be a safe haven for all kids?

What if it could be truly tailored to them? What if they could learn at their own pace, guided by teachers who act as mentors instead of taskmasters?

Imagine how much more our children could thrive if the goal of school wasn’t compliance, but curiosity. Imagine if we gave them room to grow, explore, and learn through experience rather than lectures, worksheets, and endless tests?

I’m grateful for my daughter’s school and her teachers. They put in so much work to help her thrive in a system that wasn’t built for kids like her. They truly understand her need for breaks, and for mental stimulation, and more direct language and visual routines and schedules. But there’s still so much more to be done.

Why We Told Our 5-Year-Old She’s Autistic and ADHD

My oldest was five and a half when she was diagnosed as both Autistic and ADHD, just like me. But I’d known since she was two that she was at least ADHD, and the more I researched autism to better understand myself, the more I began to recognize the signs in her too.

I also knew that ADHD can mask autism, and autism can mask ADHD. And I knew that, whether or not we used the words “Autistic” or “ADHD,” the world would still label her. Labels like lazy, defiant, or immature would come eventually, because people just don’t understand the way neurodivergent brains work. But I didn’t want those to be the words she believed about herself, the way I’m still working to not believe them about myself, at the age of 33.

Because she isn’t lazy. She isn’t defiant. She isn’t immature.

She’s Autistic and ADHD.

And that means her brain works differently, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.

I remember sitting in the office of the doctor who diagnosed her, after the evaluation… and one of the first questions I asked was how to tell her. I always knew we would tell her, from the moment we found out.

By that point in my journey, I’d read so many stories from adults who spent their whole lives wondering why everything felt harder for them… why they burned out so easily, why socializing drained them, why they needed routines or stimulation others didn’t seem to need. People who eventually sought out an autism or ADHD diagnosis in adulthood, only to discover they’d actually been diagnosed as kids, and their parents just… never told them.

Sometimes it was fear. Fear that a label would limit their child. That it would become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I get that fear. I’ve felt it too.

But here’s the thing: the struggle didn’t come from the label.

It came from not knowing.

From growing up believing they were just broken or lazy or failing at something everyone else seemed to do effortlessly.

We didn’t want that for our daughter.

That’s why we chose to tell her, honestly and openly, ready to answer any questions she might have. So, it started with one conversation, where I reminded her that I’m Autistic and ADHD, something we’d talked about a lot before. I told her that all it means is my brain works differently than other people’s brains. It’s not bad, it’s just different. Some things are harder for me, and some things are easier, and I need to do things in a way that works for my brain.

Then I told her she was Autistic and ADHD, too, just like mommy.

She smiled and hugged me, excited to know this thing about herself.

And just like that, it wasn’t scary.

It was inspiring.

We talk about Autism and ADHD a lot in our family… not in a heavy way, but in a matter-of-fact, everyday kind of way. Because they play a huge role in our lives. They shape how we experience the world, how we relate to each other, how we move through our days.

If she’s going to face challenges (and we all do) I want her to have the tools, the language, and the self-understanding to face them with confidence. I want her to know her brain is different, and that’s okay. That there’s a whole community of people like her. That she’s not alone.

The labels people place on us aren’t kind, and they can really hurt. Without understanding why we struggle, it’s easy to start believing we’re “too much,” or “not enough,” or broken in some way. But when we do have that language (Autistic, ADHD, neurodivergent), it becomes a way to understand ourselves with compassion instead of shame.

So I use those words with my daughter the way I use any other identity word… like kind, creative, curious, or brave. Because that’s what they are: part of who she is, not something wrong that needs to be hidden.

In the end, telling my daughter she’s Autistic and ADHD wasn’t about limiting her… it was about freeing her.

Freeing her from shame, from confusion, from the belief that something was wrong with her.

Giving her language to understand herself, to advocate for what she needs, and to grow up proud of who she is.

An Open Letter to RFK Jr.

I’ve been sitting with a lot of feelings since hearing RFK Jr.’s recent comments about autism. As an autistic mother of an autistic child, his words felt personal—like an attempt to erase people like me and my family. I wasn’t sure what to do with that feeling at first, but eventually, I wrote this open letter. I originally shared it anonymously in an autistic community online, and now I want to share it here, too. My hope is that it helps others feel seen, and maybe reminds the world that we are here—and we have always been here.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on RFK Jr.’s speech, and your experiences as autistic people (or those who love us). Let’s keep this conversation going.

Selfie of me, living my truth, unapologetically. Autism is not a tragedy—it’s part of who I am. I don’t need to be ‘fixed’ to be whole.

An Open Letter to Robert F. Kennedy Jr.

From one of many American citizen Autistic parents of Autistic children across the spectrum

Mr. Kennedy,

In your recent public address, you spoke about autism as a tragedy—a warning sign, a loss, something to prevent. But when you say that, you’re talking about people. People like me. People like my child. And people like the countless other autistic adults who are living full, meaningful lives right now.

You didn’t just speak over us. You acted like we don’t even exist.

I am an autistic woman. I am a mother. I am raising an autistic child with pride and love. I am not broken. I am not a burden. I am not a cautionary tale. I’m one of millions of autistic adults—especially those labeled as “low support needs” (a term I don’t love, but one your audience might recognize).

We are parents. Partners. Leaders. Business owners. Artists. Writers. Scientists. Advocates. We are building lives, raising children, contributing to our communities—and we are doing it as autistic people.

And yes, we struggle. Autism is a spectrum—not a straight line from “not autistic” to “very autistic,” but a wide range of traits, needs, and experiences. Even autistic adults who appear “high functioning” (another broken term) often struggle quietly, worn down by masking, misunderstanding, and lack of support.

And those labeled “high support needs”? Many of them thrive—when they are given the right accommodations, respect, and community.

But let me be absolutely clear: a person’s ability to date, work, or live independently is not what makes them worthy of life.

We are not measured by your definition of success. Being nonverbal does not mean a person has nothing to say. Needing full-time care does not make someone less valuable. No autistic person should have to earn their humanity.

Autism is not the tragedy here. Your rhetoric is. Your words feed stigma, misinformation, and ableism that hurt real people. They teach fear where there should be pride. They cause isolation when we need community. And they silence us when we are finally raising our voices.

We are not a problem to solve. We are a powerful, diverse, living community. You owe us better.

And if you can’t understand that, then you are not qualified to speak about us at all.

On behalf of autistic parents, adults, and children everywhere:

We are here. We are real. And we will not be erased.

I Want To Write Something That Matters

I want to write something big—

Something that makes you want to sing, or dance, or laugh, or sob.

Something that makes you feel anything.

Something that sticks with you.

That makes you think, “I’ve never thought about it like that before.”

That’s what I love to read, and long to write.

But sometimes I hear this voice in my head saying,

Who are you to write anything like that?

You’re just a mom. Just a wife. Just… you.

You’re not someone with a big story.

Not someone who overcame a huge struggle or built a massive following.

You’re not someone people quote or study or remember after they’re gone.

And that voice gets loud sometimes.

But then another voice quietly whispers—

I am my daughters’ entire world, and my husband’s best friend and confidant.

And they are my world, too.

That matters.

I matter.

And so I write.

I write for me.

I write for them.

I write for all the moms who feel invisible.

I write for the women just now realizing they’re neurodivergent—like me—

and trying to figure out who they are underneath all the expectations.

I write for the people who feel small or unseen, because I want them to know they’re not alone.

They do matter.

Even if I can’t write it all right now, I can write this.

And maybe that’s enough for today.

It’s Okay to Need Help: A Reflection on Motherhood, Autism, and Burnout

Being a stay-at-home mom to two young kids is a full-time job—one I cherish deeply. I love my daughters and the life I’m building with my family. But I’ve come to realize that love isn’t always enough to keep me going, especially as an Autistic and ADHD adult navigating motherhood.

Before I became a mom, I didn’t fully understand how my neurodivergence would impact my ability to function in this role. I was diagnosed with ADHD in my twenties and Autism in my thirties, and even now, I’m still uncovering the ways these parts of me show up in daily life. What I’ve learned is this: overstimulation, exhaustion, and executive dysfunction aren’t occasional visitors—they’re often my baseline.

No matter how much I rest, it rarely feels like enough. I go through cycles where I can function relatively well one week and barely keep my head above water the next, and I never know what kind of week it’s going to be until I’m in the midst of it. And when I push through without support, everything begins to unravel—not just for me, but for my entire family. My partner ends up carrying more than he should have to, and our kids miss out on the version of me who’s engaged, playful, and present. We all suffer when I pretend I’m fine.

And yet, asking for help isn’t always easy—especially in a world that often expects moms to carry the load quietly. For Autistic adults, it can be even harder. We’re often expected to mask our struggles, to power through overstimulation and burnout, to explain ourselves again and again just to be taken seriously. But the truth is: we shouldn’t have to break down before we’re allowed to ask for support.

So I want to say this, for anyone else who might be feeling the same way:

It’s okay to need help. It’s okay to ask for it. It’s okay to build your life around what actually works for you, not just what’s expected of you.

Here are a few things I’ve learned along the way:

1. Burnout isn’t just about being tired.

For me, burnout shows up as brain fog, irritability, sensory overload, and the inability to complete even simple tasks. I don’t bounce back with a nap or a good night’s sleep. Recovery takes time, intentional support, and a lot of self-compassion.

2. Autistic moms may need different kinds of support.

Sometimes, it’s not about someone swooping in to fix everything. It’s about small, steady help:

– Spending time with the kids so I can rest

– Helping with household tasks

– Body doubling so I can focus

– Just being there, without judgment or pressure

3. Rest isn’t selfish—it’s necessary.

Taking time to recharge—without guilt—has become essential. I’ve started giving myself permission to write, to go out with friends, to sit in silence. Not because I don’t love my kids, but because I do. They deserve a mom who isn’t running on empty.

4. Community makes a difference.

Whether it’s close family, online friends, or fellow neurodivergent moms, finding people who get it can be life-changing. We all need connection, especially those of us who often feel isolated or misunderstood.

5. You don’t have to wait until you’re drowning to ask for help.

I’m learning to be proactive—to say, “I’m struggling,” before everything falls apart. And I’m also learning to offer others the same grace, space, and support I hope to receive.

If you’re a fellow mom, especially a neurodivergent one, I hope you know you’re not alone. You’re not lazy. You’re not broken. You’re navigating life with a brain that works differently in a world that isn’t built for it—and that takes strength.

Let’s normalize asking for help. Let’s celebrate making accommodations for ourselves. Let’s build communities that support—not just when we’re at our best, but also when we’re at our most overwhelmed.

With love,

Clarissa

Why Autistic and ADHD People Are Scared Right Now: A Call for Understanding

By Clarissa Enos Plagmann

Note: I published this post on Substack, and on my other blog, but I am consolidating the two blogs into one now, so I am working on transferring my posts here. Here is the full blog post. I think this is such an important topic and it’s so important to me. Please like, share, and comment. I’d love to hear from you!

If you can’t see why so many Autistic and ADHD people are anxious, afraid, or feeling overwhelmed right now, I want to share some of the reasons why. This might not make sense if you support our current politicians or their policies and they seem like progress to you, but it’s important to understand that the current political climate feels threatening for many of us.

Autistic and ADHD individuals often experience heightened emotions, which can lead to struggles with anxiety, depression, trauma (often from unexpected sources), and rejection sensitivity. When the political environment becomes hostile or uncertain, it only amplifies these challenges. For many, the future feels bleak, especially when those who are supposed to represent us make statements or push policies that harm us. And speaking up about these issues can seem daunting when our brain sees rejection everywhere and is highly sensitive to opposing views.

The Current Climate: Why We’re Afraid

Over the past few years, we’ve heard damaging rhetoric from political leaders, including President Trump. In 2014, he made a harmful claim about the connection between vaccines and autism—one that has been definitively debunked, but he has continued speaking on a connection between vaccines and autism, despite the extensive scientific research that has been done by the World Health Organization and Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and other scientific organizations. This rhetoric doesn’t just misinform; it actively harms autistic children and adults. Many of whom are also immunocompromised as well and rely on herd immunity.

In February 2025, Trump signed an executive order creating the “Make America Healthy Again Commission.” The order labels conditions like autism, ADHD, depression, and others as “a dire threat to the American people and our way of life.” This is misleading. Conditions like these are more commonly diagnosed because we have better healthcare and diagnostic tools, not because they are “on the rise.” But instead of celebrating these advancements, these politicians continue to spread fear, harming both our communities and the systems we rely on.

Most disturbingly, Trump appointed Robert F. Kennedy Jr., a known vaccine skeptic and advocate of harmful, outdated policies, to lead the Health Administration. His ideas—such as suggesting people on stimulant medications (including ADHD medications like Adderall) should be sent to “wellness farms”—feel chilling and reminiscent of historical atrocities.

Threats to Healthcare, Education, and Disability Rights

Politicians like Trump have also pushed harmful policies aimed at cutting essential services:

Education: Trump has proposed gutting the Department of Education, giving states more control over school systems. For families with Autistic or ADHD children, this could mean losing access to essential Special Education services. The idea that all kids should have access to education is at risk, and we fear that our children will be left behind.
Healthcare: The potential removal of Medicaid or cuts to other support services would devastate the disabled community. Many of us rely on Medicaid for life-saving care, and without it, we’d be buried in debt or unable to receive the life-saving treatments and mental healthcare we need.
Disability Rights and Employment: The dismantling of DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) policies could lead to increased discrimination in the workplace, leaving many of us without accommodations that help us thrive. DEI policies ensure that Autistic and ADHD individuals can access fair employment opportunities and receive necessary accommodations, like flexible work hours or the ability to take breaks. Without DEI, we risk facing systemic exclusion.

The Growing Social Stigma

The rhetoric we hear from politicians and the media paints neurodivergent people as burdens or problems to be “fixed.” This simply isn’t true. We are writers, teachers, doctors, and more—we contribute to society in countless ways. Yet, the stigma remains, with our value being questioned based on whether we fit conventional societal molds. We are more than our struggles, and we deserve recognition for who we are, not just for “overcoming” our conditions.

The Historical Context: Why This Feels Familiar

My family has a long history of neurodivergence. I am both Autistic and ADHD, as are several of my siblings, and I am raising children who are also neurodivergent. I am deeply afraid for their future. The political climate today feels eerily similar to a darker time in history when disabled individuals were institutionalized, sterilized, and treated as if their lives were less valuable.

The disability rights movement was born out of this history of mistreatment. The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), passed in the 1990s, was a victory for disabled people—but the fight isn’t over. Now, with policies aiming to undo key protections, it feels like we’re slipping backward. The same harmful rhetoric we’ve heard in the past is resurfacing, and organizations like Autism Speaks continue to push for “cures” instead of supporting neurodivergent individuals as we are.

We Are Afraid, But We Are Also Fighting Back

The fear we feel isn’t just for ourselves; it extends to others—people of color, queer people, trans people, and other marginalized communities. Many Autistic and ADHD individuals, myself included, have a deep sense of justice that drives us to fight for not only our rights but the rights of all those who face discrimination.

We are advocating for inclusive policies, more and better access to healthcare, and mental health services that are accessible regardless of economic status. We are fighting to ensure our children have the support they need to thrive, not just survive. We are standing up for the rights of disabled people everywhere, sharing our lived experiences, and demanding better from our leaders.

How You Can Help

If you want to make a difference, support organizations like the Autistic Self Advocacy Network and Neuroclastic. Follow and amplify voices of neurodivergent content creators such as Neurodivergent Rebel and Jessica McCabe of How to ADHD. These groups and individuals are working tirelessly for change, and they need your support.

If you come across misinformation about Autism or ADHD, speak up. Correct the record. And if you’re in a position to do so, contact your politicians to oppose policies that harm our communities.

Above all, reach out to the neurodivergent people in your life. Let them know you see them, you support them, and you’re standing with them in the fight for better rights and representation. Ask them how you can continue to support them.

We cannot afford to let history repeat itself. The fight for equality and justice continues, and we need your voice in it.

How to ADHD: An Insider’s Guide to Working with Your Brain (Not Against It)

A few months back, I saw Jessica McCabe’s video on How to ADHD about her book coming out this month (January 2024) so I immediately went and pre-ordered the book! A few days ago, it came and I’m so happy! So, I’m starting off this year reading through this book about How to ADHD! I’m already off to a good start, I’ve read 2 out of 13 chapters! Just had to share this exciting thing with you all! I will definitely be writing more about what I learn, as well as writing a review for the book when I finish!

Goals and Thoughts on the New Year

I don’t normally post on Sundays, but as today is the last day of the year, and it’s been awhile since I last posted, I thought I’d make an exception.

I’m still trying to figure out a blog schedule for 2024, but ideally I’d like to post at least once a week. I struggle with finding ideas on what to post, and I like to limit what I share in terms of my family because I think it should be their decision when and if they share something with the world. As they get older I may allow them to decide when and if I post about them and our family dynamics, but for now the kids are too little and we enjoy our privacy.

I’ve also been struggling with whether or not I even want to blog about my life, but I love advocating for and teaching others about things that are personal to me, like my struggles with religion, sexuality, autism, ADHD, and other mental and physical health issues I face on a daily basis. I want to encourage others to evaluate their biases and teach them about the things that affect my life intimately.

However, I don’t like inviting others to judge me, or comment on my life and decisions… and unfortunately that’s something I have to think about when sharing my life with the world. I hope that 2024 will bring me clarity regarding the issues that matter to me and how I want to share them with the world (or if I want to share them with the world).

This upcoming year, I hope I’m able to learn more about my brain and how it interacts with the world around me. A few weeks ago, I went through the evaluation process for Autism and discovered I am indeed Autistic, so that will inform my life from this point forward (not that it didn’t already, but now I know where to focus my research efforts).

So, I thought I’d share my (tentative) goals for the year:

1. Figure out routines and “life hacks” that work for me to function.

2. Learn more about my brain.

3. Read these 5 specific books (I read so much I figured instead of a books read goal, I’d challenge myself to read specific books related to my other goals):

• The Whole-Brain Child by Daniel J. Siegel

• The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work by John Gottman, Ph.D

• Low-Demand Parenting by Amanda Diekman

• How to ADHD: An Insider’s Guide to Working With Your Brain (Not Against It) by Jessica McCabe

• The Autistic Experience: Silenced Voices Finally Heard by Joe James and Marie-Laure Del Vecchio

4. Write 12 short essays, articles, or short stories (or chapter or scene from a story), approx. 300-500 words minimum.

5. Plan fun educational activities for summer time and school breaks.

So now, I’m curious: what would you like to see my write about on here? And, do you have any goals for the next year?

Happy New Year!!

Neurodivergent Struggles with Homemaking

I am so sorry I haven’t posted more recently. I’ve been switching medications, and adjusting to new schedules, and celebrating Halloween and all that fun stuff, plus seeing a new therapist and going through a “dark night of the soul”. Essentially everything is changing for me, for my family, etc and I’m doing my best to hold on a little longer (not physically, but emotionally and mentally).

Anyway, I got on to write because I’m going through a lot, and then I received this message from a friend: “Respect for [your husband] and your girls and yourself are supposed to motivate you to do your duties… You should know better.” (Edited out names for privacy reasons).

Here’s the thing: I can’t force anyone else to do the research on ADHD or Autism or any of the other mental health issues I struggle with. I can only share what I know and accept that not everyone will understand.

But, because it was brought up, I feel the need to address some of what this person said, even if they won’t see.

ADHD and Autistic brains are NOT neurotypical brains. We do not think the same way as neurotypicals. We show love and care differently. We also notice different things about our environments and interact with others and our environments differently. I don’t see things in the same way as others might. When I look at what needs to be done, my time blindness doesn’t offer me a reliable measure of how long something might take. I also struggle with knowing what is most important, and figuring out where to start. This isn’t to say I live in a messy house. Compared to how I grew up, my home now is spotless, on the surface anyway.

Here are some reasons Neurodivergent people might have more trouble with housework:

Interest-based nervous system. This means that if I’m interested in something, it doesn’t take any energy at all. I have all the time and energy needed for the things that interest me. It also means that things that need done but I have no interest in (like chores) not only take more energy than they would for a neurotypical, but they also feel painful to do. Like, physically and mentally painful. Usually, I can get around this by watching a favorite show in the background or listening to music while I clean, but that requires remembering to turn on a show or music and then starting the chores.
Struggles with time-blindness. This means that I don’t see time in the same way others do. Things that I’m not interested in look overwhelming and feel like they’ll take all day, even if they would only actually take five minutes. And I experience this every time I try to do something I’m not interested in. On top of that, I will get hyperfocused on something and forget time is a thing. It will feel like I’ve been working on my bullet journal for a few minutes, but I’ve actually been working on it for hours. I have to set lots of timers and alarms to remind me of the time.
ADHD and Autism and other mental health struggles tend to run in families. This means that it’s highly likely that at least one of my parents is also neurodivergent, considering it runs on both sides of my family and all of my siblings and I are neurodivergent, with either ADHD, Autism, or both. This means that I’m not just trying to manage my own neurodivergent brain, but my children’s as well, as they are likely neurodivergent even though they haven’t been diagnosed yet. And, it means that my husband ends up taking a lot of the harder work on himself because I struggle and don’t have the mental energy to do it, and he somehow manages it. Of course, I do as much as I possibly can, sometimes burning myself out even though he’s doing two or three times as much as I am. But I still try my best, and I’m constantly working on doing better and coming up with better ways of doing things that work for me and for our family.

I’m slowly getting better and learning new and better ways of doing things. Everything got 10 times harder with each kid, and I’ve only been a mom of two for two years. I’m still a baby just figuring it all out. Thankfully, my husband is right there with me, supporting me and loving me and not judging me, because I seriously couldn’t do it all without him.

If you know someone who is neurodivergent, maybe talk with them about their struggles, without judgment. Offer them love and support, rather than criticism or advice. Many times, we neurodivergent people have already done all the research and tried many different things before we talk to others a bout our struggles, so don’t assume that because we/they are talking to you about it that it means they need advice or help. Maybe they just need a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on. Be what we/they need and that’s the best way you can show you love, support, and respect your neurodivergent friend or family member.

Now, I have some cleaning and meal planning to do, because we’re all sick here, and my husband is the most sick. He needs rest. And I do love him, and respect him, and want him to get all the rest he can get.

With love,

Clarissa, the Neurodivergent Homemaker, wife, and mother of two