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The moment my son Joseph entered the world in 1992, I transformed into a superhero. Every new mother experiences this rush of protectiveness — the feeling that you’d do anything for this little being. However, when Joseph was identified as being on the autism spectrum, my superhero instincts not only ignited; they became a lifelong commitment. This relentless push, however, took a severe toll on my well-being.
For years, I functioned on sheer willpower and minimal rest. My days were filled with long hours of sleeplessness, I mastered the art of holding my bladder, and I often finished whatever Joseph left uneaten. Each morning, I would meticulously note Joseph’s needs and experiences for his teachers in a small notebook — since cell phones and emails weren’t options then — and my afternoons were spent anxiously waiting for insights about his day in return. I organized birthday sleepovers in hopes of helping him connect with peers and battled educators who attempted to exclude him from vital programs. I sought out therapies, participated in support groups, and became his unwavering advocate.
Yet, I never paused.
Taking a moment to breathe never crossed my mind. I was unaware that even those in superhero mode require moments to recharge. The only times I truly rested were those rare instances of utter exhaustion when my body finally demanded downtime. the minute I could muster enough energy to rise from my bed, I was off again until I hit that wall of fatigue once more. I harbored a constant undercurrent of despair, yet I pressed on, convinced that if asked, I would proclaim myself to be just fine. I genuinely believed it.
But my body knew otherwise. At the age of 39, I received a diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes, an illness that nearly claimed my life. Managing this condition is now part of my daily routine — a permanent reminder of years spent disregarding my physical health.
You’d think this would have served as a wake-up call, but it didn’t. I focused on eating healthier and continuing my exercise routine, yet I could not confront an essential part of my healing journey. I excelled in evading my own emotional turmoil; I was a champion in delaying my pain.
Then, the hives appeared. A severe case of full-body hives landed me in the hospital, so extreme that my doctor claimed he had never witnessed anything similar. They weren’t triggered by food allergies but were instead a manifestation of my tumultuous anxiety, perpetual fear, and suppressed emotional pain accumulated over the years. After enduring eight EpiPen shots, multiple steroid treatments, and strict management of my diabetes, the hives finally began to recede. However, the physical healing took months, and I still had not commenced the critical process of mending my heart.
I share this account not out of pride, but to emphasize that I am not alone. Since becoming a certified life coach and working with mothers of children on the autism spectrum, I’ve seen my narrative echoed repeatedly. While specifics may differ, the pattern remains: mothers invest every shred of their energy into their children’s wellbeing while neglecting their own needs. Many believe, whether consciously or subconsciously, that mothers ought to be exhausted, putting their own food and rest last on the priority list. They consider self-care as selfish; any time dedicated to self-reflection seems like a luxury taken away from their child.
This notion is a damaging misconception.
What I have learned, often the hard way, is that self-compassion is not self-pampering. Rather, it is the essential foundation that empowers everything else in life. Once I began addressing my inner work through my life coaching training, I reawakened to a joy I hadn’t experienced in two decades. I learned to listen to my own inner dialogue, tending to my complete being — mind, body, and spirit — rather than merely checking off endless tasks while depleting my energy and happiness.
I now encourage the mothers I coach to contemplate a fundamental question: How much energy do you have in your tank at the start of each day? Picture your car’s fuel gauge. Is it full, at half, or nearing empty? Most of them laugh, knowing the answer already.
No matter the level in your tank, it can be replenished. The fuller your tank, the more you can offer to your child, your relationships, and every facet of your life. You cannot guide another through life’s obstacles if you are struggling to stay upright. Your child requires you to be healthy, present, and whole — not just running on adrenaline and denial until your body eventually demands a halt.
I didn’t fully grasp this until I was in my fifties. Regardless of where you currently are in this journey or how long you’ve been in superhero mode, it’s never too late to initiate change. Please, learn from my experience and don’t wait for your body to send you a wake-up call like mine did. Acknowledge where you are, take a moment to breathe, and begin.
Here are four starting points for today:
Prioritize your own needs
I once heard the airplane oxygen mask analogy during an episode of the Oprah Winfrey Show, and it transformed my perspective on motherhood. If oxygen masks deploy and you give yours to your child first, you risk losing consciousness, making you incapable of caring for anyone. The same principle applies to daily life. Before diving into work, preparing lunch, or contacting the school, take a moment for an action that refuels your energy. This could be as simple as taking three deep breaths with your eyes closed. The key is to prioritize yourself, even just for a minute.
Observe your inner dialogue
For a day, pay attention to the things you say to yourself. Write them down. I used to often chastise myself with comments like “Great job, Brigitte – what a stupid thing to do.” I would never speak to another individual in that manner, yet I directed those thoughts at myself without even realizing it. Recognizing these patterns in writing allows you to reframe each harsh remark with the type of encouraging words you’d use with a friend. This practice has been instrumental in my healing process.
Calm the chaotic thoughts
I refer to the anxious, catastrophic thoughts that accompany mothers throughout the day as “anxious monkeys of fear.” When these thoughts start swinging – What if he can’t manage independently? What happens if I’m no longer here? – I use a visual mantra. I visualize myself floating along a river’s current instead of struggling against the flow, smiling and appreciating the scenery. I take a breath and feel my stress dissolve. It may seem simple, but when practiced consistently, it can be effective. Create your visual — whatever invokes a sense of peace for you — and return to it whenever those anxious thoughts arise.
Create a self-compassion checklist
Take a moment to write down every act of kindness and self-love you have been dreaming of. Do not judge or rank these items. Select one and imagine sharing it with someone you care about — allow yourself to feel the warmth and generosity of that energy. Then, turn that feeling inward and offer it to yourself. Start with just one item today, and tomorrow choose another. Gradually, self-kindness begins to feel less indulgent and more like the essential practice it truly is: survival.
Author Bio
Brigitte M. Volltrauer Shipman is an author, life coach, speaker, and educator specializing in coaching mothers with children diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). Her latest publication is A Mother’s Guide Through Autism, Through the Eyes of The Guided. She is also the author of Is It a God Thing?
Joseph D. Shipman, despite initial pessimistic forecasts following his autism diagnosis, has made a name for himself working with various radio stations and actively supports many political and social causes, particularly autism advocacy. He enjoys video games, cherishes time with friends and family, and engages in discussions about art, history, and philosophy. His debut as an author is A Mother’s Guide Through Autism, Part II: Through the Eyes of the Guided.
Discover more at mothersguidetoautism.
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