When my son Joseph was born in 1992, I became a superhero overnight. Every new mother feels it – that instant wave of protectiveness, the feeling that you could jump over tall buildings for this little person. But when Joseph was diagnosed with autism, my superhero mode didn’t just kick in; it became a permanent way of life. And it almost killed me.
For years I ran on fumes and willpower. I could travel long stretches with almost no sleep. I held my bladder like a champ and ate what was left on Joseph’s plate. I spent my mornings writing detailed notes for his teachers in a small notebook (we didn’t have cell phones or email back then) and spent my afternoons waiting for the notebook to return with an account of his day. I organized sleepovers hoping he would find a boyfriend. I fought administrators who tried to keep him out of the programs he was entitled to. I researched therapies, attended support groups, and advocated at every turn.
What I didn’t do was stop.
I never thought about slowing down to catch my breath. I didn’t know even superheroes have to refuel. The only time I slept deeply and hard was when I was completely exhausted and my body just gave out. As soon as I could lift my head off the pillow, I left until the next time exhaustion overcame me. I had a constant pit of despair in my stomach, but I used every ounce of willpower I had to keep moving forward. If you had asked me how I was doing, I would have told you I was doing well. I believed it.
My immune system knew better. At the age of 39 I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. It almost cost me my life. Diabetes is something I will have to deal with every day for the rest of my life – a permanent consequence of years of ignoring every signal my body sent me.
You’d think that would have been enough of a wake-up call. It wasn’t. I ate better, I continued to exercise, but there was one piece of the puzzle I didn’t want to see. I withstood my inner healing work like a true champ. I won the gold medal in avoiding my own deep pain.
Then came the beehives. I was hospitalized for a case of full-body hives so severe that my doctor said he had never seen anything like it. They were not caused by a food allergy. They were the physical expression of frazzled nerves, constant fear, deep anxiety, and unrelenting emotional pain that I had been hiding away for years. It took eight EpiPen injections, multiple rounds of steroids, and careful management of my diabetes before the hives finally went away. Even then, the physical recovery took months, and I still hadn’t started the real work of healing my heart.
I tell this story not because I am proud of it, but because I know I am not alone in it. In the years since I became a certified life coach and began working with mothers of children on the autism spectrum, I have seen my story reflected again and again. The details change, but the pattern does not: a mother puts all her energy into the well-being of her child and leaves nothing for herself. She believes, consciously or not, that mothers are supposed to be exhausted and last in line to eat and sleep. She believes that self-care is selfish, that any time and energy focused inward is time and energy stolen from her child.
It’s a lie. A dangerous one.
What I learned – the hard way – is that self-compassion is not self-indulgence. It is the foundation that makes everything else possible. When I finally started doing my inner work through my life coaching training, I began to experience a kind of deep joy that I hadn’t felt in twenty years. I learned to pay attention to the way I spoke to myself. I learned to care for my whole self – mind, body, and spirit – and not just check tasks off an endless list while my energy and joy were drained.
I now ask the mothers I coach a simple question: how full is your energy tank when you start each day? Imagine looking at your car’s gas gauge. Is it full? Half full? Almost empty? Most of them laugh because they already know the answer.
Wherever your meter is, it may be fuller. And the more complete it is, the better you are for your child, your relationships, and every other part of your life. You can’t lead someone else through the wilderness if you collapse along the way. Your child needs you to be healthy, present, and whole—not running on adrenaline and denial until your body finally forces you to stop.
I was already in my fifties before I really understood this. It doesn’t matter where you are in your journey or how long you’ve been in superhero mode. It’s never too late to start. But please learn from my story and don’t wait for your body to send you the message like mine did. Meet yourself where you are, take a deep breath and begin.
Here are four places to start today:
First, put on your oxygen mask
I once heard the metaphor of the airplane oxygen mask on the Oprah Winfrey Show and it changed the way I think about motherhood. If the masks fall and you give yours to your child first, you will lose consciousness, and then you will be no good to anyone. The same principle applies to everyday life. Before you open the laptop, pack lunch, or call school, do one thing that will fill your own tank. It can be as small as three slow, deep breaths with your eyes closed. It’s about putting yourself first, even for sixty seconds.
Catch your self-talk
For a whole day, pay attention to what you say to yourself about yourself. Write it down. I said to myself things like: ‘Nice, Brigitte, that was so stupid.’ I would never talk to anyone else that way, but I was constantly talking to myself that way without even realizing it. Once you see the pattern on paper, start replacing each harsh statement with the kind of language you would use to a friend. This one practice was one of the most powerful shifts in my healing.
Silence the crazy monkeys
I call the anxious, catastrophic thoughts that follow mothers throughout the day “crazy monkeys of fear.” When they start swaying: what if he can’t do it alone? What happens when I’m gone? — I use a visual mantra. I see myself floating on the current of a river instead of slamming into it, smiling, enjoying the view. I take a deep breath and feel the stress release. It sounds simple, but if you practice it consistently, it works. Create your own visual – whatever image you provide will give you a sense of peace and flow – and return to it every time the monkeys get noisy.
Make a list of self-compassion desires
Sit down and write down every act of kindness and self-love that you daydream about. Don’t judge the list. Don’t rank it. Now choose one item and imagine you are doing it for someone you love – feel that warm, generous energy. Then turn it over and give it to yourself. Just one item, today. Choose another one tomorrow. Gradually, self-compassion stops feeling selfish and begins to feel like what it actually is: survival.
Author biography
Brigitte M. Volltrauer Shipman is an author, life coach, speaker and teacher. She specializes in coaching mothers of children diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). Her current book is A mother’s guide through autism, through the eyes of the guide. She is also the author of Is it a God thing?
Joseph D. Shipman, Despite dire predictions from some following his autism diagnosis, he gained recognition working for numerous radio stations, and currently devotes time to various political and social causes, including autism advocacy. He enjoys playing video games, spending time with friends and family, and studying and talking about various subjects including, but not limited to, art, history, and philosophy. A mother’s guide through autism, part II: through the eyes of the guide is Joseph’s debut as an author.
More information at mother’s guide to autism.
